Page 68 of Scaredy Cat
I deserve it.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper at last, when he sets me down on the toilet. “Shiloh, I’m so sorry. I just thought that if I went and did their stupid collaboration, they’d leave me alone.” My shoulders fall in both mortified disappointment and exhaustion.
He still doesn’t answer. Shiloh strips off his gloves and coat, glancing in the mirror to inspect a small cut on his cheek with a frown. He hasn’t turned the big ceiling light on, though he turned on the softer one that’s closer to the door.
Without asking, he grabs the first-aid kit out from under my sink, then looks at me when he picks up an empty box of bandaids. “Really?” he asks, tossing them in the trash. An empty tube of Neosporin is next, and he rolls his eyes. “You know, these are more useful when they’re stocked up, as opposed to when they aren’t.”
Finally he pulls out some hydrogen peroxide, and he upends the bottle on each of my palms in turn. The liquid bubbles and hisses, foaming like my wounds are rabid while I watch. It brings back memories of me doing this as a kid. Of pouring hydrogen peroxide on any little cut just because I liked to see the foam.
Admittedly, I probably could’ve used a lot of therapy as a kid. None of which I got.
“Can you just be mad at me?” I ask finally, when he’s helped me out of my jeans and cleaned up my knees. “Iknowyou’re pissed. And you don’t have to stay. You’re pissed, I’m sure you want to leave, you?—”
His finger comes up to press against my lips, and Shiloh fixes me with a hard, patient look. “Don’t presume so much,” he says quietly. “But if that’s what you want, yeah. I can be mad.” His voice rises a little, and he looms over me, one hand on the wall so I’m forced to lean back to meet his gaze.
“I’m pissed that you lied to me, babe. I’m fucking livid as hell that theytouched you.That they hurt you. Those two dumbasses told me what else they did. The pliers, how Craig made you vomit. The goddamn waterboarding?” He lets out a breath, closing his eyes as a muscle twitches in his jaw. It takes him a minute, but he finally looks at me again.
“You think I would’ve stopped you,” he accuses flatly, one hand brushing my throat ever so gently.
“Would you…not have?” Suddenly I wonder if I miscalculated. If I could’ve told him, and he could’ve come with me, even in secret. If maybe?—
“I would’ve tied you up and thrown you in my trunk,” Shiloh answers sweetly. “If you wanted to be treated badly so desperately tonight, I would’ve gladly taken you to work with me and left you in the car while I threatened a man within an inch of his damn life. I would’ve made you listen to the fuckingmixtapemy dad makes me play every time he rides with me, and that,my darling, my perfect Persephone, would have been torture enough for you.”
It’s hard not to smile, so I press my lips together and try not to look like I’m about to laugh. Shiloh narrows his eyes, but I can see the twitch of a grin on his mouth. “I don’t want to leave, Scaredy Cat,” he murmurs. “I could never want that. You just watched me slice off a woman’s pinkie, and you know I kill people for my dad’s boss.”
“And that you have a soft spot for cats,” I point out. “Can you imagine what the people you beat up or kill would think if they knew you had Arugula, your clinically obese?—”
He covers my mouth. “Don’t you talk about our perfect son that way,” he scolds with a chuckle, and strokes his fingers down my chin. “I don’t want to leave. But Idowant to tie you up and maybe never let you out of my sight again. I’ll take you with me and you can stream from wherever we are.”
“Will you keep me on a leash?” I drawl, though it comes out a lot more suggestive and less dry than I intend. My heart skips a beat at the way his eyes darken, and I don’t miss how his eyes slide down to my lips before meeting mine again.
“Don’t tempt me.” He pulls away to turn and slide open the shower door. In a few seconds, steam begins filling the bathroom, with the air heating up as the water turns hot, rather than lukewarm. I watch as Shiloh tugs off his shirt, my stomach is still a bit weak but willing to give its best attempt at butterflies.
It’s like a little taste of heaven to watch Shiloh strip. First his shirt and his jeans, then finally his boxers, so my stalker is standing in front of me, expectant, while I simply map the freckles and moles sprinkled along his body.
Fuck, no stalker should be this hot. But here he is, proving God does have a sense of humor.
“Up, pretty girl,” he urges, and reaches out to help me to my feet. “No offense, but you’re a mess. There’s blood on your faceand, well, I didn’t want to say it earlier, but you should probably just throw away everything you’re wearing.” His smile turns apologetic. “The hoodie is ripped, obviously, and you’re wearing your dinner.”
“Wow.” I don’t waste any time in stripping, feeling mortified that he’s been carrying me around withvomiton me. “You could’ve said something before. And I can’t believe you kissed me.” I throw my clothes into the corner of the bathroom, where all good things go to die. “Isn’t that gross?”
“You could never be gross.” He stops, considering his words, then says, “Yeah, no. Never. Not even when you mumble and drool in your sleep. Sometimes you stick your face in the drool, though, and that’s?—”
“You can stop,” I assure him, shivering a little with my hands over my chest. “You can stop atanytime.” I haven’t been able to warm up since being waterboarded, and I don’t protest when Shiloh pushes me into the shower ahead of him, gently directing me under the hot spray.
It’s everything I could have hoped for. The water covers me, warming me up and finally allowing my shoulders to loosen. I feel the crusted blood on my face start to come off, and with one hand I reach up to help it along, though I’m careful not to bump my sore nose too hard. I’d really rather not hemorrhage in the shower in front of my favorite stalker.
“So you really, uh, just chopped off her finger,” I say, my voice quiet in the warm shower. I don’t tense when his hands come up to massage my sore neck, and only let him tilt my head forward to give him better access. “I didn’t think you could cut through bone that easily.”
“Fun fact”—Shiloh presses a kiss to my spine—“if you can cut through a carrot, you can cut through a finger. And I’ve had a little too much practice.”
“Really? Are you bullshitting me about the carrot?” I lean against the wall, using my arm as a headrest against the tiles.
“Maybe.” His hands slide down my back, trailing on either side of my spine until he gets to my hips. “But you’re making it really hard to just clean you up and put you to bed when you’re being…”
“A brat?”
“Perfect.” His hands slide back up, gripping my sides, and this time I shudder under the possessiveness of his touch. “Let me take care of you,” he practically pleads. “Let me just…” He turns me and pulls me against him, urging me to sink back so he’s supporting most of my weight with my head on his shoulder.
