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“You okay?” he asks, pulling his shirt up over his shoulders, his features distorting with the effort. The pain shows through gritted teeth and a ragged exhale. He should be in a hospital bed, resting, not rescuing people who don’t want to be rescued. The shirt beneath is soaked through, crimson expanding over the fabric.
“Damn it, Ezekiel, that’s not nothing.” I move toward him on autopilot, unbuttoning his shirt to check his wounds. He’s torn two stitches in one of his injuries. It’s red and risen. “This needs to be re-stitched. I’ll do it,” I tell him, grabbing a kitchen towel to dab away the blood on his skin.
A rich, deep chuckle tightens his abs and falls over me like confetti. My heart beats a little slower, finding peace in his voice. It’s so absurd in our situation to be laughing and feeling a lightness overcome me from just the sound of it. “You sure about that?” he taunts.
“I won’t pass out this time, I promise.” I hold up a pinkie, and he raises a brow.
“I think you have me confused with a girl scout.” He pushes my hand down but keeps hold of it, making my chest flutter.
“With that body? Not a chance,” I say out loud, blatantly checking him out.
The intensity of his attention when it’s aimed at you is enthralling. “Are you flirting with me, woman?” His voice is deep, vibrating through me, touching me in places it shouldn’t.
“In our situation? That would be wildly inappropriate, wouldn’t it?” I sound breathless, needy.
He takes another step, closing the small space between us, our bodies almost touching with every exhale of breath. “I’m all for inappropriate.” There’s amusement in his eyes, a slight tilt of his mouth.
Looking up at him, I have to fight the urge not to bite down on his lips and turn into a puddle at his feet. “Are you flirting with me, man?” I croon his words back at him.
A soft chuckle, then, “If I were, you’d know it. You’d be soaking fucking wet and gasping my name, begging me to relieve the ache between your legs.” Swiping his tongue out, a sheen of spit dampens his lips. I want to taste it on my own. My pulse rages between my legs.
“I can see why you messed everything up now,” my mother scoffs from the doorway. Ezekiel lets out a growl, sounding more like a beast than man. Mother tilts her head, admiring the view of his open shirt. How she goes from scared little mouse to mouthy bitch in a heartbeat has always rubbed my nerve.
Turning on my heel, my cheeks flaming, I cut through the kitchen to where she’s waiting. “Come on. I’ll get you something to wear and look at those burns.” She’s in a towel that barely covers her ass. God knows what she endured at the hands of those pigs, but it hasn’t made her shy.
“I’m not wearing old lady clothes.” She folds her arms, jerking her chin. My whole life has been me parenting her. I’m convinced she never moved out of the teenage phase, her mind stuck there, refusing to grow up.
“I’ll see what Lily has,” I placate.
It won’t fit her. Lily is tiny compared to us. We’re fuller in the hips and tit area. Lily’s jeans I’d borrowed looked like I’d stuffed sausage meat into a casing of a mini dog.
“I’m not going in there. You’re going to try to lock me in.” She falters a couple feet from Lily’s bedroom door.
“What the hell are you talking about?” I snap, fed up with her attitude.
“There’s a lock on the door.” Her arm flails up to a bolt on the top of the bedroom door.
“Maybe Lily likes privacy.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. This really is my life.
“The lock’s on the outside.” Her eyes narrow, lines wrinkling her skin.
“Fine, wait out here if you want,” I huff. I hadn’t really thought about that lock when I came in here before. I’ll ask Lily about it when…if we get out of this mess.
Pulling open a dresser drawer, I rummage through, finding sweatpants and a T-shirt. “It looks like a Disney princess threw up in here.” Mother shudders from the doorway, her disgusted gaze traveling over the room. It is very pink in here, with shelves of stuffed toys, freaky china dolls, and a dollhouse in the corner with lights illuminating it. “Ain’t she grown?” Her lips pinch.
“She’s eighteen. Here.” I toss the clothes at her and shut the door behind us, already feeling shitty for intruding Lily’s space.
“That girl needs a life.” She drops her towel and slips the clothes on right in the hallway.
“Like yours?” I mock. “You were a mother at eighteen. A shit one at that.” The words just fall from my lips.
The audacity of her mouth dropping open is laughable. “I did my best. You think it’s easy raising a screaming kid twenty-four-seven at seventeen?” The curling of her lips makes her look like pure evil.
