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He releases a heavy sigh and hands me the box. He groans as he shakes his shirt away.
I swallow at the partial view of his chiselled muscles. Good lord. A bandage covers half of his chest, but he still doesn’t look bad. There are several scars marring his abdomen and upper chest. Are those knife cuts? This isn’t the first time he’s been hurt, is it? The black void in my heart expands at the thought. What kind of unfortunate life had he lived thus far?
“Mae.”
My attention snaps to the sound of my softly spoken name. Aaron heaves the next words. “I need that morphine now if you don’t mind.”
“Ah, okay.” I blurt, grabbing a syringe and a little bottle. “What do I do?”
I follow his clipped instructions of filling the syringe, releasing air and other technical terms.
He taps on a blue spot in his arm. “Disinfect. One go. Here.”
My hands tremble as I sit beside him. What if I fail and hurt him instead? I know nothing about medication, but I assume morphine is dangerous stuff.
“Hey, steady.” Aaron’s warm hands cover my shaky one. I don’t know if it’s because of the softness in his eyes, the calmness in his expression, or the warmth of his small smile, but my tremors subside a little.
God. He could’ve died. I could’ve never seen that smile again.
“I can do it.” My words are confident. This is the least I can do.
He releases my hand. “I may start blubbering after this. Never mind me.”
Once I inject him, he crawls into the bed. It doesn’t take him long to fall asleep.
I stand by his side and pull the cover over him. Black ink on the side of his left shoulder stops me in my tracks. A tattoo? Somehow, Aaron doesn’t strike me as a tattoos’ person, but what do I know, anyway? Surprises seem endless with this man.
I lean close. It’s a bar code of some sorts, the size of a finger. The only scribbled thing within it is the number ‘111’. I frown. What the hell is this? A branding? Does it have a special meaning?
“It’s an assassin’s identification code.” Tristan’s monotonic voice comes from the doorway. I jolt, swaying back. He nearly made my heart drop to my feet.
After standing straight, I blink. “Are you guys part of the mafia?”
“No.” He smiles, but there’s nothing happy about it. The pain and hatred in his eyes come through unmasked. “We were part of an organisation called The Pit. They kidnapped us as children and turned us into killing machines.”
“Oh, God.” I gasp before putting my hands in front of my mouth.
Tristan motions to the door. “Do you wish to know more? I’m sure Aaron isn’t into sharing the story of his life.”
“But...” I glance at Aaron’s sleeping form. He seems peaceful now, but still too pale to be considered normal.
“Don’t worry about him,” Tristan says in a light tone. “The medication will keep him out for some time. There’s nothing you can do to help him while he sleeps.”
He’s right. I take one last look at Aaron before following Tristan out. This is possibly the only opportunity to find out more about Aaron after Eva’s journal.
Unless... I narrow my eyes at Tristan’s broad back as we walk into my room. Is he trying to manipulate me like the other time? I don’t trust Tristan. Under that charming smile hides a cunning fox.
There’s something mystic, yet completely wrong about the whole Rhodes family.
The journal is splayed on the bed. My lips part. I hid it, didn’t I?
“Please have a seat.” Tristan motions to the bed as he takes the opposite chair.
My heart almost beats out of my chest. I gulp as I ease at the edge of the bed. “A-are you going to tell Aaron about the journal?”
He shakes his head, his expression’s coaxing, like Owen’s. “It won’t be a good idea. As a matter of fact, I’m glad it ended up in your hands, it reduces some of the storytelling.”
I bite my lip, my nails clink together in my lap. Screw it. I don’t care if Tristan is manipulating me. “Do you know why Eva didn’t continue writing?” I blurt.
