Page 24 of The Slayer
“I’m not naked.” She looked down at herself, staring at her nightgown. “You’re more naked than I am.”
“It’s my house!” he shouted so loud she flinched. “It was locked! How’d you get in?”
She held up the key in her hand. “I clean the apartment for Jules.”
“I don’t need you to clean for me.” He yanked it from her grasp. “Why are you here?”
“You were screaming,” she said with a pointed look. “Really loudly.”
“Coño.” He was silent for a long moment, and then ran a hand over his face and lowered his head. “What did I do to you?”
“You just pulled my arm.” She rubbed her shoulder again, because it really was on fire. “I think it’ll be okay.”
“Never touch me when I’m sleeping. Never sneak up on me. Never break into my fucking house,” he barked at her again, washing hot and cold so sharply it gave her mental whiplash. “You gringos are all loco. You don’t just shake a thug when he’s having a nightmare.”
“I don’t think you’re a thug,” she whispered softly.
“Ay Dios mio.” He got to his feet, leaving her sitting there on the floor. He walked to the kitchen and pulled open the freezer. “Jules said there was ice, but there’s no fucking ice.”
She tilted her head, looking at his freezer that was completely empty. Then he opened his fridge that was also empty. “You have no food.”
“I’ve had other issues.”
“You haven’t eaten anything?” she asked in concern.
“I had cookies.”
“That’s it?” she choked out in disbelief. “For two days?”
He closed the fridge and stood there, with his back to her, and she noticed his hands were shaking. As she studied him, she realized his entire body was noticeably shaking, as if he was freezing.
“Are you cold?”
“Of course I’m cold. It’s fucking snowing outside.” He gestured to the window. “To think my brother wanted to see this mierda. I hate it. Thank God he never had to find out how much it sucks.”
“Maybe he could come visit you,” she suggested, because he was obviously very lost here in Garnet.
“He’s dead.”
“I’m sorry.” She lowered her gaze at the stark sound of pain in his voice. “Was his name Marc? You were screaming ’bout a Marc.”
“Marc is my cousin.”
“Is he gone too?” she asked, because the way he had been screaming it, she thought he might be.
“No, he’s in prison.”
“Oh.” She couldn’t hide the wide-eyed look when he turned back to glare at her as if daring her to judge him. “I’m sorry I upset you. I’m sorry ’bout your brother being gone.” She got to her feet and brushed at her nightgown. “And I’m sorry ’bout your cousin too. I’ll leave you alone.”
She turned to leave, and he groaned out loud as if defeated in some way. “Chica, wait.”
She turned back to him, trying to keep her eyes on his face, because honestly, he was very distracting in nothing but his underwear, with all those hard, cut muscles bulging and those tattoos on display. “I’m sorry,” she whispered again. “It was inappropriate to come into your apartment. I thought you were hurt.”
“I’m having a hard time,” he admitted with a wince. “I’m—” He shook his head. “I’ll get better. Itshouldget better.”
“Are you sick?” she asked curiously, because he was still shaking like he had a fever.
“I just—” He looked away. “I’ll find you ice for your shoulder. I’ll go buy some or—”
