Page 40 of Liberated By Sin
“Who said I trust you?”
When I turned to face her, the hard barrel positioned between my eyes. “Because you would have already pulled that trigger.”
Annoyance pinched her face. Possibly because she realized I had a point. “I can count on one finger the people I trust. And I’m sorry to report that you don’t exactly make the cut.”
“Fair. But allow me to change that.” Taking a chance, I slowly reached for her hand, mindful of her quick reflexes. “We’re just ten minutes away. You get cleaned up, and I’ll get you home.”
“Why?” she asked as she finally lowered the weapon, the hard edges of her face and tone softening.
“What I said about you being stuck in my head, I meant it.”
She inhaled, ready to counter my confession, but I beat her to an answer.
“I have my demons, too. And maybe we’re more alike than you think.”
The remainder of the car ride to my property was quiet. I let her have her peace, unwilling to agitate her further. Amara might appear to be the pillar of steel and ice, but I was well-versed in trauma and the layers one needed to pile on to keep darkness at bay.
“You brought me to your home?” she questioned, sliding out of the car, gun still in hand. I followed and climbed up the steps to the front entryway as a sense of victory filled my chest when I felt her presence close behind.
“Just to get cleaned up.”
“Right.”
Keeping her in my periphery, I went about my routine of disarming and re-engaging my security system and powering on the monitors, feeding footage from every vantage point of my property. I’d admit I’d paid well over what the home was worth, but choices were slim whenmaking a last-minute impulse purchase.
Amara’s eyes trailed me, assessing, hyper-aware of my every move.
Trained.
“Are you hungry?”
“No,” she replied dryly.
I acknowledged her vigilance with a nod and dared to approach. The recessed lighting above our heads was dimmed, but enough to highlight the parts of her that the dark had obscured. Red spatters painted her skin, deepening as they branched her forearms and hands, where the color saturated, closely resembling black.
Pushing the boundaries between us, I reached for her hand, and her tentative eyes shot up to mine.
“Are you okay?” I asked, flipping it over, roving the stained flesh, and finding only minor defensive wounds.
“It’s not my blood.”
“Good.” A strange spark of pride rolled through me.
Neither of us said another word for several beats in which she hadn’t relinquished her hand. I considered the act a small win.
“Where is that cleaning up you promised me?”
Her voice held a tinge of amusement, and she surprised me more when she slipped her gun inside the bag slung across her body. While she wouldn’t admit it, and maybe her trust extended only so far, she’d let her guard down enough, which was a step in the right direction—small as it was.
“Down that hall. In my bedroom is the ensuite.”
Again, her eyes tightened as they fell on mine. “Your bedroom?”
“Lock the door. And help yourself to my closet. Nothing will fit appropriately, but anything is better than being bathed in that son of a bitch’s blood.”
She shrugged and started down the hall. “It’s like a trophy.”
The door closed behind her, and I waited for the lock to click into place but heard nothing. I would have taken that as an invitation in any other circumstance with any other woman. But with Amara, I waslearning that her inaction was more of anI dare you to try.