Page 24 of Toy No More

“I willnot!”I laugh at his preposterous suggestion.

“Yeah, yeah. You got food to eat, so just…tell me what to do and keep your hands to yourself,” he says under his breath, but I see that smile creeping back up.

Looking at him, I fight the urge to pat his head and hug him. Unfortunately, he’s not a baby anymore, and it probably wouldn’t pass. So instead, I make a dissatisfied huff and settle next to him, nodding for him to resume the game while I put a spoonful of the stew in my mouth.

This is good. This is all I need.

Chapter 8

Apollo

I’mlivingthroughsomeunprecedented times—a full weekend of time off. No dressing up. No going out, no putting on a show or pretending. No looks, no touches, no soul-crushing effort. Two entire days of doing nothing and lounging around. That is, besides the laundry.

It would be a lie if I said I enjoy the domestic chores, but someone has to do them. It definitely won’t be Jasper, and he hates the idea of having anyone else in his space, so it falls on me. Still, it’s better than having to work and doesn’t take too long, anyway.

I’ve organized and cleaned my makeup brushes by the time the first batch is done. As I fold and bring the clothes to the bedroom to put them away, I notice a shirt that must have fallen behind the laundry basket before and therefore didn’t get washed.

Groaning, I drop the fresh clothes on the bed and go pick it up. One of Jasper’s shirts. Of course. He always just throws them in the direction of the basket.

I flip it around in my hand and see dried-up blood on both of the sleeves. My heart sinks. It doesn’t look very old. Is this from last night, when he came back after I went to sleep?

Another shirt ruined. How many has it been?

There’s no way I can get the blood out of the fabric, so I take the shirt to the bin in the kitchen. A sense of uneasiness follows me. Not just because this was a gift for one of Jasper’s first birthdays we spent together.

Lately, he’s been working a lot more than usual. Always sorting out someimportant thingsandbig dealsthat I don’t need to be burdened with the details of.

Of course, I never do. It never even bothered me, Jasper not wanting to discuss the intricacies of his job, because why would it? I’m just a prostitute. He’s right about me not having to burden my mind with all the stuff he does, and yet…recently, there’s so much that goes on with him without me it makes me feel a bit lonely.

Lonely…I chuckle to myself, amused by my own stupid thoughts. Why should I feel lonely? I have everything I could ever need.

I settle on the couch with a tub of ice cream and search for makeup tutorials on my phone, waiting for Jasper to come home. He hasn’t been responding to my messages, which must mean he’s busy. So…I wait.

It’s not until a few hours later that I hear the door click. Half asleep watching some random reality show, I jerk awake and turn to it. He grunts while getting his shoes off, hidden from me in the entrance’s darkness. Standing up quickly, I switch the TV off and go turn the ceiling light on.

“Jaz,” I blurt, seeing him squinting at me with an annoyed groan, more blood covering his forearms and face—this time definitely fresh. “Are you okay?” I hurry to him, gently placing my hands on his chest.

“Lemme sit down at least,” he mutters, avoiding my gaze before plopping down on the kitchen table chair. I study him with my heart pounding inside my throat. His knuckles seem swollen and tender. It’s safe to say most of the blood isn’t his.

“What happened?” I ask as I kneel in front of him. Finally he meets my eyes, the striking azure of his sending ice through my veins. There’s that short-tempered, dangerous unpredictability radiating out of them. He hasn’t come home like this in a while.

“Work,” he retorts sharply. Seeing the way I gulp and withdraw, Jasper sighs and grabs my hand, drawing it toward his mouth to kiss it.

I notice a spot on his sleeve that’s saturated with blood, unlike the random splatters everywhere else. With a gasp, I take his wrist and pull it up to inspect it, making him let out a quiet hiss of pain. “You’re hurt. Is that from a knife?” I ask, widening my eyes. Jasper lets me spread the fabric of his cut up shirt to reveal the long laceration. It doesn’t look horribly deep. “I can fix this,” I say the first thing on my mind out loud and hop up to get the first aid kit before he can say anything.

Adrenaline pumps through me, and I’m grateful. No matter how worried I am or even uncomfortable with injuries, I’ve done this before, and I know I need to focus to patch him up.

Jasper sits patiently and fairly motionlessly while I clean and dress his wound. He looks down at me without a word the entire time. His pheromones take on that unusual, yet familiar scent. The same smell, only as if laced with aggression.

Coupled with the way I sense his unrelenting gaze on me, I feel myself getting anxious. Thankfully, I manage to treat the injury and stop it from bleeding.

With a deep sigh, I put the rest of the bandages in the first aid box and slowly lift my head to look up at him. I hope to see the face of Jasper I do when we wake up together in the mornings, basking in the sunlight in each other's embrace.

But it isn’thim.

It’s still the Jasper that just came home after beating someone until his knuckles tore open. All those sweet, loving qualities only I have the privilege of being shown are suddenly hidden somewhere behind this volatile, terrifying rage he carries.

I jolt when he clicks his tongue in a mean, mocking way. He shakes his head while hanging it down. “Ihatehow you look at me in moments like these,” he says, his voice deep and rumbling. My breath hitches and I tense up. “Like I’m some kind of monster.”

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