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She looked up at him. Her eyes were dark, that earnest gaze she hadn’t been able to hold before. Maybe she could now because they were hazed with pain and worry.Fear.And because he knew her secret.
He did not relish frightening any woman, but it frustrated him that she would fear when he had justsavedher. “A thank-you wouldn’t go amiss.”
She said nothing.
He found his mouth wanting to scowl, but he would not allow such feelings. He had saved her. Shewouldthank him eventually. And he would get what he needed out of her.
This did not change their deal.
“Now, watch your head,” he said, surprised at the softness in his tone. Uncomfortable with it. But she was injured. And awoman.
He crouched to carefully deposit her on the seat, then skirted the car to the other side. He slid into the seat next to her. He had already instructed his driver to take them to his private home outside the city center.
He had many residences in and around Athens, many closer, but this was the one he went to when he wanted privacy rather than attention. Though her wound needed a doctor, keeping her identity on the down-low was just as important. For her. And for him—as he had plans for this woman.
Old plans, and now new plans as well.
He reached forward and pulled open one of the many compartments in the back of his car. Though he tended to stay out of physical fights these days, he was a street urchin himself at heart. He had a first aid kit and, even more importantly, a nice bottle of brandy.
He handed her some gauze. “Hold that over where you’re bleeding. Wouldn’t want you soiling my seats.” Then he poured her a small amount of brandy in a glass and handed it to her.
She took the gauze, but shook her head vehemently at the alcohol. He shrugged, took the drink himself, enjoying the slow burn of the expensive liquor. He wished it would settle the dark feeling coiled tight within him. Though he was familiar with such feeling, it rarely expanded any farther than the object of his revenge.
He made a few calls to prepare his residence. For a visitor. For someone who needed medical attention. She watched him the entire time, pushed up against the door as if she might try to escape the minute the car stopped. As ifhewere her attacker.
So he stayed on his side of the seat and watched her right back. Considering. Because this unexpected turn of events might actually be quite...good. For him, of course, but he was a fair man, mostly. He’d make it good for her as well.
She had her back straight, but she was clearly holding herself gingerly due to the pain. She clutched her torn shirt together, pressing the gauze to it. Without her hat, with her hair untied, she looked a bit more feminine, but really she could have kept the pretense if her attacker hadn’t cut through the bonds that flattened her chest.
“What is your name?” he asked, finding himself unduly curious.
“Al.”
“That is a boy’s name.”
She shrugged and offered nothing more.
“Do you dress as a boy because you wish to? Or as a disguise?” She could be pretty, he supposed, given the right amenities and opportunities. Which suited the new plan he was formulating.
“Life on the streets is easier for a boy.”
“Not easy.” He had learned that at the age of twelve. When he had been tossed out of Kalyva withnothing. By the king, who’d barely been older than himself.
“No, but easier,” she replied. She shifted in her seat, clearly trying to cover a wince. “Once you pay me, I will live as I please,” she said haughtily. But he knew enough about desperation, about wishing for better, to hear the yearning in her tone.
And the fact her little dream was missing an important step in getting paid. “Once you complete your job, andthenI pay you, will you live as a woman?”
She hesitated. “I don’t see what it matters toyou, but yes. As long as it’s safe to.”
“And what will you call yourself then?”
She hesitated, as if considering the ramifications of him having such a small piece of information. “Alexandra, I suppose. Though I’ve gone by Al so long I don’t know why I’d change.” She turned to look out the window, though it was tinted, so not much could be made out. “Where are you taking me?”
“My private residence. A medical professional will check you out—one I pay to be discreet. Once we know the extent of your injuries, we will determine the next course of action.” But he already had the plan. A way to move up his timelines.
A way to taste revenge before the month was out.
Because revenge was his only goal. Not understanding this street urchin, no matter how interesting she might be. She was simply a tool to get what he wanted—a tool he would compensate generously for her work.
