When they reached a motel about forty minutes away from her house, she didn't bother to confirm they hadn't been followed. There was no way Dragon wouldn't pick up on a tail and lose it along the way.
In fact, she didn't ask anything, just allowed Dragon to unbuckle her and carry her bag for her as she trailed behind him to the room he’d rented for them. Inside, the room was small and dated, but clean, and all she needed right now.
“Taking a shower,” she muttered. Without giving Dragon a chance to respond, she snagged her bag from his hand and disappeared through the door to the bathroom, closing and locking it behind her.
The lock wouldn't stop him. He’d already broken down her front door tonight, and this door was a whole lot flimsier, but she also knew he had no intention of coming after her. Slipping out of her clothes, she ignored the bandages on her arm and leg, not caring about those wounds right now, and turned on the water as hot as it would go and stepped under the spray.
Hot water burned her skin, but not enough to make her move out from under it. Instead, she tilted her face up to catch the full effect of the pounding water and let the tears she held in with a ruthlessness that often surprised her fall free.
Her life was a mess—she was a mess—and she had no idea how to get back on track.
Chapter
Seven
January 5th
6:27 A.M.
Clenching his fingers into fists, Dragon kept his feet planted right where they were so he didn't go storming into the bathroom.
Cassandra was crying in there.
She wasn't making a sound, but he could smell her tears, the scent hanging heavily in the air, demanding that he do something about it.
But what could he do?
Barreling in there was only going to make her angry. Already, she’d made it clear that she wasn't happy about him being back in her life for any reason and she was tolerating his presence only so she didn't bring trouble to any of her brothers’ doorsteps.
At no point last night had she turned to him for comfort. She’d accepted his help with first aid, allowed him to sit beside her while she gave a statement to the cops, answered questions, and was treated by the paramedics. In the car on the drive to themotel, she hadn't spoken a single word, not even asking one of the dozens of questions he’d been expecting.
Dragon hated it, he wanted her trust even though he didn't know what to do with it.
And there lay the problem. He didn't know what he wanted beyond Cassandra no longer hating him. He wanted her to look at him the same way she used to, but he didn't know if he could ever give her what she’d once wanted from him.
So he stood there, staring at the bathroom door like it was offensive to him, when it was really himself that he loathed, and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
It was another thirty minutes before the water in the bathroom finally shut off. Another fifteen by the time the door opened, and Cassandra stepped through it. Her long chestnut brown locks were still wet, and she’d twisted them into a braid that hung down her back. She was wearing a pair of fuzzy pajamas in a pretty shade of soft pink. The skin on her face was tinted pink, and the dark circles beneath her eyes looked even darker, even as her eyes were red from tears.
Taking a step toward her wasn't a conscious thought on his part, he just had to be near her, had to offer her some sort of comfort, even as he had no idea the best way to comfort a traumatized woman.
“Don’t,” she whispered, taking a step back.
Hurt lanced his chest. Just because he knew she was angry with him didn't mean it didn't hurt like hell that she couldn’t even stand to have him near her.
Was that fear he saw dancing in the green depths of her eyes?
What the hell?
Was she scared of him now because he’d killed someone in front of her? She had to know all he’d done was eliminate athreat. He hadn't tortured the man, even though he’d wanted to because the need to get to her, check on her, protect her was stronger.
Feigning disinterest, he nodded at her arm as he pointed to her legs. “You took a shower, pretty sure you weren't careful to keep your wounds dry. I need to dry them and rebandage them so you don’t have problems with them healing.”
That was all true, but it wasn’t what he cared about most right now, it was just an excuse. The need to touch her was overwhelming, and he was beginning to understand how Steel had felt when they had Rose locked in the cell in the basement. How the hell had his friend managed to hold it together when they strung Rose up and whipped her to make a video to send to her brother?
