“You should have told me,” I say. My voice feels a bit unsteady, but I ignore it. I cannot let them think anything is wrong with me. Nothing is, right? I was simply overpowered. I was drunk. I’m drunk. That’s all. That’s the only reason I’m feeling what I’m feeling.
“What is he doing here?” Marko asks. “We didn’t see him come in.”
My eyes haven’t left Soren for a second. He’s kneeling down in front of me. His hand has shifted from my face to my shoulder, and his eyes are locked on mine.
For some reason, I can’t break his gaze right away. It takes me a second or two.
“Just get this cleaned up,” I demand. “None of this would have happened if you’d been here doing your job.” Marko doesn’t react to me snapping at him. Not from what I can tell. All he does is pull out his phone and step to the side.
I look back to Soren. “What the fuck are you doing here?” I ask him.
His brow furrows. “I just saved you and that’s all you have to say?” he asks.
My eyes scan his face. Then I look down toward Jackson’s dead body. His blood is everywhere. It pools on the floor startingat his head and slowly travels downwards in the grooves of the tile. It smells just like my father’s.
I make myself keep looking, as much as I don’t want to. I make myself take a deep breath. The iron and alcohol flood my nose. It makes me sick to my stomach.
“Let’s get you out of here,” Soren insists. He grabs my arm, and I stand up, letting him help me. I’m wobbly on my legs. My entire body feels like it could go limp at any moment, but I don’t let it. I will myself to stay upright, to not let the tears burning at my waterline drip out. I swallow down the bile. I pull my slacks back up.
It’s stupid, it’s ridiculous. I’ve been around dead bodies and blood before. I’ve been stuck with a rotting corpse right next to me for hours.
Yet, ever since seeing my father dead on the floor, the sight and scent of blood make me feel dizzy.
I pull my arm away from him.
“Why did you come here?” I ask him. “Surely you didn’t just come here to shoot Jackson in the head.”
I look down at his body again. He looks so small and useless now that he’s dead. His body no longer tense and bulked up with anger.
Soren killed him.
Soren killed him for me.
He saved me.
But why?
When I look at Soren again, his stormy eyes are somehow filled with even more angst. His gun has been tucked back into his jeans, and he steps closer to me.
“I’ve been trailing you,” he admits.
“What?” I ask. I look toward the door. Marko is still to the side of the door; I hear him talking to someone. One of the cleaners. “I knew you were up to something, you little dick.”
Soren scoffs. “Yeah, protecting yourlittleass.” He waves a hand toward Jackson. “You had no idea that Jackson was out for blood, did you?”
“He was talking some bullshit about his wife, Victoria. That I did something with her at the club the other night. I don’t even remember her being there,” I tell him. I’m starting to feel steadier. Having Soren to focus on makes it easier somehow.
“Exactly. You had a run in with Victoria that night, she tried to start some shit. I broke it up and got you home. Or don’t you remember any of that?” he asks me, looking at me incredulously. The way his eyes stare at me intently and his jaw shifts every now and then makes my stomach hot.
After what just happened with Jackson, it’s the last thing I want to think about, but I can’t control it.
As he steps even closer, the scent of his skin and hair surrounding me, I don’t find myself locking up or freezing like with Jackson. I don’t step away from him.
I don’t want to.
“I remember you. I remember getting home, and I remember waking up feeling like shit,” I mumble.
“See. That’s why I’ve been watching your back. You’re a fucking mess right now, Carmine. If I wasn’t watching out, you’d—well, you know what would’ve happened.” Soren’s face falls darker.
