Page 11 of Voracious

Her sense of humor is fucked but my lips twitch in pride.

Swapping her empty plate for the new one, she hesitates and grips the edge of the dish with fake politeness.

“It’s yours, I can’t take your food.”

Street rules because she spent eight fucking years on them, sixteen times more than I did. She’s a crazy person but I feel protectiveness come over me without the usual violence surrounding her. Leaning back against the counter, I cross my arms over my chest, watching her like a painting.

“I don’t eat at night, it’s yours.”

That small smile comes back.

I wait until she’s a few bites in to start my interrogation in the hopes a full stomach will make her agreeable.

“Who did you piss off?”

It comes out wrong and she takes a deep breath, mourning the food in her hand before she sets it down. Pushing off the counter, I flatten my palms on the stone, dipping down so she can see I’m trying to help.

“Give me a name, I’ll handle it.”

She looks at me like I’m a kid telling her I’ve got a house in space.

But it works and she relaxes, starting to eat again. Her laugh doesn’t come out as she winces and brushes me off.

“I’m sure you’re very strong. I’m stronger and I don’t need anyone to fight for me.” She locks those fake-as-fuck eyes on me and her voice drops. “Especially ones I have chosen.”

Who the fuck chooses to be a human punching bag?

She’s already finished the full bottle of water and tips the empty bottle at her lips, searching for every sparse drop. Handing her another one, she guzzles it down again and the little pieces of skin between her bruises are pale as fuck. I wrote it off as it being due to the deep blues and purples, but the sweat and thirst have me moving towards her.

Holding the back of her head so she can’t run away, I grip the front of her hoodie as bills float down. It’s not the money that has my attention. Her torso matches her face, and the swelling is bad. Ana tenses in pain and my jaw clenches as I gently press my thumb over her tender abdomen. She’s got internal fucking bleeding, but she tried to scale the building, not giving a fuck about her own health or life. Even with it in view, she’s more focused on trying to collect the money that’s fallen, and my tone is too rough.

“I’m not going to fucking steal from you.” Softening my voice to get her to be a human again, my thumb strokes against her skin like it’s any comfort. “Stay here, I’ll get a doctor out.”

Whoever she robbed has taken it out on her body. There’s at least fifty grand on the floor and there’s more still hidden in the pocket. Keeping one hand on the back of her head, I take her hand and walk her to the sofa. Her fingers are so delicate, the rough callouses on her palms contrast with the soft silk of her fingertips.

The weariness on her features doesn’t match the silence as she allows me to lay her down and prop her feet up.The doctor we use for the fights answers on the second ring with sleep in his voice. “Where do you need me?”

He turns alert and fearful as I recount her injuries, and all the sleep is missing from his voice when he says, “You need to go to a hospital. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

Fucking asshole, he couldn’t have given me any other advice on what to do. Picking her up with my arms under her knees and behind her head, I wince as she tenses. The urge to apologize sits on the tip of my tongue but I bite the muscle to stop it leaving.

It doesn’t stop the ball of rage weakly slapping her sweaty hands at me and her usual anger is missing.

“Put me down, I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Ana’s argument ends on a wheeze, fucking stubborn shit. She can’t just do shit normally, and she has to take the bloodiest path available.The slapping continues and I know she’s in a bad state because this isn’t the same woman who has held a knife to my throat on multiple occasions.

I attempt peacekeeping with the hellion as I gently sit her in the passenger seat of the car, uncaring that I haven’t locked my front door.

“We’re going to the hospital. I’d prefer to leave you in a ditch, so shut the fuck up before I change my mind.”

The first real emotion flashes across her face not reaching those fake eyes as she freezes in terror and whispers, “No doctors.”

What the fuck did they do to her? The way she speaks about her life is always removed; she’s said she was protected by Yulia so she should be halfway normal.

Swallowing around a lump in her throat, she tries to walk through me when I’m blocking the door. When she sees I’m not going to move, she deflates and croaks, “It will be expensive.”

That surge of protectiveness comes back even stronger, and I don’t think before I offer, “I’ll pay for it.”

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