Page 23 of Unholy

RYLEE

Steam surrounds me as hot water trickles down my body. Shampoo is lathered into my hair, smelling of mint and eucalyptus. As it rinses down my back, tiny stings can be felt from the fresh lacerations on my body. I tense but don’t allow my face to react. It’s part of my punishment still, until it scabs over and heals.

I follow with conditioner, which has the same aromatherapeutic scent.

He is a man who projects a strong image but requires balance. Each tiny detail in his home and behind the wall he’s internally built shows me that.

A breeze of cool air overcomes the steam, followed by the overwhelming sensation of someone watching me.

Heis here.

I don’t turn or make it obvious that I’m aware of his presence. He is still a man in an organization that I detest. They ruin families. They ruin kind, good people, all for The Exiled.

Turning the water off, I reach for the towel and wrap it around my body. The shower is massive, lined with heated tiles, glass walls, and even equipped with a bench. A window is set inthe middle with a view of the backyard and woods, mountains beautifully sitting behind. It never gets old.

Opening the shower door, the steam escapes and once it’s all cleared, the view of him is clear.

A hand on the white granite countertop, legs crossed at the ankle, and still in the suit he had on last night. His gray hair is disheveled, eyes tired behind the wire frames, and his beard is in desperate need of tending to.

“Do you often watch houseguests in the shower?” Sarcasm is like a second language to me.

The corner of his mouth quirks up. “You are in my shower, so I don’t see the issue.”

He isn’t wrong.

As the door closed to his office, I decided it was time to nose around. I found myself in his master suite, then naked in his bathroom, and decided it was a far better option than the smaller bath in my room.

Wringing out my hair, water drips onto the floor. His expression doesn’t change. Still amused by my antics like I’m a child. His lack of response only further annoys me.

So, still ignoring him, I spin on my toes to leave and scurry back to my room to change, but his hand grabs my arm before I can.

“Who did that to you?” Nathaniel’s voice is deep and eerie.

Fuck. My back.

“No one. It’s nothing,” I respond casually, not wanting to get into it.

“It’s not nothing. Who? Names. Now!”

I’m not a coward; I own who I am and what I do. “Me. I did it,” I confess confidently.

“Don’t lie to me,” he counters.

I shake him off, crossing my arms and turning around. My eyes narrow as I glare. “I’m not a liar. And don’t act like you fucking care.”

Nathaniel’s face is stone, and through gritted teeth, he says, “I do care. Now, explain!”

My eyes roll, a habit I’m not ashamed of. “Not that it is any of your fucking business, because it’s not. But if you must know, I broke my own rules by coming on your floor the other night. Remember, it was when I was on my knees sucking your cock?”

His nostrils flare; it seems like he is displeased by my answer, but I’m not here to tell him what he wants to hear.

Not wanting to continue with this conversation, I change the subject. “How old are you?”

Shaking his head, he throws back at me, “Does it matter?”

Tapping my chin with my finger, I reply, “Perhaps it does. Do you happen to have a life insurance policy with my name on it?”

“Well played, Ms. Vandenberg.” He chuckles as his eyes glance over to the Mason jar I left on the counter.

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