Page 81 of Overcast

I pull her closer so that I don't drop her on her ass, and she bangs her head against the bathroom counter.

She’s too fucking small.

She hasn't eaten in more than two days, I don't remember her drinking anything, and I'm a shitty babysitter/hostess. I should've force-fed her, it wouldn't be the most horrible thing I've done.

Stepping into the warm water with one foot, I hoist her up by her ass and into the tub with me. As delicately as I can, it's when her forehead hits mine, that I pause from placing her down. When her shallow breaths brush along my lips, she gives me something I thought I'd never see from her.

Trust.

Something I undoubtedly don't deserve.

If she has an older brother, I'd hand my ass over for him to beat for the atrocities I've rendered onto her. I let blind rage and hostility take over everything, she never stood a damn chance.

And things could be so much worse.

I could've discovered the real blonde behind the attack and then had to live with the anguish and guilt that I murdered—not killed—my first innocent for the rest of my life. That I didn't do all the research.

I did none.

I followed Hollis's truck, saw a woman that resembled her, and waited impatiently for Bishop and my guys. When they showed up, the rest is prejudiced history between us. We burst into that house with zero fucks and one mission.

The woman in my arms.

The beautiful blonde who weakly lets me hold and take care of her.

She didn’t deserve me.

'd hand her off to Mills, but I don't fucking like how he gawks at her. Bishop is as cold as me, and I don't know if he'd be an upgrade or if she'd be worse off.

"I'm going to lay you down," I mutter, the warm liquid in the tub already reaching my ankles. "I'll make quick work of it and get you back in bed."

Doing what I said, I unhurriedly recline her frame in the water to soak and soothe away any aches and pains. Once I know she’s not going to slip, I remove myself out of it because it’s too damn tiny for the both of us.

On my knees, I reach for the bar soap and shampoo, keeping the water on to keep it warm at all times. I cup water into my hand, letting it cascade down her hair and keeping my eyes glued to her blonde locks.

And nowhere else.

This is far past the time to be checking her out when she probably feels like jumping off a cliff just to end things already.

My current mission is bathing this woman without drowning or hurting her.

I focus on what I've given myself to accomplish and squeeze my shampoo into my palm, massaging it into her scalp. I concentrate on clean skin and not how my fingertips are grazing and smoothing over her forearms, her creamy thighs, and calves.

I glance at her chest through her, now soaked shirt to make sure she’s still breathing, which is important. What I need to make sure she’s doing and not how my cock is reveling with excitement at how we can stroke her without her flinching away.

Fucking idiot.

Her eyes are closed, and if she has fallen asleep, that's fine, I just need to make sure her heart still beats. She needs to eat, but I'll worry about that later.

Bed, cleaning and rebandaging her wound, and then food.

Nodding to myself, I continue my objective, applying more suds to her slim legs, her torso, and around the bandage to her side.

Tipping my eyes to her face, she looks peaceful and unconcerned with the world, so I take my opportunity to start working off the sticky tape clotted by days’ old blood.

She doesn’t stir as I gingerly begin scraping it away with my nail until I’m left with one option—ripping it off.

More guilt.

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