Page 39 of Heroes & Hitmen
Miley smooths the sheets with surgical precision, pressing out invisible wrinkles like she’s trying to control something in the chaos I just hurled us into. Given the fact that uptight seems to be her default setting, though, I’d say the chaos started long before I got involved.
“Why didn’t you go tonight?” I probe.
She freezes, fingers tightening around the edge of the duvet. “Just got in my head about it, I guess,” she mutters, glancing back at me over her shoulder.
Our eyes meet, and for a split-second, I see the flicker of doubt in hers, the deep-rooted fear of trusting anyone in this fucked-up system. Then it’s gone, replaced by that sharp, carefully guarded mask she always wears.
“Doesn’t matter now,” she sighs. “What’s done is done. Right now, I just wanna crawl in bed, close my eyes, and get some sleep.Alone.”
I don’t like it, but I’ve pushed her enough for one night. She’s still here, still fighting, and that’s more than most would be doing in this situation.
“Suit yourself,” I finally say, grabbing the pillow and turning to head for the door.
Just before I reach it, she calls out, stopping me in my tracks.
“Hey Ares?”
I glance back, smugly awaiting an invitation to join her in the bed.
She tilts her head, eyes gleaming with disdain. “If I hear you snoring, I’ll come out and smother you with that pillow.”
A shameless grin tugs at my lips. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were flirting with me.”
“Keep dreaming,” she scoffs.
Oh, I’ll be dreaming alright.About her in that bed, about getting in it with her and finding another way to ease her stress. One that ends with us tangled in the sheets, naked and sweaty and spent.
Because this new living arrangement is just the start. I’m already working my way beneath that tough exterior, and I can’t wait for that defiance to begin unraveling.
I wakeup with my face mashed against the rug and an ache in my neck that could paralyze a lesser man. Groaning, I roll onto my back, staring up at the ceiling as the fog of sleep clears. My joints are stiff, my spine one long knot of regret.
The couch, while modern and designer as hell, was clearly made for decoration, not sleep. Too narrow for my frame and too stiff to be forgiving. At some point in the night, I must’ve rolled off and decided fuck it, the floor’s better.
Dragging myself upright, I stretch until my shoulders pop and the knot in my neck loosens. Then I shove to my feet, heading down the hall toward the bedroom and quietly easing the door open.
Inside, the light is soft and golden, spilling in through the window and casting a glow over the entire room. Miley is cocooned in the covers, facing away from me with just the top of her head peeking out, her dark blonde hair spilling over the pillow. The little white bow is still in place– perfectly tied, even in sleep.
I pad across the room as quietly as I can and duck into the en-suite bathroom, starting up the shower and stripping down. The water’s scalding when I step in– just how I like it– and I stand under the spray for longer than normal, until the tension in my muscles gradually slides away.
After I step out, I wrap a fluffy white towel around my waist and rake a hand through my damp hair, wiping the steam from the mirror to check my reflection.Still a handsome devil.Tired as fuck, but at least I don’t look any worse for the wear.
Miley’s awake when I exit the bathroom, rifling through a small suitcase on the bed. She’s already dressed in a pleated skirt andblouse, hair brushed back and tied neatly in a new bow. Black, to match her skirt.
“Good morning, beautiful,” I drawl.
“Morning,” she murmurs absently, not even glancing back at me. “Your stuff’s in the living room. They just dropped it off.”
I arch a brow. “They?”
“Alpha’s goons,” she clarifies, her back still turned. “Guess they took the liberty of packing for you.”
I frown, pivoting on a heel and stomping toward the living room. Sure enough, when I walk in, the two suitcases I brought from home are sitting near the door, along with a stack of boxes. The thought of a random stranger pawing through and packing up my belongings sets my teeth on edge, but there’s not much I can do about it now.
Hauling one of the suitcases onto the couch, I unzip it and rifle through for a clean t-shirt, boxers, and jeans, tossing the towel aside and getting dressed right there in the living room. Then I run a hand through my damp hair again, smoothing it back as Miley breezes in from the hall.
She looks like she just walked out of a glossy fashion spread–clean lines, polished nails, clothes fitted perfectly to her lithe body. Gorgeous, naturally.
“Off to see Alpha?” she asks, folding her arms across her chest.
