Page 25 of Made in Malice
I lock myself in my room, leaving my bag on the sofa before heading straight to the bathroom to scrub my arm. I probably should have done it sooner, since some of the little pinpricks of blood are already dried and crusty, but I didn’t want to be caught by Morningstar or whomever he sent to mess with me. I’ve come to the conclusion that’s the only thing that makes sense. He had someone waiting for me in the room. He probably expected them to keep me there so he could come in and tell me how worthless I am, or maybe even something worse. It surely doesn’t seem like he’s opposed to violence to get what he wants, but I must have surprised them when I fought back.
The welts on my arm look even worse after I scrub them with soap and water. My whole arm is red. I might have gone a little overboard with the scouring, but I have no idea what scratched me. My best guess is fingernails, and who knows when they last washed their hands? I shiver involuntarily just from thinking about it, then change my shirt to something with long sleeves so I won’t need to explain what happened if anyone comes by.
As soon as I’m done, I head straight for my bag so I can get my scheduled fixed. This isn’t going to stop me. If anything, it just makes me more determined to show them that I’m not going to be pushed around.
The sound of the key sliding into my locked door has my head snapping to the right. While I appreciate the comfy living space, I have to admit it’s tempered with knowing I have no expectation of privacy, not even with the hired guns apparently.
Alden doesn’t even look abashed when he walks right in and closes the door behind him.
“Did you need something?” I finally ask when it seems my glare isn’t going to be enough to get him talking or leaving.
“What happened today?”
I tug at the cuff of my long-sleeved shirt and play dumb. How the heck does he know anything happened?
“Why did you practically run into the house like the devil was on your heels?”
The description is so accurate, I could snort, but I don’t. “I had to poop,” I tell him with a straight face.
His head moves just enough to let me know my answer surprised him. Good. When his eyes narrow just a second later, I suspect he knows it was a diversion tactic, but how can he argue?
“What happened at school?”
“I got my results and came home to enroll in my classes. Why are you asking? Didn’t they dismiss you from guard duty?”
“That’s all?” he urges.
“Pretty much. Is there something else you need?”
“Why did you change your clothes?”
“It’s cold in here.” It’s not really a lie, but I would have been comfortable in my tee.
He starts to make a slow lap around the sofa, and I have to work to keep him in my sights. The easy camaraderie I thought we had is gone. I don’t trust him, and I never should have.
“You’re not telling me everything,” he says under his breath.
I ignore it, because I don’t have anything to tell him, and I’m not sure he expected me to respond anyway. “Why are you here?” I ask him slowly with an expectant glare, since he didn’t answer me the first time.
“You’re going to end up hurt if you’re not more careful.”
“Is that a threat?”
He makes a hissing sound as he sucks in a breath. “No, and you know it wasn’t.”
“Do I?” The ring of purple around the top of my arm would suggest I don’t, but I don’t say that. It would just make me seem weak.
“Tell your grandmother you changed your mind and want an escort,” Alden demands when he finally stops circling me.
“No.”
His lips pinch for just a second, but the tic in his jaw remains longer. “You don’t understand the dynamics here,” he counters.
Does he really think insinuating I’m ignorant is going to get me to do what he wants? “It’s not your concern.”
“You’re pissed because I told you to rein it in with Morningstar. I was trying to help you.”
It takes everything in me not to answer his bait. I want to defend myself again and say I wasn’t goading Morningstar, only standing up for myself, but I know it will fall on deaf ears, so I don’t bother replying.