“Hannibal Sketcher.” I repeated, seeing how it tasted on my tongue. “That’s very original. Did you come up with it all on your own, or were you under the influence?” of meds…
Her eyes drew into slits. “Whatever this is let’s get it over with. I’m exhausted and just want to go to bed.” She muttered. She had a little bite left in her bark, not much, but some, and thought it would be enough to take me on.
She was wrong.
“You’ve disappointed me.” I said, enclosing the distance between us. Now inches away from her lips, I kept my eyes trained on hers and pushed an auburn curl off of her shoulder. She shivered. “I thought you were going to be a good girl, but you ran your mouth, stray—tsk, tsk…”
She stood her ground, swatting my smooth hand away like a fly. “Yes, I did.” The pride in her voice was unmistakable as she poked the center of my hard chest and added, “Your sketch was horrid and inappropriate. The only place it belongs is in the trash.” She probably had a lot more she wanted to say—oh, I don’t know, like how I reminded her of an 80’s on-screen serial killer—but I didn’t give her the chance. My eyes fell to the spot on my chest, and to the spot where mere seconds ago her finger had been. I could still feel the nerves throbbing from the indention the nail had left upon impact. What fucks I had left—which admittedly wasn’t a lot, maybe one or two—jumped ship and forgot to throw me a life vest. Bye-bye, Gambrielle.
“Was that a cry for help, or did you piss the wrong man off?” I asked, a little too casually.
Confusion filled her brown hues. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh, you heard me.” I taunted. My eyes zeroed in on the scars on her wrists, and specifically, the initials. A harsh chuckle vibrated through my chest. “I didn’t know branding was a thing, but to each his own.” As the recognition finally hit home, all-of-the-color drained from her face and I lunged forward and grabbed her wrist. Her soft skin burned against mine as I traced the welts of the initials and flashed her a sinister smirk, “Pity. You had such beautiful skin.”
Zero fucks…
That was all it took to bring the inner bitch out of her.
“Enough!” She jerked once, twice, trying to break free of my hold and failed.
My fingers tightened around the already sensitive flesh and I squeezed hard, bringing her to her knees. Her lips formed the shape of an O and tears pooled into her eyes, but she didn’t scream. The bravery she had displayed before was now gone and had been replaced with true fear. Good girl. Her chest rose and fell like she had run a marathon, her bloodshot eyes crippling as I slowly leaned forward and whispered into her ear, “I’m just getting started. This is my domain. Do you understand?” She gave a quick nod, but I wasn’t satisfied. “Answer me!”
“Your domain.” She whispered, not meeting my gaze.
“That’s right. My domain. If you have a fuckin’ problem, you take it up with the king. Not the servants. Understand?”
She nodded.
In the midst of my Braveheart moment, I took a deep breath to rein myself back in and wished I had suffocated. The sweet smell of roses was back and more potent than ever, repelling off of her neck like toxic fumes. Fuck. I was too close and having a hard time finding the willpower to stay away. Squeezing my eyes shut, I cursed. Her smell truly was intoxicating.
And then, something unexpected happened: she took a fistful of my black hoodie and pulled herself up, drawing me close, her body shivering against mine as she leaned her cheek on my chest and whispered, “Help me .”
“Humm..”
“Help me, please!”
My body turned to stone. I blinked.
Okay this is not…what is happening here? My eyes darted to the empty hallway, then back to her hair which was now tickling my neck. “What are you doing?” I whispered, frowning. “Get off of me, now.” Damn vixen.
Gambrielle released my hoodie, and for a split second I thought Braveheart was back and ready to fight to the death.
Well, make a few threats and maybe slap her ass around…
But no.
Completely ignoring my demands, the bitch wrapped her arms around my back and snuggled up to the hollow of my chest. My jaw dropped. What kind of witchcraft is this? After everything I had just done, she wanted to cuddle?
“You’re warm.” She whispered into my chest. “And you smell like wintergreen and charcoal.”
“I smoke.”
“Mmmm.” She hummed approvingly.
“It’s a mixture of the charcoal I use for my sketches, and cigarettes.” I explained.
My hands had fallen to my sides and taken cover in my pants pockets—where I prayed they remained. Feeling a bit confused about the sudden change of events, I started to pull away, but she tightened her grip around my waist and mumbled something that sounded like no.
Truth be told, part of me didn’t want her to let go. There was something strangely comforting in the way the stray held my waist and rocked side to side, as though we were dancing. It was like we were in our own little world, away from everything, and all of the problems that seemed so important only moments ago, vanished.
“You’re mommy’s little bumblebee. Mommy’s little bumblebee.” Gambrielle started humming a few verses and pushed onto her tiptoes, she whispered into my ear, “help me.”
My brows furrowed. “I can’t.” I whispered, breathless.
I had no idea what she needed help with, but whatever it was, the answer would have to be no. I could barely help myself, let alone a stranger. But this feels…what is the word? Content? No. Calm? Relaxed? Peaceful? I couldn’t figure it out. It felt good though, real good, her arms holding on to me for dear life. “My mother smelled like roses.” I whispered, resting my cheek on top of her head. I closed my eyes and gave in to it. “We had a garden in the front of our house and every Sunday she would pick a few and put one in my room.”
“Smelled like roses? As in past tense?”
“Mmm. She die—”
“—Lincoln.”
My eyes flew open at the sound of his voice—I glanced over my shoulder.
Well fuck…
Thorne was standing in Gambrielle’s doorway, muscular arms crossed, and an amused look on his face. Thrown over his shoulder was a Legends hoodie, which made the moment even more awkward and confusing for me. “We took a vote.” Thorne said, smirking at Gambrielle—who was mortified and quickly released me.
Shit. I held up my hands. “I didn’t touch her.”
Thorne snorted.
“The one time I am innocent and no one is going to believe me.” I said, rolling my eyes. I put some serious distance between me and the stray. Like ten feet. It would’ve been more, but beggars couldn’t be choosers in a twelve-by-twelve room. “What’s with the hoodie?”
“We took a vote.” Thorne said again. Jerking the hoodie off of his shoulder, he threw it to Gambrielle, who dodged it, and explained, “Varla showed Rey her tits and he became a democrat.”
Noooooo! For the third time that day, my mouth dropped in pure disbelief!
No.
Her joining our group sounded good coming from Dr. Young, BEFORE she decided to become Miss Cuddles and infringe upon my oxygen.