Page 156 of Altius
Thankfully, Quinton—one of Audra’s mates—was a pit bull in the courtroom, especially where our family was concerned. His tenacity was the driving force behind all the zeroes attached to my accident settlement.
I had no idea how many laws Garvey had violated. Assault, obviously. Probably an infringement upon an omega’s right to work, designation intimidation, and excessive use of alpha dominance.
Maybe Alijah recorded something damning that would strengthen the potential case.
Draping the towel around my neck, I took off my tennis shoes, which were miraculously still clean. Shivering as my sock-clad toes met the cold tile, I pulled off my pants.
They went in the garbage, along with my ruined vest and shirt, too tainted to bother saving.
Even if I somehow managed to clean them before flying home, the guys would probably burn them as a matter of principle. Something I’d rather avoid, given I already smelled like a bonfire of rotting wood, according to Alijah.
I reached for the sweatshirt on top of the pile of clothes, but Alijah gently interjected.
“Wait, spray first.”
Despite the surreal nature of the moment—standing in a sterile bathroom, stripped down to my underwear, being dousedin scent-canceling spray—I couldn’t help but be charmed by Alijah.
The furrow of concentration between his brows, the even white teeth digging into his bottom lip as he worked his way across my back and down my arms, inch by methodical inch, determined to banish every offending wisp of Garvey’s burnt match scent.
Alijah stepped closer, giving my chest and neck a few tentative sniffs. His gaze veered toward my red, swollen wrist. A disgusted grumble sounded low in his throat. He whipped toward the sink, turned on the hot water, and grabbed a towel.
“I already washed,” I said, reaching for the faucet. “Besides, I’m going to shower as soon as we get back.”
“You’re not leaving here smelling likethat.” There was a cold certainty to Alijah’s gaze I’d never seen before. “That asshole scent-marked you, and the spray’s not strong enough. It’s making me crazy. So just—just let me do this, okay?”
How could I possibly refuse?
First, he scrubbed me from chin to sternum until the scratchy weave of the towel left my skin a raw shade of pink.
Tender fingers guided my sore wrist beneath the steaming water. A pair of gashes ran along the side of my hand and up my forearm, courtesy of my collision with the supply cabinet.
It took three applications of liquid soap before Alijah was satisfied.
“Do you have anything for this in your bag?” he asked, dabbing a fresh towel across my injured wrist. “Pain cream, or—”
“How about a can of freeze spray?”
Face contorted with dismay, he shook his head and opened his mouth—preparing to unload on me—only to abruptly close it again and move on to drying my hair.
I decided to push my luck. “Are dream girls exempt from scoldings?”
“Hmph.” The pressure of his fingers against my scalp increased, rubbing harder for a few seconds before falling away. He gathered the used towels and dropped them in the trash.
Then he took a garish t-shirt with a graffiti-style Captain Tusker from the top of the pile and handed it over. “It’s a large.”
“Works for me,” I said, ignoring the sting of pain as I slipped my arms inside and pulled the shirt over my head. “Pants?”
He handed over a pair of roomy sweatpants. “Extra-large, but they have a drawstring. Figured we could roll up the bottoms or cut them.”
“As long as they keep my legs covered for the ride back to the hotel, they’re perfect.”
After tightening the drawstring, he insisted I put on a sweatshirt, placed a baseball cap over my damp hair, and sprayed me down a few more times for good measure.
“How long will it take to pack your things?” he asked, glancing at his watch.
“At the hotel?”
“Yeah.”
