My tongue slides over my lower lip.You sure are…“Thirteen,” I tell Kent. “Nice stuff, please. Only the best for my new friend.”
I wink at him, and he looks completely out of his element.
“Very good, sir.”
Hanging up with Kent, I continue to observe Jonathan Chevelle. His look is very enticing. Despite his size, and all that muscle, he doesn’t present like some dumb ogre. He seems quietly studious, contemplative, directly contradicting his actions out there.
He didn’t simply snap and kill those men, I can tell. This was premeditated. He put a lot of thought into it, which means only one thing…
Venganza.
I have to recognize that, in scouting talent for the prison, I hadn’t planned on taking on soldiers with baggage. After all, I’m not paying them to think.
But then, maybe it’s like Fabian was saying…
Motivation could be key here. Especially as it pertains to the leader of my army.
Desperate for information, I shoot a text to Kent.
Me: Get me everything you can find on Jonathan Chevelle.
“Do you, um… own this place?” He asks, tone curious, yet dripping with nerves.
I’m sure part of him still thinks he’s going to jail, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek at the irony.
I glance at him and nod.
“Is this… where you want me to work?” He goes on, fishing. “Because I should tell you, I do have another job—”
“There will be plenty of time to discuss the details, Jonathan.” I grip the edge of the large sink. “First thing’s first…”
He looks confused for only a moment before he catches on, coming over to me in tentative steps. Turning on the water, I run my fingers beneath it until the temperature is warm enough. Jonathan is still shifting with a few feet between us, so I reach over and grab him by the wrist, yanking him closer.
A small grunt flees his lips, but he doesn’t pull out of my grip. In fact, he shivers at my touch. I can see it.
Getting up close, I stand partially behind him, the scent of him—masculine, woodsy, with some dirt and sweat—mixed with overwhelming copper tightens between my ribcage. It’s heady, mouthwatering.
Pheromones and debauchery.
With his hands in mine, I bring them under the water, and it isn’t until I do that I notice the brass knuckles on his right hand. So caked with blood, I couldn’t even see them.
Sliding them off his fingers earns me a soft sound from within his chest. I swallow at the same time that I witness him doing it, running my thumb over the brass beneath the flow of water. Watching the blood rinse away.
I drop the weapon in the sink, returning to washing his hands. He hums, and my eyes spring to his face. “Does this hurt?”
God, when has my voice ever been so soft??
He’s focused on the way I’m rubbing his right hand, gently, but with just enough pressure. I’m no doctor, but I’ve been around the block, and I know what broken bones feel like.
“Not… much,” he grunts, blue eyes sliding up to meet mine.
They’re deep, almost endless, framed by dark lashes. The tattoos, and a piercing in his eyebrow give edge to how pretty he is. Like the way he’s fighting off the pain, though it’s there. He just doesn’t want me to see it.
I like that.
I don’t believe his hand is broken, but it could be fractured. “I’ll have someone check it,” I murmur while washing away deep red from his skin.
“I’m fine,” he mumbles, tone reserved. “I just want to know—”
