Page 36 of Wicked Duty
My brain understands our dynamic, but my emotions aren’t following.
In the back seat next to Nika, I barely have enough energy to share with her that I advanced to the next round in the Runway Revolution competition.
She squeezes my hand while peppering me with questions and assuring me that I won’t have to worry about the men who tried to kidnap me tonight since they’re now in Irish Kings custody.
But I will anyway.
God knows those two thugs weren’t working alone.
Whoever sent them will try again. That’s what no one wants to say during the ride home in the XXL luxury-SUV.
Only an act of God could rip the target off my back.
An image of Viktor Roguilin’s face snaps into my mind. I still shudder when I think of him. The terror of trying to appease him, of disassociating from reality when he did unspeakable things to me.
When we finally pull up outside my apartment building, I swallow down the acidity of those awful memories and hug Veronika for dear life.
Darren and Nika say their goodbyes and leave me alone with my guard dog once again. I don’t speak or wait for him. I just hold myself tightly and head toward the entrance to my building, knowing he’ll follow.
We step into the elevator and stand like strangers during the short trip to the eighth floor. We walk in the same tense silence down the hallway to my apartment.
“You never answered my question from before.” A gentle hand settles on my back. “You okay?”
I jump at the contact. “I’m fine,” I lie. “And don’t pretend like you give a damn.”
I doubt he truly cares one way or the other. Apart from not getting a bad mark on his guarding record. I whirl to face him, the accusation on my tongue. But the first thing I spot is a growing red stain on his shirt, and the comment dies in my throat.
“You’re bleeding!”
Chapter 14
Callum
Standing shirtless in Lucy’s tiny kitchen beneath an ancient, buzzing overhead light was not how I expected my evening to end.
As soon as she noticed the slash that son of a bitch cut into my side during our struggle, she flipped out and started rummaging around her house for first aid supplies.
“What’s the big deal?” I groan as she rushes past me and returns a few moments later with a small red case tucked under one arm and an unreadable expression. “And don’t pretend like you give a damn.” I echo her sentiment from a few minutes ago just to get a reaction.
Nothing.
The silent treatment jars me. I’d rather have her screaming and clawing at me than floating around like a ghost.
In the week since the two of us began this new living arrangement, I’ve managed to get a good read on her mannerisms. A bodyguard pays attention to the person he’s protecting, but this goes beyond that. I watch her. All the time. And that isn’t remotely normal.
Right about now, I should be on the receiving end of a “bite me” or “fuck stick” jab. Lucy curses when she’s pissed. Shelashes out with sarcasm. This is the first time she’s ever reacted with silence, and I don’t like it.
What nonsense is spinning through that stubborn skull of hers? Is she still upset about my earlier comment at the club?
I’m about three seconds from blowing a gasket just to break the quiet when she finally speaks.
“You’re right.” She slams the case on the kitchen counter, keeping her eyes low and trained on the injured part of my body like she can’t bear to meet my eyes. “I don’t give a damn. But I hate the smell of blood, and you reek of it.”
“So I’ll shower.”
“Yep.” She rips the kit open and pulls out disinfectant wipes and a slew of differently sized bandages. “Right after I take care ofthat.”
She pulls a kitchen table chair up next to me and seats herself so she’s eye level with my wound. Then she starts disinfecting the cut, which hurts like a bitch. She winces every time I do, and after a few moments of burning the hell out of me, she starts muttering.
