Page 21 of Dark OZ

Crossing my arms, I attempted to pull the shirt up. It got caught, the fabric clinging to the wounds, pulling at the inflamed flesh, and tugging on the ribs in my side. I barely managed to stop the sound that crept out, strangling it before it left my throat.

A surprisingly gentle hand smoothed down the outside of my arm. “Now, can I help?”

I nodded, not able to lower my pride enough to ask for assistance in something as simple as removing my shirt.

“Turn around.” Nick made a twirly motion with his finger. When my back was to him, I felt more than heard him approach. Heat radiated towards me in waves. Shadows fell over me as his broad frame blocked out the light from above. “Can you lift your arms?”

I bit down and lifted them. My teeth pushed against my lips hard enough that the copper tang of blood on my tongue matched the burn along my back. I refused to cry out from such a simple and mundane movement.

Crowe came around in front of me, his sapphire blue gaze steady. A solid lump formed in my throat. He was about to get an eyeful of a whole lot of titty. I linked my fingers together over my head, squinting as Nick started peeling the shirt away.

“Don’t tense. Keep your eyes on me, beautiful.”

I opened them and forced a slow exhale. The blue of his eyes was so steadying, even more than the soft tone of his voice.

“That’s it, breathe.”

“Porca puttana.” The sound that left Nick was akin to a low growl. “That sadistic bitch.” Feather-light fingers drifted in diagonals over my back. “Crowe, there must be two dozen lashes here.” His fingers traced the lines at the back of my legs, forcing me to jump from the unexpected caress. “Another dozen down here.”

“I know. I told you. I saw her take the beating. It was a fucking metal-tipped flail.”

“It’s probably closer to three dozen,” I interjected, lowering my arms to cover my breasts as much as my body would allow. “She struck me three times on the back and once on the legs.” I might be mostly naked, but I refused to appear vulnerable.

“This,” I said, pointing to my side, “was from Henry’s boot.” The bruise there was a dark, angry purple, tinged green on the edges from where it was already healing. “I’m fairly certain I have a cracked rib or two.”

I framed my face with my palm like I was some kind of sweet model posing for her photo shoot. “And this was from the backhand I took moments before Eastin threw his ugly ass from the top of a high rise.” I fluttered my eyelashes for emphasis before my smile dropped into a scowl. “Now, if your eyes have had their fill, can we get on with the sutures and bandages part of the evening. It’s cold as fuck in this room, and I’d rather not spend the entire night in only my underwear.”

“Before we can do any stitching, you’re going to need to clean up as much as you can. I can literally see the filth on you, and I’m going to burn this shirt.” He flipped off the sink, steam rising from the basin. Snatching up a washcloth Nick dipped it into the water and a masterfully vivid fantasy popped unbidden into my mind. The brush of fabric and the slide of soap from those strong tattooed hands. Fuck. I mentally slapped my libido in the face.

“I’m not washing myself while you watch, perv.”

Nick’s eyebrow lifted in challenge, turning my valid concerns into a joke like he’d seen that fantasy play out all over my face. I almost cracked a smile, almost.

“Get out, Nick. I’ll take it from here.” Nick looked like he was about to protest, but Crowe cut him off. “You’ve seen what we’re working with. Now go get set up in the bedroom. We’ll be out in a minute.”

The door silently closed behind him, leaving Crowe and I alone. He walked to the tub, turning on the faucet. I crossed my arms over my chest while the room filled with humid air and the mirrors fogged up.

Crowe sat on the edge of the tub, grinning like he’d just scratched a winning lottery ticket. The pure mischief in his eyes made my heart start doing gymnastics. “Come on, beautiful. Come join me. I promise to be gentle.”

The draw to him was practically magnetic, making my instincts scream,“Yes. Yes. Yes.”But I knew better. Yeah, no. This was not happening.

“Cover your eyes. I’m not some stripper on a stage and you look entirely too satisfied by what’s going on here.”

His hand went to his eyes, fingers splaying to peek through them. “Can you blame me?—”

“Close them.” I meant it to be stern, but the laugh at the end of the command belied how good it felt to be the center of his attention. If I wasn’t careful, it would be very easy to become addicted to the heat of his gaze.

“—Even in this state, you’re gorgeous.” Crowe dutifully closed his eyes.

“Right, ” I scoffed after ensuring that he was genuinely not looking. I kicked off my underwear and grabbed for a washcloth, soaking it several times before drawing the soapy fabric over my chest and between my legs—definitely not thinking about his long fingers while I did. Or Nick’s. Definitely. “Filthy, beaten women do it for you?”

“Strong, impossible to crush spirits do. Beneath those bruises, Thea, yes,it does itfor me.”

I paused.

“Come over here, and I’ll show you exactly whatyou do to meand the many, many things I cando to you.”

Yes. Yes. Yes.Ignoring the way my body was beginning to chant, I dropped the cloth in his lap and turned my back to him. “How about instead you help me with the hard-to-reach places?”

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