I’ve never seen him asleep before. I’ve never had the chance. I’ve never been allowed this version of him.
And it’s kind of surreal because he looks…exactly the same. I expected him to look different. Isn’t that the cliche people use, claiming people look different, softer, in sleep? Sure, he looks alittle more peaceful. But all those hard edges and promises of danger are still firmly in place even while he’s unconscious.
Truthfully, I wouldn’t want it any other way.
Pushing myself upright, I drag a hand through my hair. My glasses are on the nightstand, so I grab them, sliding them back into place. I stretch, wincing a little.
Yeah, okay, definitely sore. But, fucking hell, was it worth it.
I find a pair of sweatpants on the floor at the foot of the bed, the ones Reese wore when he went to make us sandwiches last night.
Fuck him. They were delicious.
After pulling on the pants—because I’m definitely stealing them—I step quietly across the room. As I do, the shadows in the corners stir.
I come to a halt and place a finger to my lips. “Shh. Let him sleep.”
They settle back into place, and I grin.
“Good shadow puppies.”
Tiptoeing to the door, I leave the room on a mission to raid his kitchen and make him breakfast since…well, he’s always been the one to feedme.
But then I stop dead in the doorway of the kitchen.
There’s a man I don’t recognize standing on the other side of the island counter with a cup of coffee halfway to his lips. He’s tall with dark hair, wearing army fatigue pants and a gray T-shirt that’s honestly way too tight over muscles that size. He looks tired and a bit rough, like maybe he just got in this morning.
He looks up, and our eyes lock. For several seconds, we do nothing more than stare at each other.
Finally, I ask, “Who are you?”
“Sebastian.”
Cool. That answers absolutely nothing.
I lean against the doorway and fold my arms. “Great. Areyou supposed to be here?”
A slow smirk pulls at his mouth. “Look at that. One night with the boss, and you already think you run the place.”
“Got it.” I nod. “You’re one of his.”
Now that I know that, I think I might even recognize him. I squint my eyes like that will help me remember, and…
Was he in the basement that first day I got here?
Well, if I didn’t like him before…
And then he makes it worse when his gaze dips down to my neck where I’m sure Reese’s marks are displayed proudly and says, “Not like you are.”
I narrow my eyes at the inflection in his voice. “Alright,Sebastian. Here’s the thing. I don’t know you, and I don’t appreciate the tone. You’re in his kitchen. Ijustgot here, and I’d really like to not die again this week.”
“Fair.”
The way his smirk widens makes it feel like he’s still taunting me.
“So maybe,” I continue, pushing off the doorway and stepping further into the kitchen, “you give me a reason not to…”
I don’t finish the sentence. My fingers brush along the edge of the island, and electricity snaps from my fingers, hopping and skipping over the laminate toward him.
