I know different.
“It’s going to hurt. Will probably need stitches.”
“If you destroy it, they’ll come for me.”
“Let me worry about that.” He goes to the bathroom and comes back with a first-aid kit. He rubs an alcohol-soaked pad over my hand, then wipes the tip of his knife with it.
He kneels in front of me and studies the area with his head tilted, so up close I can smell a trace of his soap and cologne, but not the cheap kind you buy at any store.
He smells expensive, but not like Hector or Jose.
I breathe him in, nearly forgetting where I am and what he’s about to do.
“Ready?”
Not really, but I suck in a breath and nod.
“Hold still,” he warns.
He presses his thumb into the spot I showed him.
The cool blade kisses my skin. His metal parts my skin. My whole body tenses up fighting it. I’ve had worse. Hector loves to inflict pain, but not Lunatic. The way he goes about it is so gentle. Like he’s slicing the sticker off a ripe peach so he doesn’t bruise the fruit. He stares at me with tenderness, and it fucks with my head. The tip of the blade goes in deep enough to make me tear up, but not so much that I want to pull away. He’s careful, efficient, sweeping the knife along until it clicks on something hard.
“There,” I say through my teeth. “You’ve got it.” I want to scream because the force it takes to dig under it and pop it out is excruciating. Blood trickles down my wrists and drips onto his blanket, but he doesn’t notice or appear to mind.
Sweat beads along my spine, and I fear I may throw up.
“There.” He places the small chip on the nightstand. “I don’t think you’ll need a stitch.” My skin burns as he cleans the wound. His face softens as he swipes away a stray tear from my cheek. “You’re tough, Babygirl.” The way he says it is laced with a hint of pride that has my belly going warm.
Lunatic is unlike anyone I’ve ever met. I don’t know what to think about him.
“You know what you need now?”
“No.”
His face hovers in front of mine, so close I can practically taste his toothpaste. “Ice cream.” He grins. “C’mon.”
Chapter Five
It’s late. Some of the guys are still up. I can hear them bullshitting as I lead Daisy to the kitchen.
I open up the freezer and ask, “What’s your poison? We’ve got chocolate, vanilla, strawberry, and mint chocolate chip.”
“Strawberry.”
I turn around to find her sitting on the counter in my tee, looking almost like she belongs in it. “You know…” she starts, then pauses. “Tomorrow.” She glances at the floor, choosing her next words.
“You’re going to start coming down off all the shit they dope you up with to control you. I know.”
“It’ll be bad.”
She twists her fingers together as I grab some bowls and spoons.
“We’ll take care of you.”
“Why? You don’t know me. You don’t owe me anything.”
“The truth?”
