She releases her ribs and splays her bloodstained hands in front of her. A strangled, gurgling sound slips out.
“Nope. No time to freak out, Little Warrior. I need you to wait until you are in the shower to lose it. Okay?”
The words come out rougher than I intend. Ihatetears. I never know what the fuck to do with them. They make me feel useless, drowning me in memories I’ve spent years burying—the weight of my mother’s arms around me, her tears soaking through my Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle pajamas while she whispered promises she couldn’t keep.
“I live alone,” she murmurs. “But it’s a doorman building. I don’t know how I’ll get past him with…” She lifts her hands limply, holding them up to show me.
There is blood in the creases of her palms, and dirt and debris embedded in the scrape. Dried streaks cover her wrists and forearms. I don’t think she’s aware of how much is on her face and neck, and I’m certainly not going to draw attention to it.
“We’ll get you cleaned up first.”
She gives me an address, and I follow the GPS. However, when I see the sign for the next exit, I pull off and park in the shadowed far corner of a convenience store.
“I’ll be right back.” I crack the car door open. “Wait here with the doors locked. Don’t make eye contact with anyone.” It’s late, and the parking lot is practically empty, but there’s no reason to tempt fate.
Sera doesn’t say anything, which makes my concern ratchet up. She should ask more questions. Ask why I stopped… What the plan is…
But she doesn’t, and while her acquiescence should be a relief, it’s not. I don’t know her, but something about her meekness feels unnatural.
A memory of her walking into the meeting last summer, not at all impressed by the collection of powerful men in the room, flashes in front of me. There’d been something about her eventhen that drew my attention. A vague ‘fuck you’ attitude that I’d found sexy as hell.
Now, she stares silently out the windshield, picking viciously at her cuticles, drawing fresh beads of blood.
I cover her hand with mine to stop the motion. “I’ll be right back.”
Her eyes swing to mine, and the dome light lets me see the gold and green swirls of her eyes. “I heard you the first time.”
She’s still in there.
I don’t let myself smile until I’m inside, grabbing bottles of water from the humming refrigerator units. Snagging two bags of peanut M&M’s off an end display, I take a huge stack of napkins, stuffing them in my pockets.
The clerk’s gaze drops to the dried blood on my hands and on my white dress shirt. His posture stiffens, but one look at my expression and he wisely decides he doesn’t want to know.
Sera jumps when I open the door, and after settling in the seat, I uncap a bottle of water and wet a napkin. “Here.”
Her fingers brush mine when she takes it. They’re freezing… and soft. The contact sends a jolt almost like an electric shock up my arm.
I ignore it.
She roughly scrubs her hands and wrists, causing the cheap brown paper to shred.
“Hey.”
Her eyes dart up. I take the napkin and toss it to the floor before wetting a new one and stroking it over the delicate skin on the inside of her forearms.
Her body stills as I stroke the cloth over the pale blue veins in her skin, and the air between us thickens with something I don’t quite understand.
Sera’s fingers close over my wrist, stopping the motion. “I can do it.”
Clearing my throat roughly, I nod, and the next few minutes pass in silence as I pass her napkin after wet napkin. Her movements are more methodical now, and the majority of the blood lifts. There is still blood under her broken nails, but fortunately the dark material of her dress hides the worst stains. She no longer looks like someone who crawled through a crime scene.
She lifts her face under the dome light, inches from mine. “Did I get it all?”
“Your neck,” I grunt.
Her brow creases in confusion, so I reach over to flip down the visor’s mirror. She flinches at the sudden movement, like she thought I was going to hit her, and every muscle in my back goes rigid.
“Sorry,” she mutters, ducking her head.
