Page 14 of Violent Truth
His eyes glance over me, taking me in, and for some reason, safety washes over me. Comfort. Protection. Belonging.
He broke into my house and jerked off in my closet, then forced me into submission. There’s some unspoken agreement between us. He may haveconsideredmurdering me; he also knew he would never actually do it.
And I know he won’t hurt me.
Dice pushes himself off of the floor, then holds out a hand to help me up. His empty palm is riddled with callouses and scars, and my brain spirals with questions. How did he get those scars? What does he do for a living? What does he have against Mr. Harry?
Why is hehere?
The lack of answers doesn’t stop me. I take his hand—warm and rough—and he pulls me up. Within seconds, he grabs a blanket from my bedroom, wrapping it around me. Then he disappears into the master bathroom and returns with a wet towel and antibiotic ointment. He motions to the cut on my neck.
Is he trying to take care of me?
I take the cloth and ointment, gawking at him as I hold the towel to the superficial wound. He zips up his pants and adjusts his black shirt. I see a glimpse of a lily vine with hundreds of little blooms tattooing his side.
Then it dawns on me: how does he know where everything is in my house?
Has he been stalking me? For how long? Weeks? Months?
Is he the one who checks the mail and leaves bouquets on the dining table?
The fear never takes hold of my system. Instead, there’s longing.
I want Dice’s protective arms around me.
Our eyes meet. He turns away with a grimace, annoyed that he’s been caught staring. He rubs his forehead, his brow tense.
There’s something gentle about him, like he’s a ghostly shadow, watching over me.
I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
“Thank you,” I say.
His eyes soften, but there’s a stiffness in his posture too. He doesn’t quite believe me. His gaze studies me up and down, searching for lies and secrets. I have trust issues too. I blame my parents. It took alotfor me to ask Dice for help.
I’m not hiding anything from him now.
“You shouldn’t be thanking me,” he finally says.
The response is simple, and yet these tiny little bits of conversation feel good. Almost like I’m mining verbal gold from this quiet, stoic mountain of a man.
“You thought I was working for Mr. Harry, right?” I ask, continuing the conversation now that we aren’t having sex. “I’m not, and neither are you. And now that we’ve gotten that sexual tension out of our systems, we can worktogether.For real this time. We can be completely honest with each other. It’ll give us the best advantage.”
He dips his chin, subtly agreeing with me.
“I was going to kill you,” he says.
I nod, though it’s only partially true. He may have attacked me with that intention in mind, but if he truly wanted to kill me, he would’ve done it sooner. He’s been watching me dance for a long time now, and by the looks of it, he was stalking me that whole time too.
And that safety finds me again. My heart pounds, grasping for that shield.
Insecurity gets to me first; I tuck the blanket tighter around myself. Piper says I look for love in the wrong places, and it’s true. When your parents abandon you time and time again, and finally reject you for good, desperation fills you. You want to believe in people and forget everything they’ve done to hurt you. You’ll do anything for them as long as theystay.
That’s exactly what I’m doing with Dice. He came here to kill me, and somehow, I’m painting him like he’s a saint.
My thoughts muddle again, mixing lust and confusion, and I roll my eyes at myself. It’s way too much to think about right now.
My stomach grumbles, and Dice lifts his head.
