AllFreeNovel
Share Us
It’s like someone forgot to tell the sorority to bring jello for the wrestling match, and someone had the bright idea to improvise with . . . blood.
Blood wrestling. Wonderful.
“You should not be here.”Ezra scowls at me from the other side of the room, a cigarette dangling from his lips, a hose in one hand and a mop in the other. Judging by the room’s current condition, I’d say he’s shit at cleaning.
Levity seems appropriate for this situation. “Your clean-up crew on vacation?” I ask, hoping it sounds as much like a joke as it does in my head.
Ezra doesn’t laugh. His eyes screw shut, and a heavy sigh falls past his pinched lips. He pulls the cigarette from his mouth and flicks it into a bin nearby. “They are busy with other task.”
Oh.
He really does have a clean-up crew for shit like this.
I’m not a fan of blood. I know, as a woman, I’m supposed to be okay with blood since I see it almost every month. But that’s a load of bullshit, because this blood isn’t mine.
My stomach churns as the metallic scent hits my nose.
Ezra sighs again and drops the mop to reach into his pocket. Grabbing something tiny, he tosses it in my direction, and I snatch it from the air before it smashes me in the face.
It’s a sachet of herbs, smelling distinctly of peppermint and lavender.
I stare at the tiny pouch as Ezra starts hosing the place down in earnest. Water washes away most of the grime, but patches of gore remain in stubborn pockets. I’d never noticed the distinct drain in the middle of the floor, or the tinier ones located in the four corners of the room, but I definitely notice them now.
“What...” I swallow my nerves and take a hit of the sachet, holding it to my nose and breathing in deep. “What, um, happened?”
Ezra grunts and nudges me to the side so he can hose down the three-foot smear I made from the door. Flecks of blood coat his inked skin, and I find myself following the trail of red down his muscular arms to his large, calloused hands.
He’s always been a sturdy man. Broad-shouldered and strong as an ox. More than once, he kept me safe from anyone who tried to get too close or make advances on me at galas, glaring at them and ordering them to back away or else.
I didn’t think much of it back then, but I imagine this scarlet display is the aftermath of whatever or else meant.
I try not to take Ezra’s deflection personally as I pick up his discarded mop and follow him around with it, scrubbing the more tenacious stains as he hoses around me. It takes a while, but after a little elbow grease and bleach, the room looks much better than when I first walked in.
Ezra stares at me as I hang the mop up to dry and rinse out a bucket of soap and bleach. I pretend not to notice him as I double rinse and start scrubbing my arms.
Yuck.
He makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat, and I look up to find him stiff as a board, jaw clenched, eyes narrowed.
“What?”
He’s a man of few words, but he jerks his head to the side and starts heading toward the single door in that direction. The one that leads to his bedroom.
“Come, lisichka.”
I’m on my feet in two seconds flat, following the mountain of a man into his dark domain. The lights are off, but the curtains rustle as a chilly breeze blows fresh air into the room. Sunlight streams through the darkness, much the same way it did when I first walked in here, and I get my first real glimpse of the place.
There’s not much here. A bed. A dresser. A desk laden with a long-barreled gun scattered into its many parts. A laundry basket kicked over near the wall.
Not a single piece of decor in sight. A room made for function, not fashion.
He takes me to a bathroom that’s cramped for two people, but we manage to stand side by side at the sink, both of us scrubbing our hands and arms with abrasive, antibacterial soap.
Aside from our midnight snack meets, I haven’t spent any time with Ezra since my arrival. He’s stalked me around the grounds, sure, but that ended after the Mayor’s party. Maybe even before then, if I think about it.
This is the most domestic activity we’ve ever shared, and it’s almost sweet . . . if you forget about all the blood and gore we just mopped up.
I take a moment to consider all three of the men in my life. Mikhail, aloof on the surface but soft underneath. Ezra, a little emo and rough around the edges, but loyal to the bone. Andrei, tough as nails in business and just as demanding as a lover . . . or so I imagine.
