Page 9 of Saved By the Rogue

"And me, now," I remarked, managing a small smile.

"And you," he agreed. "How’s your tattoo feeling?"

"It hurts like fucking hell," I admitted, glancing down at it. I was still getting used to it there on my wrist – it felt like a surprise every time I saw it out of the corner of my eye, though I figured that would improve with time.

He chuckled.

"You’ve got quite a mouth of you," he shot back. I felt my cheeks flush slightly.

"Sorry," I muttered.

"No, it’s fine," he assured me. "I like it. I thought you would be...different, that’s all."

"Different how?" I wondered. I guessed plenty of people in this city had some kind of view of me, due to me being part of the family of a prominent politician, but I didn’t get out and about enough to find out what that might have been.

"Snobby," he replied. "And I didn’t think you would curse as much."

"I think that’s kind of new for me," I confessed. "I...my family didn’t like it when I cursed. Said it wasn’t ladylike."

He snorted.

"Fuck that," he replied. "That’s some bullshit if I ever heard it. Sometimes a good curse word is the only way to respond to something, no matter if you’re a man or a woman."

I giggled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

"Agreed," I replied. I was starting to feel a little less tense in his presence, though there was something about the way he looked at me that made it slightly tricky to think straight.

"Can I ask you something?" I blurted out before I could stop myself. I knew I likely should have been keeping my mouth shut and worshipping the ground he walked on for helping me in my time of need, but there was so much on my mind, I hardly knew where to start. He lifted his chin.

"Shoot."

"Why are you helping me?"

He stared back at me for a moment, like he hadn’t been ready for that question.

"What do you mean?”

"I mean, I don’t see...I don’t see what’s in it for you," I continued, speaking quickly, before I had a chance to talk myself out of this. "Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful, really grateful, but I just...I can’t figure out why you would want to do this. Are you getting paid for it? Don’t worry, you can tell me, I understand if you are, I just...I want to know so we’re on the same page..."

I trailed off as he stared at me. Something about being under that gaze made the hair on the back of my neck stand up and made me burble something awful. Slowly, he shook his head.

"I’m not doing this because I can make money off of it," he replied, his voice dropping slightly, as though he was pissed I would even suggest.

"Then why?" I asked. "You – you said it yourself; you already have a business to take care of-"

"Because it’s the right thing to do," he replied, cutting me off. "Not everything has to be about money or power. Though I guess that’s how your family raised you."

I bit my lip, holding back a protest. He sighed, as though he could see how much that had stung.

"I didn’t mean it like that," he muttered apologetically. "I meant...I’ve been through some shit in my life, too, and if someone hadn’t stepped in to offer me help when I needed it, I don’t know where the fuck I would be."

"You have?" I prompted him, eyes widening. I wanted to hear more. I needed to. I needed to know I wasn’t alone in this complete and utter mess.

"Yeah," he replied, pulling his gaze from mine. I could tell this was a sore spot for him.

"What...what happened?" I asked softly, but he shook his head.

"Let me see your tattoo," he told me, nodding towards my arm. I held it out to him. I had slept in the clothes I’d warn yesterday, nothing else in my backpack – everything else I had to my name was back at the motel, and I hadn’t dared go back there when I was sure those men would still be out looking for me. Even though the covers were still tucked around me, I felt exposed as I extended my arm, wrist up, toward him.

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