Page 86 of Keeping Kasey
If Brandon was willing to shoot Ford, it means he went into the situation accepting that he likely wouldn’t walk away. If hewas willing to risk his life, why wouldn’t he just make quick work of Kasey and run?
Damon has the good sense not to appear smug.
“Kasey said she stalled him. Did she say how?” James asks.
I shake my head.
James pulls in a long breath. “I’m sure we’ll get more answers as Kasey recovers and gets her memories back.”
“Either way,” I say, “it’s time to tell her everything.”
I knock on Kasey’s bedroom door, and her low voice calls me in.
When I walk inside, I find Kasey sitting at her vanity, prepping the bandages to go over the gash on her forehead. She’s wearing cotton shorts and an oversized T-shirt, her wet curls cascading over one shoulder.
There’s no makeup on her face, and the pure authenticity of Kasey strikes me with its beauty.
I walk across the room to her, and she meets my eye through the mirror’s reflection.
“Miss me already?”
“As a matter of fact, I intend to keep you in my sights until further notice.”
Her smile is small but genuine. “You know, considering the type of people I do business with, one attack is an excellent track record.”
She meant it as a joke, but I don’t find the least bit of humor in the fact that the one and only time she’s been harmed was under my watch.
“I would’ve preferred to keep it at zero.”
Kasey notices the change in my tone and turns in the chair to face me. Her expression is pleading, silently asking me not to taint her good mood.
I oblige with a single nod.
“You know,” she starts, glancing at the bandages on the vanity. “I got a nasty cut in shop class back in high school, and it was the last time I needed a bandage for anything other than a paper cut.”
“Allow me,” I say, and kneel to get a better look at the wound.
Though my attention is on the gash that still fuels a wild rage inside me, I catch the way Kasey’s eyes dilate as they track my movements.
The wound looks clean, but I still meticulously wipe it with antiseptic as she regards me speculatively.
“What?” I ask.
She averts her eyes, and my favorite shade of red spreads over her cheeks.
“Talk to me, beautiful.”
“This is the second time you’ve knelt for me,” she says, biting back a grin. “It’s unnerving.”
“Try picturing you in shop class.”
Her smile widens, and I take it as a personal victory.
“The act of kneeling is not inherently weak,” I say, placing the bandage carefully over her forehead. “It’s the reason behind the action that dictates whether it’s from a place of strength or weakness.”
“And what is the reason behind the action?” she whispers.
With her bandage secure, I hold her cheek in the palm of my hand—a feeling I may be addicted to.
