Page 144 of Alphas Like Us
With a needle and syringe, I pierce his skin to numb the gash. Gentle and precise. He takes his eyes off his client and watches mework.
“I want stability for these families,” Thatcher tells me. “It’s why I voted to keep you as his bodyguard. Maximoff needed you to stick around. And if you planned to quit, I just wanted you to fucking do it—and I was pissed when you finally did. Because you just proved me right, and I wanted to bewrong.”
I suture his cut. “Well, you are wrong.” I don’t look up at him while I stitch. “I’m going to be honest, I don’t know a lot about you, Moretti. We don’t talk about personal shit, and I’m okay with that. But for you to act like you know me inside-and-out and for you to presume all of my intentions…that’sannoying.”
He opens his mouth, closes it, and in his silence, I lift my gaze more. He shuts down, staring impassively at me. Expression hard like reinforced steel. I recognize thatlook.
This is something my boyfrienddoes.
I don’t prod Thatcher to speak, and I finish the last suture, clean up, and bandage hishand.
“Done,” I tellhim.
He stands, opening and closing his hand in a fist. I straighten up and snap off my gloves, discardingthem…
Something wet drips down my forehead. I touch the droplet and look at my fingers…I see blood. My pulse spikes. I blink.No.
It’s not blood. It’s clear, but I feel like it’s all over me. Drenched in blood, limbs slipping against my limbs while I try to hold a body down. On floorboards. I can’t get a goodgrip.
Iblink.
I look up. I see the night sky. Not ceiling rafters. I’m on the roof. And rain starts pelting my face. I smell rain on metal. My heart speeds. I hear the violent crunch, I feel the impact against my body—I struggle for the nextbreath.
Fuck.I shut my eyestightly.
Fuck.
I hear screaming in thedistance.
Fuck.
Slowly, I open my eyes, and I block out everyone but him. Maximoff is in front of me. Unyielding forest-greens holding me upright. “Farrow,” he calls out to me. “Farrow.” He grips my neck, and I’m more alert. Looking athim.
Heknows.
He knows what’swrong.
My eyes burn, and I shake my head. These traumatic events have clung on, and I can’t rip them off now. And I’m pissed that this ishappening.
“It’s the rain,” I say, something thick in my throat. Each word is heavy andcoarse.
I grit my teeth, breathing through mynose.
“Let’s go downstairs,” Maximoff says, his tough gaze cradling mine which grapples for clearer focus, and I hold his hand before wemove—
The door opens abruptly. Light rain showering the rooftop as Rowin emerges, med bag slung over hisshoulder.
Maximoff is about to speak, but someone else beats him toit.
“You can go,” Thatcher says, nearing the entrance. He holds the door open and motions for Rowin to leave backthrough.
Rowin glances at his bandaged hand and then tome.
“I said you can go,” Thatcher repeats, more sternly thistime.
Rowin gives Thatcher a nod, and then he shoots me an annoyed look, as though I made him drive through traffic for noreason.
Right now, I’m honestly just trying not to have sensory overload from the car crash or the confrontation with thestalker.
