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“It’s not the Ritz,” I mutter sarcastically.
“Would you rather share a bunk bed with Callen?” Seb counters. Touché. “The bathroom is opposite if you want to freshen up before we eat.”
“Thanks,” I mumble as he leaves me alone to stack my shopping bags on top of each other.
Before any of the guys have a chance to hog the bathroom, I hop straight in. The bathroom suite is a retro pink colour, and I climb into the bath which has a shower overhead. The water is lukewarm, but it beats the creepy Scottish castle we left behind. Thankfully, I snuck toiletries and cosmetics into my bags during our earlier shopping spree.
After washing, I’m starting to feel more like myself again. I change into a new navy dress with three-quarter length sleeves and a scoop neckline. The soft fabric clings to my skin like a warm hug. I sit on the edge of my bed, taking time to tease out the knots in my hair using my fingers, then leave it to dry naturally in loose waves. With time to kill, I put on a little make-up: a slick of concealer under my eyes, a smudge of red lip gloss, a sweep of mascara, and a dusting of blush to make me look less like a zombie.
There. I inspect my reflection when I’m finished.Much better.
Suddenly, a bang comes from downstairs. I poke my head around the door, instantly on edge, until I hear Seb calling Callen a clumsy fucker. I breathe a sigh of relief. Standard. The two of them bicker like children.
Before closing the door to drown out their argument, I hear the tapping of a keyboard from another room. Unless Freddie has already returned, Bram must have come upstairs when I was in the bathroom. I tip-toe across the landing, trying not to make a noise when the floorboards creak under my weight. I wince as the typing stops abruptly. I opt to knock. Better that than have him thinking I’m lurking around like a stalker or snooping around their things.
After waiting a few seconds for a response and not getting one, I push the door open gingerly. This bedroom is three timesthe size of mine. Bram is spawled out on a queen-size bed in the middle of the room and takes up most of the mattress. He’s balancing a laptop on top of a pillow on his lap, and his giant hands freeze above the keyboard like he’s been caught doing something wrong. At least he’s not bashing one out—now that would have been awkward.
I close the door behind me and tut. “You should be resting.”
He raises one eyebrow, and his jaw drops as he admires my curves. From his reaction, I guess I’ve scrubbed up okay.
“What are the others doing?” I ask.
There’s another crash from the floor below that sounds like plates being smashed.
Bram shakes his head.Don’t ask.
He gestures at me to sit down.
I hesitate, then perch on the edge of his bed on the opposite side to his wound. He must have had a quick shower before me and Freddie arrived because he smells of fresh soap. He’s paired a clean, black t-shirt with grey tracksuit bottoms. I try to avoid looking below his waistline, but it’s hard to ignore his perfectly defined bulge directly in my eyeline.
Keep your shit together, Ive. What happened in the dungeon, stays in the dungeon, right?
Bram types and turns the screen around to show me a typed message:
Seb and Callen are trying to make dinner.
“What about Freddie?”
He’s still out.
With Freddie gone, maybe I can stick around for a little longer.
“Can Seb and Callen cook?”
Bram grimaces, giving me my answer. I guess there’s a reason why all the cupboards in their old place used to be empty.
I point at the screen and the multiple windows he has open in the background. “What are you working on?”
He tries to shuffle closer, but I stop him. “No, I’ll come to you.”
I slide up next to him, trying to ignore the warmth of his body as he opens many tabs at once. I squint at the information filling the screen. It’s hard to decipher what I’m looking at. There’s a mixture of articles, census data, and bills… then I see a photo amongst the chaos. It’s him. Christopher Trout.
Seeing his smarmy smile makes my fingers tingle with the desire to tear his teeth from his gums. His beady, piggy eyes sparkle as if he’s laughing at me. He thinks he’s got away with his crimes, but I’ll see that he gets his punishment.
He snaps the laptop screen closed, pulling me out of my memories, and then puts his hand on my knee. He squeezes in what I imagine is a comforting way—it’s been a long time since anyone’s tried to comfort me.
His gaze softens.He can’t hurt you anymore.
