Page 58 of Redd

Licking his lips, he pressed his face into my fingers, grunting with fervor that bristled over my skin.

I didn't fear Redd, but what he did to me scared me to death. I wasn't sure what to do with these feelings. My instinct was to roll them all up and stuff them inside like I had trained myself to do.

Because feelings equaled weakness—and there was no room for that in this game.

But these were good feelings; pushing them away would be stupid. I had hoped for a day like this, a time when I would find myself again.

It was here.

Running his thumb over the nub on my wrist, the tips of his fingers massaged my palm. “I'm not looking for you to answer me, Bijou. Because it doesn't matter, I'm doing it, I'm saving you.”

His touch was soothing, and for a split second, I forgot about the dark shadow looming over my freedom.

Is this what it feels like to be normal?

“What do you want from me?” I asked, my hand trembling in his, waiting for an answer.

“I want you to stay here. I want to make this all go away.” His free hand swept my cheek, fingers brushing through my hair. “I can do that—Iwilldo that.”

I stayed quiet, wishing it was that simple.

Not one thing about this was easy. You could say anything you wanted, but it took more than words to move a mountain. And right then, we were standing at the bottom without a damn clue.

Flicking his eyes over his shoulder, Redd freed our hands, reaching for his keys. “Shit, we need to go.” He started towards the door, stopping to look at me. “Come on, we got to go pick up Vicki.”

“Um, are you forgetting something?” Lifting my foot, I shook it. “Shoes?”

“Shoes. . . Yeah, I'm sure we've got something.” Turning around, he walked down the hall. “What size are you?”

“Seven and a half.”

I heard him tumbling around in a closet, tossing things onto the floor. “Here we go!” he yelled, his voice muffled and buried behind the walls.

Coming back into the living room, he held up an old pair of running shoes. The black color had faded off the sides, a small hole was in the tip of the toe on the right shoe, and the tread was nonexistent.

“You're lucky my sister has big feet.” Laughing, he handed me the sneakers and pointed down at me with a single brow arched. “Don't tell her I said that.”

Closing my mouth tight, I drew two fingers over my lips and tossed away an imaginary key. “Got it.” Slipping my feet inside, I laced them up. “Looks like she got some use out of these.”

“Yeah, you're telling me. She doesn't understand the meaning of brakes, likes to use her feet to stop instead. I've been trying to get her to do it right for years.” Shaking his head, he opened the door. “After you.”

How long has he been taking care of his sister?

I was tempted to ask, to dive into his past and learn how he ended up here. But I saw the pain in eyes when he spoke about his mom, and wasn't sure he'd be willing to give me those answers.

Screw it, ask him anyway.

Keeping my head down, I finished tying the shoes and stood up. “How long has it been just you two?”

“Six years.” Speaking softly, he looked up at the sky and then back at the ground as he stepped to the passenger door and opened it for me. “How long were you at that house?” he asked, holding the top of the door as I slipped inside, his lips twitching with a tender smile.

An answer for an answer. That's an equal trade off.

“Two years.” Fiddling with my thumbs, I anticipated more questions. Closing the door, he jogged to the driver's side and climbed in. He didn't ask any more.

Letting out a weighted breath, I kept my eyes out the window. Picking at my fingers, I did everything I could to not let my head go back to that house. I knew it was still fresh, the wound had yet to close.

The flashbacks were horrific, never leaving my mind for more than a minute or two. Then something would remind me of that house, of that man, of everything he stole from me.

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