Leaving the room, he made his way toward the kitchen, looked through the fridge and the cupboards.He had no idea what to make her.
Jane had helped him when no one else would.His reality was people looking the other way, and that was okay.Anyone who got involved with his shit, he killed.Anyone that tried to stop him from completing the shit he needed to, he took them out, no questions asked.She had defied the odds.He was not going to let that bastard get to her.Jane Adams was now under his protection.
Grabbing a can of soup, he didn’t know if she would be able to stomach anything more.Her lips were swollen, and he saw it was hard for her to talk.Chewing would feel impossible.
Warming up the soup, he grabbed a couple of slices of bread and thickly buttered them.Once everything was hot, he poured it into a bowl and made his way into the bedroom.Only, his patient was not in bed, she was standing by the window.Her arms were crossed over her abdomen, and she looked to be in a lot of pain.
“Looking for a way to escape?”he asked.
“You don’t exactly make it easy, do you?”She turned to him.
She wore a pair of his sweatpants and oversized shirt.They swamped her.He’d changed her while she had been passed out.
Jane was all curves, in all the right places.He wanted to know her story.
“I’ve made you soup, from a can,” he said.“It’s good.Come on, relax.”
She sighed but moved back toward the bed, and he placed the tray on her thighs.
“It’s not too heavy?”he asked.
“It’s fine.”
“Good.Eat.You’re going to need your strength.”
She looked at him for a second, then picked up her spoon and started to eat.He watched her, keeping a close eye, because he didn’t want anything bad to happen to her.
Chapter Three
The following day,Jane looked at her reflection in the mirror and couldn’t help but groan.
She was not a pretty woman.She accepted that.Long ago, she would stand in the mirror and wish she looked pretty, just so someone would want her.Parents would always look at her and immediately forget her.She would beg and pray someone would look at her and want her, for her.It never happened.And she stopped praying.This is who she was.Plain.
Now, one of her eyes was slightly swollen, and had some lovely purple bruising.Purple was one of her favorite colors, but right now, it didn’t appeal.There was mottled bruising across her face and cheek.She pulled Alexey’s shirt off her body and saw the bruising, as well as the boot print from her attacker slamming his foot on her.
It had been a painful beating, possibly even the worst she had ever experienced, certainly as an adult.As a child, there hadn’t been any boots.There had been belts, bottles, sometimes cigarettes.Life hadn’t been easy.
