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I fell onto my back, my heart thumping loudly in my chest.
The face of Coulter loomed over me.
I squinted my eyes, trying to calm my erratic heartbeat, taking him in. He looked like they'd beat the shit out of him. He didn't have a shirt on, and you could see small round burn marks dotting his chest. Cigarette burns.
His stomach was full of bruises. Cuts, bruises, and indistinguishable marks trailed the rest of his body. Maybe they’d beat him with a whip? Or a belt?
The sight was sickening.
I gave him a forced smile. “You look like shit."
"I feel like it too."
His hair was wet, and drops of water rolled down his neck to drip on my face. He must have just showered. There was something else different about him, and it took me a moment to realize what it was.
His eyes.
There was no light in them. They were emotionless, cold, hard.
My chest grew heavy, aching for what he must have gone through.
I reached forward, tentatively touching his cheek. "Are you okay?"
He grinned, showing beautiful teeth and sensual lips, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I'm great."
My throat was suddenly dry, and I swallowed hard. "You’re a terrible liar.”
“I’m the best liar.” When I didn’t respond, his throat bobbed, his eyes softening. "You saved me."
My fingers moved to his lips, and I traced over them softly. I didn’t want to talk about that. "Did you get the notebook?”
He chuckled humorlessly. "It's too late for that. The good doctor already spoke to my father."
“And?"
He shook his head, his expression darkening, and grunted. "Don't know."
His shoulders were strained as he leaned over me. I could feel his hands trembling from the pressure. The blackness under his eyes revealed how exhausted he must be.
"I may have something for you." I was staring at his lips because looking into his eyes made me feel so strange. Cold. Like I was staring into some kind of nothingness.
"You do?"
I nodded. "Yeah. I got Marisol drunk the other night."
He exhaled a chuckle. "You did?"
I pulled up a shoulder. "The woman needs more female companionship. She opened up."
He reached forward, shifting his weight to cup my cheek, while his thumb pressed down on my lip. "You're a little miracle worker."
I smirked. “I have some skills."
"What did she tell you?"
"Mostly she talked about you as a kid," I bit down on my smile, she'd had some interesting stuff to tell me about Coulter's mischievousness, "but she also told me, after she was really drunk, that,” I lowered my voice, whispering for some reason, “Bourbon's mom was actually in love with your uncle."
Coulter stiffened over me.
