Sinners 01 - Branded (19 page)

Sutton stands up, breaking the tension. “I’ll come by tomorrow to see how you’re doing.
Right now, I have to get back to the hospital to check on my patients. If anything
changes or you have any questions, please call me.”

“Is there any way I can shower? I have to get this blood out.” I pull a clumpy mass
away from my head, showing him what I mean. A shower would cleanse my soul as well
as my body.

“You should use Cole’s shower. It’s big enough for a chair. That way you can sit when
you shower. Just don’t mess up your wound. I don’t want to staple you back together
again. All it takes is one scratch in the wrong place and you can introduce infection.
You’d be disgusted if you knew the germs we can carry under our nails.” He pats my
arm and leaves the room.

Under my nails.
I inspect my fingernails, holding them up before my face with disgust. The blood
from the guard’s face is still fresh underneath them so I ball them into fists.

Cole stands with his hands in his pockets as he leans on the wall for support. He
walks over to his safe, places his weapons inside, and removes his boots. He lies
down on the mattress next to my bed. And we lay there in silence.

I pick between my fingers as they shake and see streaks of blood on my wrists. I rub
them furiously. Sobs wrack my body, but no tears come—just anger. I slam my fists
down into the bed.

“What can I do? Please tell me what I can do.” His words implore me. My fury builds
into frustration as I raise my hands for him to inspect.

“Can you please just help me wash my hands?”

His eyes rest on my bloodstained fingers. He climbs up, goes to his bathroom, and
starts the water. He returns with a warm, wet cloth and begins to wash my hands. I
don’t want him to touch me, yet I do. I don’t want him close, yet his closeness is
the only thing that makes me feel safe. We’re quiet again, and when he finishes drying
my hands, he takes the cloth back to the bathroom.

He was doing his job when he saved me. He was doing what was expected of him. Yet,
in this moment, it feels more intimate than that. He lies down, pulling a blanket
over his shoulders. His face looks tired, a thousand years older than it is.

“Thank you,” I whisper as I roll away from him. I don’t want to hear his response
or see his face.

*   *   *

The smell of frying eggs and bacon wake me up. My mouth is so dry, and my stomach
twists with hunger.

“I made breakfast. You should eat. It’ll help you heal and regain your strength.”
He stands next to my bed with a plate in one hand and a glass of water in the other.
All of my senses perk up.

“Did I sleep all day and night?” I rub my eyes, then my pounding head.

“Yes. I tried to rouse you earlier to make sure you were okay, but you almost bit
my head off.” He smiles, unsure.

“Sorry, I don’t even remember that.” I look for Zeus and see him lying on the floor
gorging on bacon. “I’m a little hungry, I guess.” I lie. I’m starving.

He hands me the plate and glass. I inhale the water and scarf the food down like Zeus.

“Thank you.” My manners were horrid, but who cares. He picks up the plate and glass
and washes it in his sink. I sit back and gaze out his window. Faint popping sounds
echo up to his room from a few blocks away.

“Is that what I think it is?” I ask.

Looking over his shoulder, he answers, “Don’t get too close to the window. It sounds
like a skirmish a few blocks away. People have been fighting in the streets more often
lately. You’ve missed a lot the last few days.”

“Oh.” I raise my eyebrows but don’t ask any more questions.

“How are you feeling today?”

Is he really asking me that?
My eyes grow wide and my hands drop to my lap. “I feel like crap. I don’t want to
sit here all day. I’m going to go insane in this room if I can’t move.”

“Well, you heard what Sutton said. You need to rest,” Cole reminds me.

“Can I at least take a shower? I hate this.” I hold up my bloody hair. “I need to
shower for my own sanity.” Something in my tone makes him pause. “Seriously, if you
were in my shoes, you’d want to get this crap off too.”

His voice softens. “Okay. I’ll help you if you want.” His dark eyes shine with concern.

“I don’t want to take my clothes off.”

“I know. I’d never expect you to do that, but please let me help you.” He’s not being
perverse. In fact, he actually looks afraid for the first time since we met. Fear
is an interesting emotion for him to display when I’m the one who’s vulnerable. This
is humiliating. It’s hard enough to know the condition he found me in, but it’s even
harder to let him help me with something so personal.

