Page 79 of Ravens
I like York, and I hate William. Those feelings couldn’t be clearer, but there is no future for us, not in this business. It’s insane to think there could be. There is even less of a future with William, obviously. Maybe that’s another reason why I’m starting to feel this way around him. There is no future in it . . . just fun. Although, there is no guarantee of fun either. William feels dark, like he could choke the life out of me in the middle of it and not lose any sleep over the error. If it was an error.
A shiver goes over me, and my nipples tighten.
Locking the door behind me, I turn on the faucet, running the water until it warms and then popping the plug in as I begin undressing. I scoop the top half of my shortened hair up and secure it with a clip, before adding bath oil and some bubble bath to the water.
In my ideal world, I get out of here, get away, and escape to a beach somewhere. Every now and then as the years wear on, York appears, stays for a while to whisper crazy shit in my ear, and then disappears again. No commitment, no expectations . . . no ownership. Maybe in the off-season . . . William appears too.That’s a stupid fantasy, I chastise, though it says something very clear that my ideal world involves visitation rights.
Fuck. I stare at the water until the bath is half-full and then slip into the mountain of bubbles. My head falls back against the lip of the old iron tub, and that’s when I realize I forgot a towel.
Shit.
There is a mechanical click, and the door swings open. I gasp, sloshing the water as I dip lower into the bubbles.
William walks in, folding away a pocketknife, and sets a towel on the counter. “You really going to run on us?”
I raise a brow. “You really going to chase me down?”
His attention drops to the bubbles and then down the length of the tub, stopping where my knee breaks the surface. “You’re fucking right, I will.”
“Even with that bad knee?” I pout slightly.
Smiling broadly, he glances at his feet, but when his eyes flick back up, the smile slips away. “What bad knee?”
Goddammit.
Pushing off the counter, he pulls the door open again and slips through, pausing part way. “You should lock the door.” He twists the lock and pulls the door closed behind him.
I’ve made too many guesses without enough confirmation, which has let me fall into the assumption of correctness. I was certain he had a bad knee . . . He put on a show of it, and I fell for it. And he had a story to go with it. I keep forgetting that we’re all playing the same game.
The thing about William is, as much as I detest him at this point, heisvery attractive. It’s an unassailable point of fact. He’s nailed that Texan thing down. He’s tall, strong . . . bit of a scumbag. Still, I’d take him for a ride if I never had to look at him again. What does it say about me that I’d even consider it after he shot me, though?
Sinking further into the bubbles, I exhale and begin plotting what my escape is going to look like now.
Thirty-Five
Wrapped in a towel, I peek up and down the hall before tiptoeing out of the bathroom and heading down to the room at the top of the stairs where York is. My room now, for all intents and purposes, but historically it was my grandparents’ room.
I make it there undetected in my towel and close the door behind me. The lights are out, and the curtains drawn, but it’s midday, so it isn’t really dark. York’s chest rises and falls quietly, and I stop at the side of the bed, placing my hand on his chest. The rhythmic thump of his heart against my fingertips is grounding, and I absorb it for a few seconds before lifting my hand to his brow. It’s dry and warm, not hot. So far, no obvious signs of infection, but I’ll need to check his bandage in a few hours and change it.
“You care about him.” William’s voice is just above a whisper behind me.
I freeze and let my eyes drift shut, knowing he’s probably tucked into the corner of the room. It never even crossed my mind that he might have slipped in here. Logically, I know he’s just checking on his friend, but this is my space. It feels like an intrusion, especially since York is here.
“Yes,” I say, turning to face him. “He’s taken care of me repeatedly when he didn’t have to. He took care of me after you.”
“Mm.” He nods slowly, leaning back in the wooden chair. “It’s important to care for your valuables.”
That shouldn’t sting so much. York feels strongly for me, and I should discourage it far more than I have, but I’ve been confused by the things I feel for him too. Far too often, I’ve entertained the possibility ofus. More than once though, I considered that it was exactly what William just posited . . . that he was trying to keep me alive because he needed me that way. Because I’m most valuable to him breathing.
But in the moments themselves, when it was just us, there was real concern for my well-being, real rage that I was hurt to begin with . . . His compassion was real. It wouldn’t be if he didn’t really care in some way.
How dare William try to make me believe otherwise.
“You’re a miserable prick.” I shake my head. “Jealous.”
“Jealous?” He gets to his feet and crosses toward me. I grip the towel around my chest tightly, and he grins in the dimly lit room. “Of what?” He leans in close, and I can hear him scentmy hair right before he kisses my temple and walks out of the room.
My eyes sting, and my throat tightens. Fuck, I don’t understand what’s going on with him. Between feeling whatever I feel for York and William’s ridiculous rollercoaster of behavior that’s leaving me completely fucking lost . . . I might have a breakdown. One second, he’s threatening to kill me, the next he’s hitting on me. Sometimes it’s an insult, other times just a look, a subtle flirtation, a broad smile, a laugh, the way he says my name . . . the way he looks at me. And then he’s degrading me again, and everything begins feeling threatening like it did in the beginning.
