Page 11 of Savage Ruin
Sterling said Cruz’ mission was going well, but that’s it, and I didn’t want to pry. It’s enough to know he’s safe. I set down the phone.
I’m lightly dozing when something cold touches my arm. Startled, I flinch away, only to be caught by a hand at my elbow. Following it up to a pair of dark blue eyes, I scowl at Grayson. “Don’t sneak up on me. Or grab me when I’m sleeping.” The memories of the past collide with the recent memories of Diego, causing my body to shake from a spike of adrenaline. Or fear. Maybe both. “Sorry. I don’t mean to be rude, but it triggers too… much.” I don’t want to admit to him how close the edge is right now, so I look away, hiding from those observant eyes of his.
I bite the inside of my cheek while I consider what my reaction means. I sigh, knowing what it means. I’m going to have to start up my therapy sessions again. On one hand, I’m relieved I already have someone familiar to talk to, but I’m also frustrated to find I’ve slipped back a few steps.
Grayson runs a finger down my arm. “I didn’t want you to burn, so I brought some sunscreen out. Knowing your preference for applying it yourself, I’d normally hand it to you, but it might be tough to get to all the places right now.” He waits, sunscreen in his hand, for me to decide.
My skin is already pink from the thirty or forty minutes I’ve been out here, and I doubt I’d do a good job of applying it right now, so I slowly nod my agreement.
He motions to the cold glob sitting on my bicep. “I’m going to start again. If it gets uncomfortable, all you have to do is say ‘stop.’ Okay?” Without waiting for a reply, his large warm hand reaches out and smooths the sunscreen down my arm to my hand. Soft, light strokes I can barely feel.
My eyes flick to his face, but he’s concentrating on the job at hand, so I blatantly stare at him. The dark circles have faded a bit, and overall, his movements are more fluid.
His eyes dart to mine when he moves down the lounger to start on my leg.
I nod my agreement to his silently raised eyebrow.
My legs didn’t fare too badly in the beating. My knees are black and blue, and my ankles have a few pink welts from the restraints, but honestly, pretty good.
His fingers stroke softly, up and down, rubbing the sunscreen into the skin. He’s meticulous in his application, and it feels divine. My legs fall open to let him get to the inside, and I hear a breath whistle out of him, but he never looks up.
Needing a distraction, I throw out the question that’s been on my mind for days. “What do you do for Zane on those missions? You were pretty banged up when you came to the hospital.”
His hands pause, but he doesn’t look up. “Why do you ask?”
“A question with a question?” I snort. Why am I not surprised? Fine. I’ll answer. “I don’t like seeing my… friends in that condition. You looked like you were in a lot of pain.” I stare steadily at the top of his head, waiting for him to look up and meet my eyes.
Blue eyes filled with surprise find mine. “Zane’s missions are dangerous. We rescue people from violent situations. Sometimes things don’t go according to plan.” He shrugs nonchalantly.
A vague answer, but an answer. “What’s your role?”
Fingers stroke circles on the inside of my thigh, and tingles radiate up toward my core. I inhale, prepared to tell him to stop, but he’s not looking at me or my legs. He’s staring off into the distance. I quietly release my breath and focus on him.
“Zane calls me when he needs a negotiator or an interrogator. Both take advantage of my unique ability to tell lies from truth. Plus, people tend to gravitate toward me. Some even like me,” he asserts with a smirk in my direction. He switches to the other side of the lounger and starts on my left leg.
“What about the danger? Aren’t you scared?”
His hands stop rubbing the lotion for a brief second. “Yes.”
“Why do you do it?” My question hangs in the air for a second while he considers answering it.
He finishes up my leg and moves up the lounger to my left arm. “Almost done,” he assures me.
Disappointed by the lack of an answer, I frown and watch his fingers finish the job. My arms and legs tingle pleasantly everywhere he’s touched, but my mind is a jumble of thoughts while I try to work out the why without his input.
He caps the bottle and turns back to me. “Now you can stay out here and work with Mateo for a while.” He stands. “I go on the missions because I need reassurance that I can still separate the lies from the truth and haven’t allowed myself to become lax. It helps Zane, too, but like all things”—he gives a self-deprecating laugh—“I do it for myself.”
He walks off, and I hear him mumble something about Green Day to Mateo, who only laughs.
Mateo comes up beside me and hands me my laptop.
“Do you go on missions with Zane, too?” I blurt out.
He tilts his head and darts a speculative glance toward the patio, where Grayson just disappeared. “He told you?”
“I asked. He answered,” I reply. Sort of.
He sits on the lounger across from me. “No, I don’t go on missions with Zane. Neither does Thiago. Only Grayson. Sometimes the past drives us to do things we wouldn’t normally consider.” He opens two laptops and waits for me to open mine. “I’ve reset these. This is going to take a while, so let’s get started.”
