Page 69 of Steel Rain

He looked so exhausted that I felt bad. Was it because of me? Had I ruined his sleep? Had I burdened him?

At least he chuckled, his shoulders lightly moving as the sound bounced off the bare, brick walls.

He started to boil some hot water in a pot on the tiny kitchen stove.

“That’s the vicious rumor.” He brought the heat level down on the burner, then turned to look at me. “Make sure this doesn’t burn the house down while I shower.”

Without a word, he went into the bathroom. I heard the shower running. He didn’t even close the door. Not that I could ravish him, or anything, at that moment. I felt like I had been run over by a truck, so I wasn’t going to jump his bones anytime soon.

Though I kinda wanted to.

I had watched him beat Keith. I saw him spar, nearly bringing my oppressor to within an inch of his life. There was something beautiful in that. Something in me wished he had finished the job.

When he stepped out, he only had a towel around his waist, his skin still dripping with the warm water that steamed off of his skin. It was like he could create his own mist. Like he was some sort of mythical creature.

He went to the kitchenette, turning down the burner, tossing in some of the eggs, then stirring.

“What are you making?” I finally asked, the curiosity getting the better of me.

I wanted to be stoic and unaffected. I wanted to seem easy going and uncaring. But I couldn’t help but watch every single movement as if it was in slow motion, beautiful, purposeful, and … mine.

“Egg drop soup,” he said, finally turning off the burner. He grabbed a bowl from an upper cabinet, tossed in a spoon, and poured the liquid from the pan directly into it. “I’d feed you like an infant, but I have a feeling you’ll hate that. So, I figured soup you could drink from the bowl would be a good start.”

He came over with the white bowl in his large palm, handing it to me.

With two shaky hands, I took the hot bowl, my fingers marveling at the warmth. I blew across the surface, watching the steam fly with my breath.

I looked up, and he was staring at me, his tongue darting out to taste his bottom lip. Was that lust in his dark eyes? Was he staring at my mouth? Then I blushed, realizing that he was probably staring at the swollen cut on my lip.

I brought one hand to my face, suddenly self-conscious about the shiner on my eye, and the numerous black and blue marks that riddled my body.

“Why did Keith do this to you?” he asked, reaching out to pull my hand away. Then he ran a finger down the side of my temple and I resisted the urge to lean into his touch. So much so that I almost dropped the soup.

“Why did the scorpion sting the frog?” I responded with a question. “Because it’s in his nature.”

He sat on the bed, and I felt the mattress dip with his weight. “He’s fixated on you. Why?”

“We were supposed to get married. Then I ran away.” I tried to smile, but it hurt my face to do so. “A narcissist fixates on those who embarrass them.”

“And you think he was embarrassed by your disappearance?”

“He was left at the altar. I’m sure that it wasn’t great for his ego.”

Ajax nodded. “What did he do to make you run away? From what I gather, it sounded like you had wanted that marriage …”

My throat got thick. Like it was full of fungus and slime, silencing me. Iknowthat I had said the words to Eoghan. I had thrown the word out, and watched his eyes dull. I wanted to stab him with the knowledge, so that he knew what he had done. What they had left me with. How theirShinyhad broken beyond repair, and they had stood by and done nothing, clasping hands with the man who had broken me.

I wanted them to know what their friendship had been worth.

But I didn’t want Ajax to see me that way. I wanted him to see me the way he had in the alleyway. In the octagon. On the mat.

Strong. Feral. A She-Wolf.

She-Wolves aren’t broken. They’re not living in the shadow of past hurts. They don’t dye their hair jet black, and keep it short so that they’re not reminded of the long, beautiful hair that they had treasured, and how it had been used to pin them down while a man stole what he wanted from her.

I wanted him to know, yes. I wanted him to know me. To see me. But just not those parts of me.

“Please don’t ask me,” I whispered, staring into the soup.

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