Every instinct in me screamed to thrash, to claw, to bite—but I lifted my hand. A trembling, deliberate rise until my fingertips brushed the side of his face. His skin was fever-warm and slick with blood from bashing himself into the balcony’s window. The ridge of his cheekbone cut hard against my fingers. The hollow beneath his eye twitched, but I didn’t pull away. I held there, thumb grazing down to the line of his jaw.
The pressure at my throat didn’t vanish, but it wavered just enough for a thread of air to scrape down my lungs. His breath hitched, hot against my cheek, ragged like mine.
Desperate, I reached down his free arm and found his hand. He tried to pull away, but I grippedhis wrist and firmly dragged his fingers to my mouth. “Arden,” I said, purposefully working around each syllable. “Creed.” Then with some reluctance, “Doll.”
His forehead dropped against mine so suddenly it startled me. Heavy. Shaking. His arm fell from my throat immediately, his fingers skimming over my wet clothes. It was subtle, barely even a pinch, but I could tell he was taking that in—wet. One more confirmation that he was trapped with an ally from The Tank. He pulled back just as fast as he’d closed in, disappearing in seconds. My chest heaved as I raised my arms wide, trying to figure out what direction he went.
Come back. I didn’t say it aloud. There wasn’t a point. But I kept searching the dark until my bare toes finally hit what must’ve been his pants. He was sitting on the ground, his legs cast out, but he pulled them in at the feel of me. I dropped down onto my hands and knees, my palm sliding up over what I hoped was his knee and not something humiliating. I found my way next to him, propping my back against the wall, my shoulder resting next to his.
Carefully, I let my hand trail up his body. It was a light touch, nothing too invasive as I found hisarms. He had them crossed over his chest, his exhale loud in the dark when I grabbed his hand, yanked it free, and threaded his fingers with mine. It was dangerous to push Rafe. I knew that. I also knew I wasn’t about to sit in the pitch black without some kind of solace. His hand in mine was a small comfort. Just the feel of his pulse helped me tune into my own.
It seemed we sat there for hours, neither of us moving. His hand was so stiff in mine, like he really didn’t want to be touching me, and after awhile, I swallowed my fear and let his fingers go. I didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable with me. I understood being forced to do something I didn’t want, and I hated myself for taking his hand to begin with. It was a childish thing to do, and Creed didn’t do childish.
But when I let go, Rafe didn’t waste a second before he locked my hand in an iron grip again.
I stiffened, my eyes blowing wide, especially when his thumb ran lightly down my finger. It was…sweet.Kind. Things that were not Rafe Creed.
Curious and also worried, I shifted a little closer and pressed his palm open beneath mine. He tried to curl his fingers in, to grasp me, and I smiled tomyself, using my free hand to tap his wrist a couple times. He seemed to understand that I was trying to show him something, so he opened his hand to me. First, I flattened mine against his, mapping where his palm was. Then I tapped the center of his palm once and drew the letter ‘N’. I tapped it twice and drew a ‘Y’. I did it a few more times before he reached over with his other hand and tapped my arm twice.
Relief seeped through me. It wasn’t a genius-level way to communicate, but it was something.
In his palm, I traced,OK?I repeated it until he laid his hand over mine, stopping me. Gently, he tapped my knuckles twice. Then surprising me, he slid his hand up my arm.
I froze, unsure of what he was doing and whether I should stop him. Natural instinct as a Doll was…corrupted. Any time a man touched me, part of my mind was always screaming, but the other part was what Viktor had sculpted. It remained silent and willing, even when it didn’t want to be. Leah had helped me get past some of that. Thorne helped even more.
But Rafe was uncharted territory. He wasn’t just a man; he was a killer. Even if I wanted to believethe best in him, I admitted to myself that I didn’t really know him.
His hand sloped over my bicep, and I flinched when it curved over my neck. He must’ve noticed because he stopped there, his breath faltering nearby. When he felt my shoulders relax again, he moved his hand up to my face and pressed it firmly against my mouth. His thumb ran over my lips, and then his other hand lifted, too, feeling the shape of my jaw.
My heart thundered, especially in that chamber. Everything felt infinitely heightened as I leaned into his touch, realizing that Rafe wasn’t touching me, not really. He was trying to hear me. Like he had before.
Smiling a little against his fingers, I asked my question again. “Are you okay?”
His fingers followed the movement of my mouth. When he didn’t respond, I repeated the words a few times, letting him get used to the way my lips formed different letters. Finally, he tapped the hollow of my cheek twice with a long exhale. It was the kind ofyesthat told me he was likely still as injured as I was, but we’d both pull through.
I nodded slightly, and one of his hands cradled my face when I did, feeling the movement. Another question sat heavy on my tongue. Rafe couldn’t hear. I knew that. But why didn’t he talk? Did he not know how or could he physically not do so? It wasn’t the time or the place to ask that question, so I tried something simpler, “Do they bring you here often?”
It’s a longer sentence so it takes several tries, but eventually, Rafe understands and taps my cheek twice.
“I’m sorry,” I told him, and I meant it. Rafe was taken more often than the rest of Creed combined. I didn’t like the thought of him being in that chamber all those hours, sometimes days, just…alone. Lonely was the one thing we weren’t supposed to have to deal with again, not with all four of us sold together.
He tapped once.
“No?” I snorted. “I’m not allowed to be sorry?”
Tap.
I grinned against his fingers. “Or is it that you’re not sorry because now you get to touch me?”
Tap. Tap.
My grin fell. I’d meant it as a joke. “Wait, really?”
Tap—followed by a strange huff that could easily be a chuckle.
My brows raised. “Funny guy, eh?”
Tap. Tap.
