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“Red, you ain’t carrying fuckin’ laundry downstairs and you ain’t doin’ it. Gonna get one of the... Gonna get someone else to do it.”
“But—”
“End of discussion.”
“That basket stinks.”
“Yeah.”
“Like something died in it.”
“Made your point. Gonna get it handled. Yeah?”
“Okay. You didn’t have to hide what you did.”
He stared at her.
“It’s natural for a man.”
“Jesus, Red.”
“I’m just saying. I was sexually active before,” she waved a hand around, “that. And I enjoyed it... a lot... I hope to enjoy it again... I hope they didn’t destroy that for me.”
He hoped not, either, but that didn’t mean he wanted to picture her having sex with a bunch of different men and enjoying herself while she did it.
Though, he also hoped the men who were lucky enough to have Red didn’t suck. For her benefit. Not theirs.
Still... He didn’t want to think about it.
Fuck.
“So,” she began.
“Not talkin’ about it.”
“I was just going to say I’m going to start breakfast.”
“Oh...’Kay,” he drew out in relief. “Gonna get dressed, take a piss and will be out to help.”
“You should shower.”
He lifted a brow.
She wrinkled her nose. “The basket isn’t the only thing that stinks.”
“Red, asked you before I got into bed—”
“I know. But—”
He lifted a hand. “Got it. Gonna shower.”
She gave him a small smile.
For fuck’s sake, he couldn’t wait to see a bigger one than that pointed in his direction. To see some happy on her whole face and in those hazel eyes, too.
Even so, if it wasn’t for that belly, he would think that woman who had been running through the woods was beginning to disappear.
He bent to grab the jeans off the floor next to the bed and Red made a sharp sound. When he looked up, she gave her head a little shake with another nose wrinkle.
It was cute as fuck. He wasn’t into cute, he was into wicked.
But, damn, suddenly he wanted to kiss her.
He threw the jeans onto the dirty pile, hoping he had a clean pair somewhere. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done laundry.
“Breakfast, Red,” he reminded her because if she kept standing there, she was going to find herself in a lip lock with him. And maybe even his tongue down her throat. And he wasn’t sure how she’d handle that. Even if it was only a kiss.
He had no idea how long it had been since the Shirleys last violated her. Hopefully they had stopped after she’d gotten pregnant since that might have been their only goal. If so, then, besides the physical abuse, it had been at least six months since they’d touched her sexually. Possibly.
He could only fucking hope. But until she talked, he couldn’t be sure.
“You have the stuff for pancakes?” she asked hopefully.
“Nope.”
“Downstairs?”
“Probably. Know Trip gets maple syrup from the Amish. So figurin’ there’s a reason for it. If not downstairs, Stella probably got it. Want me to check?”
“I’m just in the mood for pancakes.”
“Then you’re gettin’ fuckin’ pancakes.”
Again, her lips curved slightly. “With warm maple syrup.”
“Yeah, Red, with warm maple syrup. Whatever you want.”
“Whatever I want?”
He swallowed hard at the soft look she gave him. “Yeah.” For fuck’s sake, suddenly he wanted to hand her the fucking world if he could. Just to see more of that cuteness.
“I don’t want you to lock me in anymore when you leave.”
He blinked. “What?”
“Please don’t lock me in.”
“Red... Doin’ it for your safety.”
“Then let me have a key.”
“Red...”
“I’m not going to run.”
He didn’t believe that. Not yet. “Can’t keep you safe if you run,” he whispered, his throat getting tight and a pressure building in his chest at the thought of her disappearing.
“I’m not going to run.”
“Red,” he breathed.
“Sig... I’m not going to run.”
“You can’t ever leave it unlocked.”
“Okay.”
“Not fuckin’ ever.”
“Okay.”
“Promise me.”
“I promise.”
He didn’t like it. Not one fucking bit. “Promise me.”
“I just did.”
“I need to hear it again.”
“I’m not going to run. I promise. I have nowhere to go.” With that she turned and walked out of the bedroom.
He quickly dug out his last clean pair of jeans and found a clean shirt. Then he went to take a shower so he didn’t stink.
Autumn walked out of the bedroom and took a quick pit stop in the bathroom, which was becoming a too often thing. As she washed her hands, she studied her face in the small mirror over the sink.
Her eyes were brighter and her cheeks held a little color now, other than the bruises that had become difficult to see unless you looked for them. Her lips weren’t as chapped and she was trying very hard not to chew nervously on her bottom lip until it healed completely.
Her thick hair was way too long. It was still duller than what it used to be and it hadn’t been cut in ages, so it fell well past her shoulders. She liked the length but hated trying to keep it tangle-free and out of her face. It was also hot and heavy.
