Page 43 of Jagger's Remorse
Like both.
I follow him over, vision white-hot and electric.
When I can breathe again, I release his wrists.
Red marks bracelet his skin.
Evidence of his willing captivity.
"Feel better?" I ask, climbing off him.
He doesn't answer.
Just stares at the ceiling like he's recalculating his entire existence.
"I need a shower," I announce. "You should probably check on your surviving brothers. Lots of decisions to make about retaliation and such."
"You're not going anywhere."
"Watch me."
I stand, grab his shirt from the floor.
The chain stops me three feet from the bathroom.
"Oops." I look back at him, all false innocence. "Guess you'll have to unlock me. Unless you want me to piss on your floor like the dog you've made me."
He finds the key, unlocks the shackle.
I rub my ankle, noting the raw skin.
"I'll need antiseptic. Infections are so inconvenient."
"Scarlett—"
"Shower first. Schemes later."
I close the bathroom door, lean against it.
My hands shake now that he can't see.
Not from fear.
From how much I want him.
From the realization that I almost forgot why I'm here.
Almost let the performance become real.
Diego's words echo:Don't get attached.
Too late for that warning.
Five years too late.
I turn on the water, hot as it goes.
Need to wash him off my skin before I do something stupid.
