Page 49 of Brutal Savage

I want to tell him, I do. But no good would come of it.

“No one.”

“Fine. Have it your way.” He drops his hands off of me and moves back a step. “Though I will find out and I will take care of it, whether you ask for my help or not.”

Damn it. I don’t want him to start digging and looking for Jerry. If the car that was following me wasn’t actually the gang, then Tynan would just lead them to me without realizing it. I have to tell him something without giving much away.

“Fine. I’ll tell you.”

His eyes narrow as he leans against the counter.

I scratch at my temple, trying to find the right words. “I honestly don’t know who it was. I was running, and a car came out of nowhere and started chasing me.”

“What car?” An infinitesimal jerk hits the muscles of his neck, his stare explosive, like he’s ready to tear the world apart and find the culprit.

“It was a Toyota Camry. Black. No plates, and the windows were tinted, even the front one.”

“Fuck.” He runs a hand through his thick brown hair. “I should’ve been there.”

“What?” My features draw in confusion. “Why would you be there?”

His fingers curl into a white-knuckled fist. “Never mind that. What else do you remember?”

“That’s all. I ran into the forest and got this cut from a tree branch.”

“Take it off.” He starts removing his own suit jacket, unbuttoning it and throwing it over the chair. “Your hoodie. Take it off so I can clean and bandage your wound.”

Something in my heart squeezes and emotions pound in my eyes. This is the second time he’s made an effort to take care of me.

Why would he want to? And why do I crave that so much?

Because since your mother, no one truly has.

“Come on, Elara. You don’t want it to get infected.”

I nod, blinking back tears as I start removing one sleeve. But when I try to get the other out, I grumble in pain.

“Let me.”

Our eyes connect, and I almost forget the pain. Almost forget that I shouldn’t be attracted to him.

He inhales long and deep, gently easing off the hoodie, his eyes still drowning in mine. And every time they do, something unnerving pummels in my stomach.

“Do you keep alcohol and bandages in the bathroom here or upstairs?”

“Here.”

He heads toward it, like he knows my house already. Maybe he does because he knew the old couple who lived here before I moved in.

Seconds later, he returns, placing the alcohol, ointment, and gauze on the counter before he’s undoing the buttons of his cuffs.

I know I shouldn’t be staring the way I am, but I can’t look away. The veins running up his thick forearms snake beneath his skin as he pulls the right sleeve to his elbow, exposing the rest of his tattoo, thorny vines and skulls leading up and around his entire arm. Heat zaps between my legs even as I try to fight it.

This attraction is otherworldly.

Sinful

Dark.

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