“Okay, well, I’m not sure what to do next,” I say, feeling awkward.

“I’ll go warm the water. You sit here and wait.”

He flicks the light on in the bathroom and starts the shower. I unwrap the bandages
around my head, grimacing as I pull them off. Then I push myself up with my arms and
swing my legs over the side of the bed. My vision swerves like a car with no brakes
and then darkens for a moment. I close my eyes to steady myself. My feet rest on the
mattress below. He stands in the doorway, staring at me with apprehension.

Is he afraid he’ll hurt me?
“You won’t break me if that’s what you’re worried about.”

He walks over, places one arm around my back, and lifts me from under my legs so they
dangle. I feel like a baby. I rest my head on his shoulder and smell his fresh cotton
shirt.

“After this, I’m not sure anyone could,” he whispers.

The steam from the shower coats the mirror and water droplets drip down the tiles,
leaving streaks behind. He gently sets me down on the toilet. Reaching behind his
head, he pulls off his shirt. I stare at the strength in his back, shoulders, and
arms. I tear my eyes away and stare at the cream-colored linoleum floor. He places
a rubber mat in the shower and then the chair.

“I’m making sure it won’t slip.” He steps into the shower. His arms flail as he loses
his balance and falls over the chair with a thud.

I burst out with a laugh. “Are you okay?” I ask while stifling a giggle. My ribs ache
from the exertion of bruised muscles.

He lifts his head. “Well, you don’t want to step in front of the mat. At least we
know that.” We laugh together, but I stop because the stabbing pain darts from my
ribcage all the way up my spine. He reaches for my hands and I hesitate. “Blood doesn’t
bother me. No worries,” he says as he meets my gaze. “I promise I won’t let you slip.”

Again, my mind flashes to how I must’ve looked to him when he discovered me covered
in blood and half-naked in the basement of the hospital. I shake my head to block
the thought and take his hand. Then he helps me over the side of the tub and seats
me into the chair. He stands in front of me, and tilts the showerhead so it barely
hits my back.

“Can you move it up a little? I’d like to feel the water if you don’t mind,” I say,
trying to keep my voice steady. My desire to run and hide conflicts with the deep
desire to let him take care of me. It’s miserable, painful, and exhausting.

“Just tell me when you want me to stop.” His voice breaks into my thoughts and startles
me. I nod. The heat warms my skin and I take a deep breath as I stretch out my fingers.
The water runs down my aching muscles. He touches my shoulder and I jerk backward.

“I’m sorry,” he says with concern in his voice. “After what you went through—” He
pauses and clears his throat. “I’m such an idiot.”

“I just wasn’t expecting it. That’s all.” My breath comes in puffs as I calm myself.

“Well, you scare me,” he says under his breath. His face lingers inches away as he
reaches for the soap. I want to touch him, and yet I’m afraid. My mind imagines things
that it shouldn’t like being wrapped up in his arms, and letting him take care of
me.

“What do you mean?” I heard him say it and refuse to ignore it. “How do I scare you?”
I look at him while lathering my hands and arms.

“You just do,” he says without further elaboration. He steps out of the shower and
I rinse as much of my body as I can, getting rid of all the ugliness caked in my pores.
I rinse it all off until the pink water runs clear.

My shirt, my pants, everything is soaked through. I pull the curtain back. He tries
not to invade my privacy, so he stands facing the plain white drywall.

“Can you help me? I really want to wash my hair, but I don’t want to mess up my staples.”

“Umm sure.” He averts his eyes, but his hands begin to pull my hair backward. “Just
lean back some, and I’ll rinse it out for you.”

His hands.
His hands are strong as they massage the water through my hair. Blood drips off the
tips into the tub. He puts shampoo in, carefully scrubbing around my staples. He gently
pulls my head side to side as he rinses everything off. I keep my eyes closed and
sigh. It feels so good.

He rinses it out, and brushes it back with his fingers. I expect his hands to release
me, but they don’t. They just keep caressing my hair. I turn slightly and our eyes
meet. His are black with emotion like deep pools. His lips part, his hands caress
my head, and water drenches us both.

Oh my goodness. I’m falling for him.

