Page 36 of Crawl
“What the hell is that?” Remedy shouts. A man with shit brown hair and shit brown eyes fills the doorframe to her bedroom. His shoulders puff up like he thinks he can actually do something.
“Get the fuck out,” Dean says, his fists up in the air, ready to box. “Stay back! I’ll call the police!”
He’s tall, but I’m slightly taller. And helooksmuscular underneath his button-up shirt and sweater vest, but strength alone isn’t enough to beat someone like me.
I glare at him, daring him to fight me.
“Call the police,” I say. “I’m not trespassing.”
His jaw hangs open. Remedy appears behind him, her eyes wide and her mouth gaping.
“Who are you?” Dean asks.
I’m Remedy’s landlord. Her boss. Her fucking savior.
But he’s not worth my answer. Only she is.
I turn my full attention to her.
“My little cure,” I say. I lick my lips, her peachy scent enveloping me like drizzling rain. Dean shifts, trying to get between us, blocking me from her, but I reach for her hand, and she takes mine as if Dean isn’t there. Her fingers are small and cold. The chipped black nail polish reminds me of her scabs on my back, and my muscles tense, stretching the healing skin. She’s marked me too. Her bright green eyes hold me like I’m the truth she’s been waiting for, and I let my fingertips travel up to the back of her neck, the scarf scratchy on my rough palm, hiding our secrets from him. She doesn’t want him to worry about her. And that unnerves me. Why does she care what he thinks?
But then it comes to me: the scarf is to protect me too. So that no one knows that I’m hurting her.
Because she doesn’t want to be saved.
“Cash,” she whispers.
CHAPTER 9
Remedy
My heart beats like a hummingbird skittering away from a feral cat. Cash’s dark freckled eyes gaze down at me, like he knows that he’s caught me in the middle of his trap. He’s the owner of the house, but how did he get inside? Did he bring his own key, or does he know where I keep my spare? Why is he here?
And why am I relieved?
“Thisis Cash?” Dean asks, gesturing at him. “Yourboss?”
My eyes flicker between the two of them. Dean’s fluffy brown hair, light eyes, and the ‘kindness’ he always gives me, are so different from the darkness that consumes Cash. His black hair. His rolled-up sleeves showing off his strong, muscular forearms. His dark, spotted eyes, like inkblots melting together on a page, blurring the meaning of any message. The veins in his neck constantly throb, like he’s always ready to fight. Like he wants to kill Dean. But why would he kill Dean?
And what am I supposed to do with my ex-boyfriend and my current boss-with-benefits in the same room?
“Introduce me to your friend,” Cash says, his voice low, a hint of contempt boiling in the word ‘friend.’ As ifthatis a betrayal in and of itself.
Is Cash jealous of Dean?
“Cash, this is Dean,” I say, swallowing hard as I make eye contact with Cash. He holds my gaze. “And Dean, this is Cash Winstone.”
“Mr. Winstone,” Cash says. My chest tightens at that correction, and I lean back as the two of them shake hands, clearly sizing each other up. Dean broadens his shoulders like he’s going to protect me from Cash, but Cash’s eyes stay unmoved, like he knows exactly what he’s going to do to Dean. My heart palpitates. Dean gawks at the freckles marking the whites of Cash’s eyes.
“What’s wrong with your eyes?” he asks.
“What the hell, Dean?” I ask, smacking him in the arm. “That’s rude.”
Dean rubs his arm, ignoring me. “I thought you were older,” he says.
“Plastic surgery works wonders,” Cash says, almost like a threat.
Dean angles his body in between us, to block Cash from my bedroom. “What can we do for you, Mr. Winstone?” he asks.
