Page 37 of In the Grey of Dawn

All it takes is some drunk idiot with a knife or an unseen hit to the head. Everything could change in the blink of an eye, so even though he's not running into danger like Dante and Ace, there is still a risk something could happen and it makes me unsettled to know I might not be there to save him if it does.

In fact, I might make that my job for the day, checking all of his first aid supplies and making sure he has the proper things on hand for typical bar fight wounds. Come to think of it, I don't know if I've even seen a first aid kit at all.

Opening the bathroom door I call out to Porter, admiring his body as he takes a shower. The water drips over his muscles, highlighting the dips and shadows as his tattoos dance across his skin. The pendant he wears around his neck, iridescent in the light.

“I'm going to check out your first aid supplies down in the bar. I’ll be back in a little bit,” I say grinning at him, actively resisting the urge to join him.

“Could you help me scratch an itch instead?” he says, as he leisurely strokes his heavy cock. “I barely had my fill when you sat on my face during breakfast, my cock needs a taste of your pussy too.”

Well fuck.

The way this man can stop me in my tracks when he talks like this. I've never met someone so confident and relaxed when he talks dirty and I am absolutely here for the times he catches me off guard.

“It's tempting,” I moan, squeezing my thighs together to ease the throbbing in my clit, “But I need to check what supplies you have in your first aid kits, you do have first aid kits right?”

“Of course we do. I don’t know when they were last used but we have them.”

Shaking my head at his response, I say, “I’ll take stock and update them then. I'll feel better knowing you have everything you need in case something happens.”

“Hassomething happened? Where is this coming from, baby? I've had the bar for years and nothings gone wrong in all that time,” he says, leaving the shower running and walking over to stand in front of me, water dripping to the floor, concern etched on his face.

“It's nothing, just with Dante and Ace leaving. I just have a feeling and I think it's made me a bit unsettled knowing they're going into a dangerous situation. I've had enough therapy to know I should try and focus on what I can control so it will make me feel better to stock up your supplies.”

Reaching out I put a hand on his chest, directly over his heart, before leaning in and kissing the exact spot I was touching.

“Let me wash this off and I'll come down and show you what I have, but be warned, it's not much,” he says, brushing his lips across mine, a small smile on his face as he walks back into the shower spray and ducks his head under the water.

Marching into the bar a few moments later, I always forget how dark it is without the overhead lights on. There are several high windows in the space but it's more like we're in a basement because they’re placed high on the walls, letting only a small amount of daylight in when everything is shut down for the day.

The faint smell of cigarettes gets stronger as I walk toward the main light switch. I didn't think Porter allowed smoking inthe bar but someone must have had one last night because the smell is almost fresh in the quiet space.

A small red ember gets my attention just as I'm about to turn on the lights. The faint silhouette of a person sitting in the near dark, now visible to me as the smoke curls around their shadow. Without hesitation, I turn on the main overhead light, blinding me for a second as my eyes adjust to the brightness, gasping at the man sitting on the other side of the bar with a glass of amber liquid in front of him.

Taking a drag of his cigarette, a wicked grin spreads across his face as we lock eyes.

“Miss me?”

I can't help but scream in excitement. A little piece of home, coming to surprise me.

Chapter 22 - Porter

It's the faint sound of someone squealing that gets my attention. I'm just buckling my belt when it echoes off the walls. The unusual sound makes me tilt my head in confusion.

Someone squealed.

Like a kid being given a bucket of candy.

Charlie doesn't squeal. Unless I'm forcing orgasms from her but I've never heard her squeal in joy about anything.

Someone squealed and I don't like it.

Charlie.

Not bothering to put a sweater on, I take the eight-inch knife from under my pillow, nicking my finger on the reverse serrations along the spine.

I'm a sucker for a dual purpose weapon, which is one of the reasons I like to sleep with this knife. The way it slides into a person so perfectly they would almost miss that it was there. It causes minimal bleeding when inserted, and the blade is so sharp it feels like a small pinch going in. What makes it my favourite though, is when you pull it out. Even the smallest amount of upward pressure causes the serrated spine to tear andclaw at the once smooth flesh. It's like a saw as it hacks at the skin over and over with each tug of the handle.

Hurdling down the stairs from my apartment, I slam open the door to the bar and see the arms of a man wrapped around Charlie. Her long hair covers his face as he holds the back of her head in a tight embrace.

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