I clear my throat and he tears himself away. I breathe heavily, close my eyes, and
unconsciously place my hands over my chest.

“Are you finished?” he asks quietly, but his voice hides some intense emotion and
cracks at the end.

“Yeah, you can turn it off now.”

I watch him as he turns the knobs. Beads of water run down his face and back as he
reaches for his towel. I can’t tear my eyes away as he dries off. He leans over me,
and his jaw is so close to my lips that I fight the urge to draw him in.

As he carries me out of the bathroom, I see my reflection in the mirror. Purple bruises
mark my face and the stitches on my lip look nasty. My eyes stand out like turquoise
stones amidst the damage. A mass of sopping wet curls hang over his shoulder, but
he doesn’t seem to mind. He puts me on the bed and hands me a clean pair of scrubs.
I shiver. He grabs his towel and I take it.

“Sorry, I only have one towel. I’ll get more later.”

But I wave it off. He tries not to watch as I dry myself. It’s silent except for our
breathing. Even Zeus senses a change and lays still. I feel a strange tingling inside
that I’ve never had before.

“Do you mind?” I ask quietly, holding up my new shirt.

“Oh… um… yeah, I’ll turn around, sorry,” he mumbles as he turns.

I peel off my top layer, dry off again, and quickly pull on the new one.
Dang.
He forgot to give me a bra, and I’m not about to ask him for one. I’ve given up enough
privacy already. It takes me longer to get my wet pants off. I kick them to the floor
and pull the new ones up. Every muscle aches and I’m exhausted. Who knew a shower
would take such a physical and mental toll?

I lie down again, fresh and clean. It’s a relief to wipe away the dirt, the blood,
and the invisible, violating handprints all over me.
Except his hands left new, soothing ones
. I still feel them tangled in my hair; I still see his face.

He pulls a new shirt over his broad back and turns. Rational behavior escapes me when
I think too much about him. I don’t recognize this feeling, but its all-consuming
power disturbs me.

I have to stop, but my mind fights against me.
Do his feelings go beyond this too?
I thought I felt a connection beyond what should be there.
What’s wrong with me? He’s forbidden fruit.
Yet, as I lie in bed, my mind replays the shower with him, over and over.

Night again. Waiting for the inevitable. Praying it doesn’t happen.
The moon is full. Light glimmers through my curtains. I lie in my bed, hoping tonight
is one of the nights he doesn’t show up, since work sometimes keeps him occupied.

“Your mother has been difficult as of late,” he whispers as he lifts the sheet. “I
think we’ll have to do something about that.” I swallow the fear rising in my throat.
He wraps his right arm over mine and sighs. “Work was tough today. I can’t always
stay focused. I have certain weaknesses that cripple me.” I feel my nails digging
into my
palms. “Beauty, for example, is a weakness for me. It’s such a shame you’re so young.
We could do amazing things together,” he says. I want to scream, but I don’t.

“My mother is beautiful,” I blurt.

He places his hand on my face. “Hmm, she was when she was young, but she’s lost her
youth with the unfortunate death of your father.” Cruelty lies behind his words. I
push him away. He rolls his body over me, pinning me down. My eyes snap open, and
the face staring at me is the face of the guard who attacked me. I scream and he slaps
me. My head is dizzy. He grabs my face and kisses me with passion.

“Get off of me!” I scream, trying to push him off, but he’s dead weight. He doesn’t
budge. He crushes my chest and my ribs crack one by one. My lungs deflate. I have
no air to breathe. Everything turns black. I’m dead
.

My eyes flip open like switches and my heart pounds in my ears. It was just another
nightmare. But more vivid than before. A dream crafted from my sick reality.

My pillow is soaked. I look around and it takes me a moment to realize I’m still in
Cole’s room. I take deep breaths to calm my racing heart and panicked nerves. My chest
aches with the reminder of my injuries.
Inhale. Exhale.
I lie down on my side and grunt as stabbing pains shoot through me.

Zeus takes up a lot of room, so I move toward the wall. I reach for my sheet.
Where is the sheet?
I feel around for it, knowing I’m starting to make too much noise. My fingers find
the edge and I pull. It’s stuck.
Great.
I roll over and gasp. Cole’s face is next to me… in bed.