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“No boyfriend,” she said, looking away like it was embarrassing to admit.
“Family?” I pressed.
“No.”
“Friends?”
“I don’t really have any that I am that close to.”
“Alright, so I’m to believe that a girl like you lives alone in a shitty area with no man who wants to take care of her, no family that worries about her, and no friends that love her? Come the fuck on, Aven.”
“A girl like me?” she asked, losing a bit of the trauma as a brow raised a bit arrogantly.
“Yeah, babe, a girl like you.”
“What is a girl like me?”
“Young, beautiful, seems to have at least half a working brain in there.”
“I’m almost thirty; I’m not that good looking, and I have a fully functioning brain. And yet I am pretty much alone in the world. It’s not unheard of.”
“Not that good looking?” I asked, snorting. “That comment just disproved your third point in your argument. Because if you think that shit, I rescind my original comment about half your brain working. It’s obviously a fucking fourth.”
She faltered at that, her pretty little mouth opening and closing twice before she shook her head. “Regardless of how attractive I may or may not be, it doesn’t change the facts. I don’t have a boyfriend or close friends. My family is halfway across the country, and I’m not close with any of them.”
“Not close enough to tell them some fuckhead is jerking off all over your windows?” I pressed, not willing to believe that anyone would keep that shit completely to themselves.
“Not close enough to wish them a Merry Christmas,” she said, shaking her head.
“So no one is going to notice that you suddenly stop talking about a stalker and being paranoid and maybe are a bit off for a while?”
“No.”
“Coworkers?” I went on.
She snorted a little at that. “I work at a place with other people, but my job is a bit, ah, solitary.”
“What’s your job?”
To that, her cheeks went the slightest bit pink, and she didn’t quite meet my eye. “Technically, I am an esthetician.”
“And somehow I doubt giving someone some spa facial shit is what is making you blush right now,” I added, finding myself somewhat charmed by the little pink marks on her cheeks. So few women blushed anymore. I wasn’t sure I had ever seen it since high school.
“I’m a waxer,” she supplied, trying not to sound embarrassed by it and failing epically.
“So you’re buried in pussy all day,” I asked, not bothering to hold back the grin when her cheeks went from pink to deep red immediately. “Dream fucking job,” I added. “Alright, Finn is going to be here in five, and he’s going to need your clothes.” I stood, moving across the room past the body, making sure not to step in any of the blood that had saturated the carpet in spots as I went to her closet and pulled out a pair of leggings and a tee, coming back out and seeing she was still curled up on the floor beside her bed. “Babe, up,” I demanded, making her jerk back like she forgot I was there, and look up at me.
There was a long second where she stared blankly at me before she rose up. “Okay, I’ll just…” she started, pointing toward the door.
“No.” I stepped in front of her, shaking my head. “You need to change right here and leave the nightgown on the floor.”
“This is some evidence thing, right?” She looked at me with her brows drawn together. “I mean… he walked all through my house already. I don’t see how…”
“Let’s just say Finn is fucking particular and you need to follow his rules, or he will be out and if he’s out, there’s no way to clean this up without leaving a trace. He’s that good. So you take these. I am going to turn around. And you are going to slip into the new clothes, and leave the nightgown on the floor.”
She let out a huff of breath that was incredibly similar to a sigh but nodded. I turned and heard the whoosh of the dress flying off and hitting the floor as she stood naked behind me.
I wasn’t a saint by any stretch of the word.
And she was fucking gorgeous.
So I went ahead and thought about her naked breasts, the dusty nipples hard from the sudden nakedness.
“Alright,” she declared, cutting into what was shaping up to be a nice little fantasy.
I turned, nodding at her.
“The bands on your throat and the black eye, is that everything? Do you have scratches anywhere?”
“Oh, um… I don’t…” She shook her head as if clearing it and looked down at herself, then holding out her forearms to me where there were several long, minor scratches. But they had bled, and if they had bled, her blood was under his nails, and he probably transferred some evidence onto her as well.
