Page 57 of Enemy of the State

“We need a cigarette,” I say in answer, signaling that we need to discuss things somewhere far more private.

He nods. “How did Borman know about the termination order?”

I scrub a hand down my face and look at him. “That’s something I plan to find out.”

Louhi

When my eyelids part, Honey Eyes is gone, and Sean is no longer by my bedside. My chest tightens for a moment until I realize that I’m no longer resting on the too-soft pillow, but the hard muscle of a thigh.

Strong hands run through my hair, tugging and pulling on the midnight strands. I begin to twist my neck to look up at Sean, when he snakes a hand around the front of my neck, holding my movements captive as his husky voice chastises me. “Stop moving, Lou. I need to finish the braid.”

“You’re braiding my hair?” I ask, my words vibrating against his palm. He slides his hand from my neck and resumes playing with my hair.

“I thought you might like it out of your face so it didn’t get into the antiseptic cream I applied to the scratches on your cheeks.”

It feels good to have his hands threaded into my hair, my eyes sliding closed again as I revel in the intimate gesture. No one’s ever done something like this for me, not since my mum was alive. Then again, it’s not like I reallydate. I don’t have boyfriends or girlfriends. Sure, I fuck…a lot, but I make sure they—or I—leave when it’s over. Dating requires trust and that’s not something I give freely, if at all. My line of work doesn’t allow for mistakes like trusting the wrong person. Even if I found someone I wanted to date, I’ve had my heart closed off for so long, I don’t know how to let someone in.

All that was true until Sean prowled into my life, knocking down barriers I’ve had in place for nearly two decades.

“How do you even know how to braid?”

Shifting so he has better access, I face the far wall, feeling him tug on the strands of my hair as he replies quietly after a beat. “I have a sister.”

I’m sure he’s wondering if he can trust me the same way I’m exploring those same tentative threads woven between us.

“Only a sister?”

There’s a heavily pregnant pause, but he eventually answers, “Yes.”

It doesn’t go unnoticed that he doesn’t give me their name, but I still take it as a win that I internally celebrate. I’d never go after anyone in Sean’s family, but he’s clearly still a little apprehensive about sharing pieces of himself with me. That’s something I can understand, since I’m obviously doing the same.

Feeling the need to reassure him with his own words from yesterday, I assert, “You can trust me, you know.”

He doesn’t respond, but he heard me. I don’t know if he believes me, but he should. I want him to know that I’d have his back and protect him like I’d protect myself. While those emotions are a first for me, they feel good.

He finishes with my French braid, and I sit up, moving to face him. He’s still bare from the waist up, his expanse of muscled planes and tanned, ink-free skin on display. He must’ve cleaned the blood splatter from his forearms at some point, though his trousers are still speckled with the crimson spray from last night.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, and I gaze at his face, grateful that he hasn’t replaced the mask. His face is even more attractive than the rest of him—and that’s saying quite a lot—but I can’t help wondering if he’d lookevenhotter with a dusting of facial hair andgrowing out his hair a tad. Although, I doubt the army would take my evaluation under consideration.

When he locks out his darkness, he appears buttoned-up, and I briefly fantasize about dragging him into the shadowy blackness with me for a little while.

After his performance last night, I have no doubt he’d more than simply survive in my world. He’d bloodythrive.

“Better,” I answer, then after a beat, I add, “Thank you…for everything.”

In my world, thanking people is much like apologizing in that it doesn’t really happen. Transactions take place and you’re expected to complete the job. Gratitude is expressed via payment or the fact that no one took a hit out on you.

Except, Sean isn’t in my world right now, I’m in his, and Iamgrateful.

He moves to the counter, producing a disposable pre-pasted toothbrush for me. Desperate to clean my teeth again, I follow him, seizing the opportunity to brush my teeth once again.

Leaning against the counter, his arms cross over my chest as he watches me scrub my teeth clean, spitting into the sink, then brushing them again. Wiping my mouth clean with the face cloth he offers me, I savor the minty flavor lingering on my tongue.

As we stand there, our eyes stay glued to each other for several moments before he dares to run a thick finger over my defined cupid’s bow and across the seam of my lips. I open for him, wrapping my lips around his finger. His eyes sharpen on the movement, and I suck more of his digit into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the pad of his index finger.

Sweeping my eyes over his face, I continue licking and sucking, waiting for the shadows to appear, but they don’t. Instead, he simply retracts his thumb, gliding it over my lips once more before shoving both hands into his pockets.

Reaching into his back pocket, he pulls out his mask, tuggingit on, the soldier slipping back into place as he orders gently, “We have somewhere to be.”

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