Page 55 of Saving Her

She walks toward me, her steps hesitant.

“Before you get started—” I cross my feet at the ankles. Laid back. Calm. “—this isn’t another attempt to get close so you can attack me, is it?”

“Maybe.” She reaches my side and opens the vanity cupboards to my right. “Do you think the third time would be the charm?”

I smirk, appreciating her subtle humor. It’s barely there, her expression remaining tight, but the derision is a starting point.

“I noticed you cleaned up the mess I made with that device you were carrying.” There hadn’t been any sign of the stabby stick I’d stomped into my carpet. “You kept it, didn’t you?”

She closes the cupboards and stands tall before me, her silence a blatant answer.

“Does it still work?” I ask.

She holds my gaze, a million thoughts ticking behind those big brown eyes. “I’m not entirely sure.”

Her truth is a gift. A fucking brilliant step in the right direction. “You won’t need it for long. Once things settle, I can get you whatever weapon you want. I can make sure someone teaches you how to use them, too.”

She licks her lower lip, the flick of her tongue fast, almost agitated. If I had to guess, I’d say she doesn’t appreciate my attempt to build a bridge between us. My kindness scares her.

“That would be nice.” She fobs me off with the half-hearted acknowledgement and moves to my other side. “Can you shuffle over please? I want to check the drawers.”

I comply, sliding across the counter. “What are you looking for?”

“A cloth or something to help clean you up.”

“You’re not going to find anything in there. All the linen is in the hall cupboard.” I lean forward, cringe against the pounding protest of my skull, and yank off my shirt. “Use this.” I hand over the soiled material. “Douse it in alcohol and it should be fine. I’m going to have to burn it anyway.”

She doesn’t take the offering. Instead, she retreats a step, her attention riveted on my chest. There’s nothing flattering about the way she looks at me. There’s only trepidation. Undiluted panic.

Shit.

I didn’t contemplate the underlying threat she’d see in my exposed skin. Not that I can think much of anything over the dizzying squeeze of my brain.

“That was a stupid move.” I unfurl the crumpled shirt and prepare to pull it back over my head. “I’ll go find something else to use.”

“No.” She reaches out, grasping the material, her fingers brushing mine. “I can do this.”

She keeps her gaze averted from mine as she rinses the material in the sink, the pink tinge of blood seeping into the water. She doesn’t seem to care about the possible diseases my blood could carry. Then again, she didn’t seem to care when Luther was shooting at her either.

She wanted death.

Who knows if she still does?

“I can’t imagine how hard it is for you to try and trust me. But there’s no threat to you here.” I murmur the oath softly, not wanting the kid to overhear our conversation. “We want to protect you. Not hurt you.”

She shuts off the taps, wrings the water from my shirt, then lets the sodden weight fall to the sink. She stands there for silent moments, staring at herself in the mirror, her hands clutching the counter.

I want to know what she’s thinking. To expose her demons and find a way to slaughter them.

“What’s eating away at you?” I grab the wet material, and begin scrubbing my face, my neck, my throat, pretending I’m not ready to hang off her every word.

For a long time she doesn’t answer. Instead, she raises her gaze to mine in the mirror, her fragility coming out to play as I feel her guard lower slightly.

“When I was growing up, I always thought horrible people were packaged accordingly.” She keeps her voice soft. “I believed bad men were ugly, with easily distinguishable malice. I thought I’d always be able to pick the criminals with horrible intentions because they would look the part. But nothing could be further from the truth. Evil comes with many masks. Some of them more attractive than others.”

“I agree.” I start rubbing the damp shirt through my hair, the flakes of dried blood dusting the air. “You can’t trust a pretty face.”

She straightens her shoulders. “Kind words or smooth muscles, either.”

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