Page 35 of Forbidden Eyes
A minute later he’s back in the car with a green pouch in his hand. He keeps the internal light on and leans over towards me.
“Keep still and turn towards me. I need to see the damage.”
“Is it bad?”
He’s back to non-verbal communication apparently because he pulls a small bottle and a wrap of some kind from the pouch, refusing to answer, and sprays over the cut. Tiny little daggers, salt like, go to work on the mark, making my skin tingle and smart. Next, with hands more gentle than I’d have thought possible given what I’ve just witnessed from him, and his current attitude, he cleans away the blood. My eyes can’t stay away from his face, as he concentrates, and it’s the perfect distraction from the pain.
“You’ll need to put a bandage on.” He hands me the pouch.
“Can’t you…” My request dies on my lips, but it stops him from exiting the car. He twists back towards me and takes the pack back, a bland look of disinterest on his features, as he unrolls the gauze and tape. Several cuts later and he forms squares of it before placing them, like jigsaw pieces, down my chest. The gentle brush of his fingers on my skin takes all of the pain away and leaves me short of breath for an entirely different reason. It’s ridiculous. This is the part where I realise I have gone crazy—that I left my brain back in that house.
Every touch ignites my blood and it hums just below the surface of my skin. I will him to look at me, to catch my glance or to show me… something. He doesn’t. He finishes his job and removes his bloodied jacket, taking something from the pocket to slide into his pants, and then strides out of the car towards the diner, perhaps expecting me to follow. Annoyingly, I do, for a whole bunch of reasons. First, there’s no way I’m waiting alone for him in the car. Second, he’s riled me up on the journey here, choosing to answer some but not all of my questions, highlighting just how silly I’ve been, and then there’s the obvious reason—my attraction to him. Playing the hero hasn’t helped with the sparks that are set free around my body when I’m close to him. On some level, I even like the sparring between us. There’s a connection, but it's a connection that won’t go anywhere from now on, no matter how my heart pounds because of the way he makes me feel. Especially not after everything that’s happened tonight.
Walking into the diner is harder than I thought. I forgot I lost my shoes and the cuts and scrapes on my feet are only now registering. The rich smell of coffee and fast food wakes me up, though, and gives me something else to think about. My stomach growls around the sick feeling still hovering there. Carter seats himself in the booth furthest from the door in the back, close to a rear exit. I walk over and slide in opposite him. It takes him a few minutes to even acknowledge me, and I wonder if I’ve done something so bad he’ll never talk to me again.
“Hey,” I offer.
He picks up the plastic laminated menu from the stand, nodding at it rather than acknowledging me with conversation, and I notice a slight quiver in his hand.
“Are you alright?”
“Fine, Fia. We’re not here for long. We’ll head back to the hotel soon, and then you’re on the plane as soon as I can arrange it.”
“The hotel? Is it safe? I think we should reconsider where we stay and I’m not going back home.” My words run into each other before I’ve even thought through what I’m saying.
“So, you’re happy with sleeping in the car, or checking into some motel somewhere? Believe me, the hotel is the safest option. And yes, you are.” He raises his brow as if he expects me to turn my nose up.
“I might be used to having everything handed to me on a silver platter, but that doesn’t mean I always like it. Don’t worry about me.”
“Really? Because if I don’t worry about you, who will? You’re here alone with me. Your family doesn’t know you’re here. Only Quinn. I am the only person who can worry about you right now, and I’m telling you to do as I say. Why the hell you’re arguing with me about this after what you’ve just been through is a fucking mystery.”
His eyes remain locked onto mine as he emphasises his words. He’s trying to be mean, but that’s not what I hear. All I hear are the wordsalone with meandworry about me. I should be a quivering wreck after being kidnapped, hurt, and watching Carter kill.
I should.
For some reason, I’m not.
“I promise to go back, and believe me, I’ll be confronting my uncle and my father about what I’ve learned. But I’ll go back when we were scheduled to. Not before. You can’t dismiss me like a child. Especially not after today.”
“You’re going to confront your father?” He looks at me quizzically.
“Are you two ready to order?” Despite the late hour, the waitress is still cheery-faced and chooses this moment to halt our conversation.
“Sure. I’ll have the classic burger and fries, and a water.”
“Um, just the fries. I’ll have a strawberry shake, though.”
“Gotcha.” She walks back to put in our order.
“I wouldn’t have said you were a burger and fries type of guy, especially after ...” My words trail off as I look at the dirty table we’re sitting at, and I think about my own stomach growling for food. Thirteen men are dead that I know of, probably more, and I’m wearing a patchwork of band aids covering a knife wound as I sit here about to eat fries and a milkshake.
“What do you intend to say to your father?” My eyes rise back up slowly, and I watch Carter lean his forearms on the Formica surface.
“God, Carter. That’s a big question,” I huff, sitting back to gain some space. “A lot. I’m furious with him.”
“You really had no idea?”
I think about how to answer because deep down, I knew something wasn’t right with everything in our world, but I didn’t suspect drugs. Dodgy business deals, yes. Terrorizing people with his power, blackmail, maybe. But drugs? “No. And right now, I hate him for it. Is he like those men who took me? Would he do that to someone else?”