Page 63 of Ruin
He has me again, and he knows it. Only he’s wrong because I’m not falling into his trap, no matter how badly I want to. No matter how badly I crave the silence he gives me, I won’t allow him to take that part of me again. This morning was a mistake—a huge fucking mistake.
I take another swig of the whiskey, hissing as it goes down. It’s never too early for alcohol, but I do like to get my stuff done before I get shit faced, but I guess if there is a reason to get fucked up this early, a potentially broken bone is the reason.
“Took you long enough,” my brother growls some time later.
My body stiffens and I pray it isn’t noticeable on the outside. The last thing I need is Lucian noting how I react to him. It’s fuel for him.
I take another swig, the bottle much lighter than it was when it was handed to me a little while ago. My body feels warm and light—same way it always does when I’m on my way to getting drunk.
“What happened?”
His voice is smooth and low, and way too fucking close.
I force my eyes open and find him standing in front of me with a frown, my brother at his side. It’s hard not to shift under his gaze.
“Got shoved into a wall. Must’ve hit it the wrong way.”
Lucian crouches down in front of me, holding out his hand. “Can I take a look?”
I blink, not moving.
“Snapper, give him your fucking hand,” Shark barks. I hold it up, trying to hide the shaking, and give him the middle finger.
Lucian sighs but snatches my wrist to look at my finger that is already purple. I don’t fight him because his touch is nice. Soft but firm and warm. My stomach flutters like butterflies have taken up residence, so I take another swig of whiskey, needing to drown those fuckers.
“Yeah, I’m gonna go…” Shark says awkwardly before turning and heading out.
Now we’re alone. Great.
I focus my attention on the door, refusing to look at Lucian directly, even though I see him in my peripheral—even though I feel the heat of his body on my legs from being so close, and smell the spiciness of his cologne. His breathing is slow and soft—calm and in control.
Always in control.
Lucian turns my hand over, and I glance down. He’s frowning slightly, brows pinched as he studies my hand, running his fingers along mine, carefully feeling around.
Is he remembering all the times it was wrapped about this dick?
Because now I am.
“If you wanted to see me, you could have called,” he says quietly, his gaze staying on my hand.
My finger is already the size of a sausage.
“Is that supposed to be funny?”
“Funny? No.” He shakes his head, then looks up at me. “Cute, maybe.”
I scoff, then take another mouthful and swallow harshly.
“Well,” he begins, putting my hand down on my lap gently and standing up. “Without an x-ray I can’t say it’s not broken, but I’m pretty sure it isn’t. Dislocated likely.”
“I already popped it back into place,” I say.
“As I assumed. As a doctor, I want you to know how stupid that was. I’ll wrap it, just try not to use it. If it is broken, it’ll take longer to heal. Messing with it will have it setting wrong. It may not be pretty when it heals.”
“I don’t give a fuck with my finger looks like, I just want it to stop hurting.”
I grit my teeth when I realize what I said.
