The bandages were painted red and yellow, but my leg was clean, only a hint of a scar on it. My eyes widened. How the hell did that happen?
“This is not possible. I couldn’t have exaggerated the size of the wound to that magnitude.” I saw it gushing blood with my own eyes. Could I have been that drunk?
I pinched the bridge of my nose and closed my eyes, recalling the fight and the fall. Mad Dog was on the ground, blood oozing from his forehead. Then I jumped over Malcolm’s back and fell. When I got up, I was limping, and my leg was bleeding.
But Mad Dog barely had any signs of a fight on him. I opened my eyes to examine my scar again. “And I only have a scratch.”
My gaze wandered behind the windows. Then I grabbed my phone and left to the hall. The patched brothers were nowhere in sight. Only prospects scattered lazily on the couches. I traced my steps back from my room to the front yard. Faint, reddish brown stains marked the malachite tiles, and the same drops were on the light blue painted hardwood of the porch.
A tiny scratch wouldn’t have left all this blood.
I stalked on the dirt down the porch to the pool where it all happened. Tapping the flashlight icon on my phone, I touched the ground, searching for Mad Dog’s dry blood. But I only got my hand dirty with damp soil. I moved a little farther. It was dark yesterday, and I might have missed the exact spot where he’d cracked his head.
I squatted and inspected the ground with my eyes first, adjusting my phone to light more space. Something beneath me vibrated like a shockwave, distracting me.
With my palm set on the soil in front of my foot, I bent over, listening. Another wave hit. This one was more like a muffled…shriek.
“What the hell are you doing?” Slasher caught me off guard.
I flinched, almost tumbling backwards. Looking up over my shoulder, I caught him staring at my butt. “Do you have to give me a heart attack every time you talk? And my eyes are here…on my face.”
He barely dragged his gaze away. “I asked you a question.”
It took me a moment or two to concentrate when he was shirtless. How could he stand out in the cold with a bare chest? He’d get sick.
Why the hell did I care?
“What I do around my own house isn’t your concern, but I’ll be generous and answer you this time. Research,” I said.
“For what?”
“There’s noise coming from below. I was listening to see what it was.” Why had I denied the real reason I was here? I didn’t know. But it seemed instinctively correct.
“The house is swarming with busy workers tearing your room down. Whatever noise you’re hearing, it’s coming from upstairs.”
“No. Come listen for yourself.”
He rolled his eyes, which were so beautiful under the moonlight it hurt. Then he crouched with me and listened.
“Wait for it.” I waited, too, holding my breath.
“I can’t hear anything.”
“Hush. You’ll feel it. It’s like a scream or a bang coming from underneath the depths.”
He stopped resisting and waited with me, gazing at me. A gaze that said, “Why the fuck do I listen to you?”
After a minute or so, he sighed. “How long am I supposed to wait?”
I had no answer. I’d heard it, but now the only noise out here was that of the workers as he’d said. “I don’t know. I’m going crazy in this place. It was coming from below, Slasher. Twice in a row.”
“And now it’s not.” He rose to his feet and wiped his hands over his jeans. “Maybe it’s just a beaver or the pool’s old plumping. I’ll take a look at the pipes in the morning. Talked to Dasher yet?”
Shaking my head, I stood and switched off the flashlight.
“Going to?” he persisted.
“Not today, Slasher. Not today.” I walked past him, but he blocked me with his body, forcing me to clash into him. His body was made of steel, cold and hard. Would it warm up for me if I touched it? “What are you doing?” I asked softy.
