Page 38 of When Sinners Rise
“Don’t fuck up.” He points at Shaw before turning to leave.
I look to Shaw who just stands, watching the door. Then, he picks up the chair and lobs it towards the door Dragon just walked through. It doesn’t do much damage, clattering against the wall before falling to the floor.
Shaw’s left heavy breathing and staring daggers at the mess. This isn’t the same man he’s shown to me. He’s manipulative, evil, and cruel. But this, this is something else. What happened between them to cause so much rage? I keep my thoughts to myself and stay huddled on the bed.
“Stop staring at me. Go and get yourself cleaned up.”
“I don’t—”
“Just fucking do it!” he yells at me, jolting me into action. I practically run to the bathroom and slam the door behind me, my hand trembling as I fight to twist the lock.
Just breathe.
One step at a time.
I run the mantra over in my head and go through the motions. Turn the water on. Peel off the rags of my clothes. Step under the water.
The heat is a blessing and immediately calms my frayed nerves. I feel like a mess, and as I run my hands over my arms, my mind plays back the vile things Shaw did to me in that cell. The bite of his hands, the grip on my body. They morph and flicker like a slideshow with the pleasure he gave me after ourdate. The attention he lavished, the simple manipulation that devastated all of my defences.
My eyes sting as the tears escape silently in the shower. I tilt my face to the water, helping to wash them away so they’re hidden from everyone except me.
Crying won’t help.
Crying won’t get me through the next god knows how long.
Just breathe.
One step at a time.
The panic begins to rise, like it does so often, and part of me wants to succumb to it – to get lost in a full-blown attack, but that’s a weakness I can’t afford. So I wrestle it as if it were a physical opponent until it relinquishes its grip on me.
I use the bottles of soap and shampoo on the wall of the shower and scrub my skin raw as if that will do some good, but it’s action. I need to do something, so I take the win.
Clean and warm, I dry off and stay in the bathroom, away from Shaw, as long as possible. The heap of fabric on the floor is dirty and stained, and it smells of smoke. None of that helps to keep my mind focused on the now. It makes me want to throw up at the thought of putting it all back on. So, I pull the scratchy robe off the hook and wrap it around me.
Leaving the bathroom, I take measured steps and sit back on the bed. The robe stays wrapped tightly around me, hiding as much of my skin as possible. The chair’s righted and back in the position in the room. “I need new clothes. And I’ve not eaten properly in days.” I know he’s heard me. His eyes haven’t left me. I can feel him watching, but I keep mine looking dead ahead.
The stillness of the room and the quiet of Shaw begin to unnerve me. “Did you hear me? Clothes. Food. Or are you planning on dragging me to wherever Naja is naked and starving?”
I finally cave and look at him. He’s motionless, standing like a guard in the corner of the room. There’s no smile, no emotion of any kind on his face, almost like he’s resigned to something.
Maybe I should take his advice and just accept what’s coming. But Naja didn’t. She wouldn’t. And Landon wouldn’t. He’d fight. God, he’d bring down the world if anyone touched him; I know that.
I straighten my spine and repeat my point. “I’m fucking hungry, Shaw,” I yell. It’s one thing to be brave with Shaw in the room, and I take advantage of that before Dragon comes back.
Without a word, he moves to the phone on the desk and picks up the receiver.
“Room service. Two burgers, fries and two cokes. The Knightly Suite.” He hangs up but doesn’t address me.
It’s like he’s switched off. Well, great. At least there’s food.
The minutes drag on painfully slowly, and with only my thoughts for company, I get pretty frustrated really fucking fast.
The image of Naja on that screen is about the only thing holding me together. She’s why I’m doing this.
One step at a time.
The knock on the door makes my heart thump in my chest, but it’s only the room service. Shaw fetches the tray and places it on the table next to the puffy chairs. No words or instruction. He lifts the cloche and takes his plate to the desk but remains standing as he eats his burger. I watch him, and with small, measured moves, I go and fetch my plate, bringing it back to the bed. The waft of salty chips and juicy meat hit my senses, and a pang of hunger clenches in my gut.
