Page 48 of A Pawn in the Game
My chest heaves with exertion and I retract my hand, ignoring the sting of it. There’s no need to check his pulse. He couldn’t possibly be alive with his eyeballs detached from his face, or parts of his brain showing.
It’s disgusting. But not nearly as disgusting as the sight of fear in Sophie’s warm eyes when he tried to have his way with her.
I release a strained breath, suddenly feeling exhausted.
“Is he…dead?” A soft voice breaks through the sound of my ears ringing.
I huff, wiping my hand on Zvone’s shirt. “Yeah, I think it’s a safe bet.”
The asshole is dead, and my body is aching, but the anger boiling in my stomach hasn’t subsided one bit.
“Luka?” she says, making me glance toward her. She swallows, and the sight of her form on that couch is almost too much to bear. She pulled her cami down and panties up, but her eyes are still blown wide, her hair a mess. Acid builds in my throat at the thought of what could have happened.
I clear my throat, remembering she called after me. “Yeah?”
“Thank you.” Her voice is barely above a whisper, and her eyes are glossy, but she doesn’t look away. She holds my gaze in earnest.
I get up from the floor, needing to get the blood off me. “Don’t thank me. I’m the reason this happened in the first place.”
And that’s the crux of it all. I might have just beaten Zvone to death, but I’m the fucking reason he had a chance to get to her at all. I’m the one who kidnapped her and brought her here. I’m the one who’s been keeping her here. And I’m the one who avoided her because of the guilt I felt, letting these assholes think they’re free to do whatever they want.
I start for the bathroom, but her response stops me. “You protected me. You protected my honor.”
Anger overflows inside of me, my fists growing hot again. “I haven’t protected your honor. I protectedmine!” My finger stabs my chest as my voice roars in the otherwise silent room. She shakes her head, so I continue, “He was disobeyingmyorders! I couldn’t let that happen.”
“That’s not what that was…”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” I scoff, turning to the bathroom, but her hand grabs my wrist. “I’m the one who keeps you here!” I shout, but she doesn’t flinch.
She leads me by my wrist into the bathroom. I lether, too tired to argue. Besides, she deserves more than for me to scream at her after everything that has happened. She turns on the faucet and lowers my hands under the lukewarm spray of the water.
“You’re the one who told me the world wasn’t so black and white.” I search her eyes for a trace of doubt but come up blank. She truly believes what she’s saying. She sees me as her savior, even when I’m everything but.
The crimson liquid spills from my hands, trickling down the drain as she massages the soap into my flesh, cleaning it thoroughly. My skin is cracked, my knuckles are swollen, but my bones are intact after all. I flex my fist a couple of times to make sure, and even though it’s painful, there’s no restriction of movement.
The water stops, and her touch is soft and warm as she lifts my hand to study it. Her fingers trail over mine, leaving goosebumps in their wake. They make their way over my palm and broken knuckles, before her lips follow the same path. She presses a kiss to each one, as if thanking them for keeping her safe. My heartbeat picks up, and I clench my jaw at the unfamiliar, gentle touch.
And just when the intimacy of the moment becomes uncomfortable, she moves my hand slowly down her body, stopping when it reaches her white cotton panties. The worn-out lightbulb crackles, jerking me away.
“Sophie, I…” I start to say, but she draws my hand back and presses my palm onto her heated flesh.
“Please, Luka. I still feel his hands on me.” Her voice pleads. “Help me.”
Finally, I dare to look at her. Her eyes are a forest floor after a summer rain, warm and soft, yet dampened with tears.
It’s not that I don’t want to. Fuck, my dick strains against my blood-soaked pants with the thought of it, but guilt lies heavily on my shoulders. I’d do pretty much anything to make her feel better. Even when I feel like this is the worst thing to do.
I shut my eyes, coming to terms with my decision beforepulling my gaze down to where my hand is hovering over the apex of her thighs.
My gaze catches on her bare legs, her toned thighs carved with tiny little scars. There’s too many of them to count, and even though they look old, I feel them as if they’re carved into my own flesh.
Her breath hitches and as I look up, I see the way her mouth dropped.
“Who did this to you?” I barely mutter out. The pot of rage simmers again, a knot constricting my throat.
“I-I don’t…”
I pick her chin up with my hand, repeating my question. “Who. Did. This. To. You?” Keeping my voice level is a struggle. I want to kick, scream and kill the motherfucker who hurt her.
