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“It’s pretty deep,” Prez points out, assessing the gash on Troj’s arm. “You don’t wanna risk infection.”
“You know how to stitch?” Troj asks me.
“It just so happens I do.” I smile back at him.
“Seems I got someone taking care of it.” Troj looks back at Prez.
“Fair enough.” The old man shrugs before grabbing a drink for himself.
“You ready to work your magic?” Troj asks, slamming his glass on the bar. His uninjured arm wraps around my shoulders, and he uses it to drag me tighter into his body before leading me back out to the foyer. He guides me up the stairs but instead of turning left toward the room where we’ve all been taking shelter, he leads us down a corridor to a bedroom.
The room’s basic, plain walls that could do with being repainted, and a single bed with a nightstand beside it. Under the window is a wooden desk that's been equipped with medical supplies.
“I understand if you’d prefer a doctor, I’m sure they’d be much more skilled than me,” I tell Troj as he sits on the desk surface.
“This is what I want.” He stares me right in the eyes, his face serious. The moment’s tense until he breaks into an irresistible smile. I giggle back nervously and he takes a swig from the bottle that he’s brought up with him, then places it on the surface he’s sitting on. His hands rest on my hips, steering me to stand between his legs. I feel caged, the closeness between us heating my body with a desire I only get when I’m around him.
I nod my head, willing my hands to stop shaking before I take hold of the needle and begin to sew him up.
I clean the area first with antiseptic wipes, assessing how deep the gash is, and try to ignore the fact that Troj is watching my every move. He hisses in pain when I make the first thread into his wounded flesh.
“How d’ya learn this?” he asks, trying to distract himself from the pain.
“My mother taught me, same as her mother did before her,” I tell him, remembering how soft my mom would speak as she taught me to keep my stitches tight and close together. “Men are always getting injured in the village, it’s not much different from fixing up clothes and my uncle doesn’t care for hospitals.” I try to concentrate on my task, being this close to him, touching him is overwhelming. I shouldn’t want him after what I just saw him do. But if it’s possible it makes me want him more.
“I’m sorry for what Tawk did to you.” I take the opportunity to tell him. “He’s a proud man. I know how much he wanted to be the one who fought for us.” I try to explain him a little better, without defending his actions. I’m so angry at Tawk, what he just did could have cost our people everything.
“I understand why he did it,” Troj snaps, giving me the impression that talking about Tawk angers him. So I change the subject.
When I’m finished, I use the surgical scissors to cut the thread and place everything I’ve used in the silver bowl.
“When will the fight b—”
“Do you love him?” Troj interrupts my attempt to make small talk. And I know he must be talking about Tawk.
“I…I care for him, and I know how much my uncle wants us to be together,” I answer, keeping my eyes focused on the job I’ve just completed.
“And what do you want?” Troj asks, his hand grasping my wrist and preventing me from moving away from him. I look down at the floor and close my eyes, then feel his hand push under my chin and lift my head. When I open my eyes back up, he’s staring right back at me. “What do you want?” he asks again softly.
“I think Tawk would make a good husband, but I don’t wish for him to be mine,” I admit, managing to hold eye contact with him. I feel it again, that undeniable pull between us that’s becoming impossible to ignore, and when my attention drops to his lips I find myself wondering again how they’d taste.
“I asked what you wanted, Shaniya.” I watch his lips move as he speaks, and feel his hand squeeze tighter around my wrist.
“I want what I shouldn’t,” I confess, the man is covered in another man’s blood but my body leans into his, encouraged by the gentle pull he’s making on my wrist. I rub my lips together and close my eyes as I get closer, and when I press my mouth gently against his I feel my lips tremble. He doesn’t respond and after a few really awkward seconds of me waiting for him too, I shamefully retreat.
Then suddenly a deep groan comes from his throat, vibrating my whole body. He takes me completely by surprise when his hand slides behind my head, and he grabs a fist of my hair, forcing me back onto his mouth.
He’s not gentle, he takes my lips possessively, and I have to splay my palm over his chest to steady myself. Troj holds on to me tight as he attacks my mouth, his tongue sliding between my lips and dancing around mine, and I give everything over to him. I let my body succumb to his demands, and nothing about it feels wrong. In fact, it feels like a relief.
Eventually pulling his lips away from mine, he’s breathless as he slides himself off the desk. He takes hold of the tops of my arms and uses them to set me back, putting distance between us.
“Fuck.” He turns his back to me and slams his hand hard into the desk. His shoulders lift up and down as he breathes himself calm, and his body seems strained with more tension than he’d had during the fight.
“I lost control, and I promise I’ll never do that again.” He turns back around to me and the serious look on his face has me panicking. “But all you have to do is tell me that you want this. Tell me you want it, and I’ll stop holding back on ya. I’ll play by your rules, Shaniya. I’ll do whatever you ask of me… But you will be mine, and I will own you the same way you’ve owned me since that day I first saw you.” His hand actually trembles as it brushes over the skin on my cheek.
“Don’t ever attempt to kiss me again, not unless you think I’m something you think you can handle,” he whispers before pulling away, snatching up his leather waistcoat from the bed, then storming out the door.
“Woah, what’s gotten into you?” Storm calls out after me after I’ve knocked into him on my way out the clubhouse door. I ignore him, jumping on my bike and riding straight up to my cabin.
