Page 22 of The Prodigal

If I wanted to ruin the moment—which I don’t—I would tell him that sounds an awful lot like a concerned friend. Instead, I just tip my chin and hide the remnants of a smile, ignoring the tingling swirling in my stomach. I’ve never had anyone stand up for me. I know Remington would rather chew off his big toe than do it again, but he did. That has to mean there’s good inside him, underneath all the rude and snarky comments he makes.

“Okay,” I promise. “I’ll find something better.”

I’m lying. I can barely afford dinner and gas money. The last thing I should be spending money on is a weapon. The baseball bat has always served me well. No sense in upgrading when all I need to do is lock the door if I see Gerald again.

“You do that.”

It was all the warning he gave me before dousing my open cut with antiseptic. Immediately, tears prick my eyes, and I try pulling my hand away, but Remington holds me still as one lone tear falls down my cheek. He takes the gauze and wipes gently around the open area, his gaze intently focused as he pours more of the burning liquid onto my hand.

I’d love to scream, just to distract myself, but I can’t. We’ve gone through too much tonight. I can handle a flesh burn. More than that, I have too much pride to let this man witness another tear fall.

I don’t ask for his permission. I simply lean forward and rest my mouth on his shoulder, smothering a whimper.

Immediately, his body goes tense, but after a moment, I feel him douse my hand again, which burns like the devil himself. I don’t even realize I’ve bitten him until he flinches, grunting in what I guess is pain.

“I’m sorry,” I rush out quickly. “I didn’t mean—”

He wipes my hand gently, taking care not to pull the wound open more than it already is. “I don’t think you have any glass in your hand,” he says clinically. “But it’s probably best to have a doctor check it out to be sure.”

“It’ll be fine,” I grumble into his neck, getting a whiff of cigarettes and something masculine.

He scoffs. “Don’t blame me when it gets infected and scars, then.” He continues wiping, and I manage to close my eyes for just a moment. How long has it been since someone has taken care of me like this? Never? I can’t even remember a time my mother doctored my wounds.

My voice lowers to a whisper. “I won’t,” I promise. “Thank y—”

“Don’t you fucking thank me.” He all but growls. “Don’t youeverthankme.”

Whew. Okay. Someone has a thing about being thanked. “I guess you’re used to this kind of thing, huh? With your dad being a doctor and all.”

He doesn’t respond, which is fine. I’m sure he would have said something rude anyway. Instead, he smears ointment over my hand that thankfully doesn’t burn. “You need to keep these cuts clean and dry if you’re gonna be stubborn about getting it checked out.”

Stubborn?

I chuckle, lifting my head and noticing the chills along his neck.

Huh. That’s interesting.

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thank—” I’m able to stop myself before I thank him again and then proceed to get down off the counter. “Goodnight, 101. See you around.”

I flash him a sweet smile that he doesn’t return.

Instead, his hand wraps around my wrist and pulls me to a stop. “Nights with me are never good, Eve. Don’t think you’ll be the exception.”

And then he kicks the bathroom door closed.

Eden

Ieye the closed door as my heart rate increases. “Now, now, 101. I asked if you were going to chain me to the toilet, and you said you were too lazy for such entertainment.”

He cocks a brow, and my stomach flutters. “I never said I was lazy. I said I didn’t have thepatiencetoproperly disposeof a body—not that I wouldn’timproperlydumpa body.” A grin pulls at the corner of his mouth. “Your crime shows should have taught you to pay better attention to detail.”

Gah. Even when he’s insulting me, I find him attractive. Does that make me crazy? This man is basically locking me inside the bathroom with him, and I’m not scared one bit. This feeling of safety definitely isn’t a good thing. But something about Remington puts me at ease. He’s not Gerald. Remington’s threats are merely a glossy lie disguising the real person inside.

Or that could just be me hoping, but either way, I’m not scared of this man.

“I see.” I flash him a smile and hold up my free hand for him to take. “Shall I kneel, then, so you can get on with my murder?”

His eyes flash with something like determination. “You’ll kneel to no man.” His voice is low and threatening. “Especially not me.”

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