Page 60 of Bound By Flames
“Mia, what’s wrong?” I take her chin in my bloody fingers, marking the most beautiful painting with a crimson stain. She inhales deeply and then, to my surprise, slaps my chest. Hard. I don’t even step back, her little hand barely strong enough to make a mountain like me move an inch.
“You said—” her voice breaks, “you wouldn’t get hurt.” Her empty eyes stare at my chest like she’s already drifting away at the beginning of an episode.
“You said it’d be easy,” her little voice whispers, and it takes everything in me not to pull her in my arms and tell her I’m not hurt, that it was just for show.
No woman ever showed me that much concern.
Could it be genuine?
“Mia, it’s fine,” I lower my tone to reassure her, “really, just a couple of scratches, nothing serious,” I assure her, lifting her chin to make her look at me and try to find an ounce of pretend in her gaze. But I don’t find any.
“You—you got almost choked by the man, Ares. You could barely breathe and—” A thick tear falls from her eye and my rib cage contracts.
Was she really that worried about me?
The woman before her used to laugh at my fights, said they weren’t entertaining enough. That watching reality TV was less boring.
“Fuck, Mia, don’t cry.” Getting closer to her, I pull her in my arms because I can’t stand not touching her, and I’m fucking relieved she doesn’t push me away.
She’s not Iris.
Don’t let her down by comparing her.
Don’t let your mind spiral.
It’s Mia.
You can trust her.
I sigh and stroke her face as my other hand lands on her lower back, keeping her close despite my body aching from the fight. I pull back, and our noses brush.
“Now and then, I need to show my men why I’m the one leading the club. And cracking skulls is a part of it. Whether you liked it or not, I wanted you to see me when I’m not in my black suits making calls and going to meetings. I need you to see me get my hands dirty. ‘Cause I don’t want a wife who shuts her eyes at what I do,” I tell her, the words slipping away from me before I can lock them inside my chest.
“You’ve let me see you,” I tell her, reminding her of her episode. The day she let her mask break in front of me.
The day that changed it all for me.
The day that made four years of bitterness come to the surface and punch me in the guts, daring me to ignore the helpless woman I had in front of me.
“I needed you to see me too,” I admit, the truth hitting me hard in the guts as I inhale the cinnamon scent of my wife and hope she won’t try to run away from me again. Her little hands run to my chest, and she rests her palms on it, making me wince as one of her fingers dig into an open wound.
“Sorry, sorry, I, we need to get you cleaned up.” Shaking her head back to reality, she steps to the bottom of the sink, where she finds an emergency kit.
“We?” I tell her as I grab her arm and pull her toward me again, our faces so close I can inhale her breath and feel her body coming alive at my touch. I’ve just fought a man who almost choked me to death and haven’t got scared from it, but watching Mia moving around, her trembling hands and her little body fidgeting like she doesn’t know where to start, fuck, it makes my heart clench like I’m on the edge of having a stroke.
Can she tell I’m as scared as her?
Scared to let her in and open my dark heart once again for someone to rip it apart?
“Here,” I tell her, showing my hands, “you can start by removing the bandages.” I guide her and watch her focus on the task, careful not to hurt my fingers, and damn, it does something to me.
“What d’ya think of it? The fight, did you like it?” I ask casually while I’m burning to know if she actually liked it. A light shade of pink colors her cheek as she shakes her head, disappointment hitting me like a truck.
“It’s not—” she shakes her head, “I liked watching you, but—”
“But what, princess?” I search in her doll face the answer.
“It was hard to see you get hurt,” she says, taking my breath away.
