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We both just need to rest a minute.
Chapter forty-six
Claire
I don’t remember falling asleep, but when I wake up, it’s dark in the cabin. My eyelashes flutter against something as I wake, confusion parting as I pull away from the warm body beneath me and realization hits me.
Remy.
I fell asleep on him?
It’s somehow embarrassing. In our interactions, we’ve been giving and taking in equal measure. It’s been working so well. And then he went and gave me the greatest orgasm I have ever had—maybe the greatest one to ever exist. I wanted his anger, his rage, his wrath. But somehow this time feels different. It’s like I’m his whore who was supposed to slink away after the deed was done with him still between my thighs—that way it wouldn’t mean anything. Instead, we literally slept together.
Now I know why Rhea was losing her shit earlier. The bubble of panic in my stomach has me feeling nauseous, the air too warm. And yet, his arm is wrapped around me, his skin pressed against my back so that as I try to peel myself off of him, I hold my breath, trying not to wake him.
I’m sore, my body aching in the best way. I close my eyes as I slip out from under his arm, just in case his pop open to find me desperately trying to escape him. Somehow, that would be even more mortifying.
But he’s completely passed out, barely even stirring when I let his arm drop to the pillow at his side and roll off the bed to find my discarded clothes. My bikini top ended up on the floor, my shorts are halfway across the room, and the bottoms of my swimsuit are draped off the side of the bed like they were left to serve as a sign of my submission. I make quick work of tying the knots and tucking away all the tits and bits, slipping my shorts on like I’m racing the damn clock. As if he hasn’t seen me in anything less than my bikini.
When I reach for my shirt, I remember that he ripped it right down the middle like an animal. I guess I don’t need it on the boat anyway, and it’s not like there’s anywhere for me to go to sneak away from him. But I can’t be here in this room any longer, so I slip out of the room, fully intending to go sit on the deck and wait for him to wake up so he can take us back to his house.
But I freeze as soon as the door is shut behind me, seeing all the blood still splashed across the shiny floor. It’s a mess out here—I honestly don’t know how Wes will survive all that blood he lost. Even with giving him some of mine, seeing how much was spilled, I don’t know what will come of him.
My stomach twists at the thought, which makes me irrationally angry. I know I shouldn’t care what happens to him. He wasn’t going to care what happened to me. Honestly, if I was the one bleeding in front of him, he’d probably fuck me before passing me off to his father.
My blood is heating by the time I stalk over to the cabinet under the sink and pull out a spray bottle without a label. A quick whiff once I uncap it proves it’s bleach, and for a moment I wonder why this is the only cleaning solution to be found. Then I remember he’s fucking rich. He probably has Elaine come out to clean his boat or something. But there’s also the fact that he kills people, and maybe the boat is just a convenient spot for that. Take them out where no one can hear them scream and throw them where no one will find them. Isn’t that what he threatened me with the first time he brought me out here?
I ignore the burgeoning rage in my chest and grab a hand towel off the counter, setting about cleaning up. I don’t bother looking for gloves. I just scrub the floor clean until the rag is so thick with blood, all I’m doing is spreading it around, so I run it under the sink, wring it out, and repeat.
I’m not letting myself think as I work, focused on the task at hand— the circular motions, the smell of the bleach, the up and down as I wring the cloth out and then drop back onto my knees again and again. I hope the gentle pitter patter I hear means that the rain has washed most of the blood off the deck outside, and I’m honestly exhausted by the time I finish, leaning on the sink as I wring the cloth out one last time.
Blood pools in the basin, the water running red as it drips from the cloth. I drop it onto the counter and focus on scrubbing my hands, which seem to be permanently tinted red. The harder I scrub at them, the redder they get until I can feel the blood on them. Not Wes’… Eric’s.
My chest is tight as the tears blur my vision. I don’t even know what I’m crying for by the time I turn the water off and wipe my hands on a clean towel.
“You cleaned?” Remy’s voice makes me jump, so that when I turn to face him, my heart hammers so hard I press my palm against it. He’s quiet as he takes me in, giving me a little chance to blink away the tears before his eyes turn to mine.
But it’s too late. Recognition darkens his eyes as they flit over me and then back to my hands. “Were you trying to bathe in the bleach?” He asks, stepping closer to me and seizing my wrists so that he can inspect my hands. They’re still red, though now that I look at them, I can see it’s from the irritation of the bleach and the hot water.
“Sorry,” I tell him, trying to rip out of his touch. His fingers tighten on my wrists, so I abandon the fight, meeting his eyes. “I just wanted to… make myself useful.”
“You’re already plenty useful.” He says, eyeing me thoughtfully. It sets a fire in my stomach, but also makes me clench around nothing, feeling how hollow I am.
I can’t even dignify that with a response, so I inhale a sharp breath and gesture to the windows that look out at the dark night. From in here, you can’t even tell the sea from the sky. Something about that makes my chest ache more.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
“It’s late.”
Remy arches an eyebrow, like he’s amused by my elementary assessment. He’s just opening his mouth when his phone rings. But he doesn’t let go of my gaze as he reaches into his back pocket to grab his phone, answering it without ever checking the caller ID. “Hello?”
The volume is up all the way, or else the person on the other end of the line is yelling. Either way, I hear it when the man says, “He’s gone!”
My first thought is Dimitri and Rhea. Surely, they must be wondering where the hell we ended up. I was supposed to be playing a little game with Rhea when I ended up on the boat. “I’m sorry,” Remy says calmly, blinking at me. “What do you mean, he’s gone?”
“He was sedated when I left him. I went to bed, woke up to the silent alarm going off back at the clinic.”
The clinic.
