Page 61 of Liar Byrd
“Can I take a look?” Vonn asks me.
“It doesn’t hurt,” I lie about the ankle that hasn’t stopped throbbing since I turned it.
“She can’t put pressure on it without hobbling.” Makhi raises an eyebrow, daring me to deny it.
“I landed on it when I fell,” I quietly admit to Vonn. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
“It’s swelling.” His eyes dip.
He’s right. My left ankle is red, and it definitely looks larger than the right.
Vonn continues, “Probably a sprain with how fast it’s swelling.”
His knowledge before he’s even touched me reassures me that he knows what he’s doing.
“You can take a look,” I say.
“I promise it won’t hurt nearly as much as dealing with a full frontal Makhi,” Vonn drawls as he sinks in front of me with a grin.
I bite the inside of my cheek, swallowing my smile when I peek up at Makhi and find him glaring at the back of Vonn’s head.
Vonn takes my ankle between two large hands and carefully removes my sneaker. His fingers are warm, and his touch is gentler than I thought a man his size could be.
“When did your eyes stop bleeding? Or did they never really stop?” he asks me.
I nearly laugh when Makhi glares at him even harder.
Vonn peeks up at me, smiling. “RICE.”
I blink at him. “What does food have to do with my ankle?”
“Not that kind of rice.” He points his chin at my ankle, which he slowly releases back to the ground. “Rest, Ice, Compression, and Elevation. RICE. That’s what we need to fix you up. You want me to carry you to your room?”
Dread weighs me down.
My room has become my sanctuary—a place where I can shut the door, block out the world, and be alone. I don’t want anyone in there but me.
“The den,” Makhi suddenly says.
We both twist to face him.
“That ankle is going to mean you can’t work or do much for at least the next couple of days. There’s a daybed in there, and ahalf-bath next door. If you need anything, Nance can grab it for you. Means you’re not hobbling up and down stairs to get to a bathroom either,” Makhi explains.
Vonn’s expression is thoughtful. “What do you say I carry you down there and we get you settled, darlin'?”
I chew my lip, uncertain.
His tattoos remind me that he’s not one of Jeremiah’s men. Iknowhe’s not. But being in his arms?
They were rough with me. Jeremiahandhis acolytes. As if they didn’t believe I deserved anything but to be ordered around or pushed here and there. But only behind closed doors.
When Jeremiah was in front of others, walking about in the compound, he smiled and shook hands. He acted as if he were a god. When it was just us, he wasn’t the angel everyone believed him to be. He was the devil.
“Jessica?”
Vonn’s voice comes from a million light-years away.
It's a Southern drawl. Strong. Strangely reassuring and warm. So warm.
