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Fucking hell.
I thought I knew torture. I thought I knew pain.
Now I realize I didn’t know a goddamn thing. Not until I stole my Bianca.
14
BIANCA
Ifight not to giggle as I stare at Fernando’s sleeping face. Even in his sleep, he looks so serious. His brows keep furrowing and unfurrowing. What I love most, though, is his hold on me. He keeps me tucked close to him. Not that it’s hard since I’m clinging to him.
I’ve already spent a good five minutes taking him in. It’s nice to get a chance to stare at him without him glancing away or shifting to give me the side of his face. Self-conscious is not a word I would have ever thought when I’d heard stories of the Butcher. But I think with me, Fernando may be a bit that way. My whole life, I’ve been stared at and told I was pretty. I think Fernando has been stared at, and in those stares all he ever saw was fear or disgust. Those things take a toll on a person after a while.
I get this feeling he’s waiting for me to say something that might hurt him, and it’s why he often pulls his gaze away. Which is freaking crazy. I can’t even fathom him thinking, me, tiny Bianca, could hurt the Butcher.
I think I’m finally coming to grips with the fact that the Butcher and Fernando are the same person. And the more my mind accepts it, the less it bothers me. If anything, I feel a bit powerful. Which is nice since for so long I’ve been under the thumb of someone. It’s new to have a little bit of control.
Oh, don’t get me wrong: I think Fernando wants to keep me. But I don’t think he wants to control me. In fact, as terrible as it is to think, I’m pretty sure the Butcher might actually be under my thumb.
What a strange concept. It’s not that I want him there. I don’t want to control him, but the fear that always lingers around me is gone. Odd considering I’m in bed with a man most would consider depraved and deadly. That’s the thing, though: He’s not that way with me. Fear is the last thing I feel when he’s around. But I will admit, I pity anyone that would try to come in here and cause either of us harm. That’s the only time I think I wouldn’t be able to pull Fernando back.
While he might be sweet with me, I know the Butcher is still there lingering under the surface. Waiting for someone to step out of line. It’s part of him, and I know if I truly want to have a relationship with Fernando then I’ll have to accept the Butcher too. I’m just not sure how to do that or to show him that I could possibly do that.
I trail my finger down his chest. He tenses under my touch for a second before he relaxes. It doesn’t go unnoticed by me that small scars linger in different places. I’m pretty sure there is a bullet hole in his shoulder. The man really is a warrior.
“Bianca.” He sighs my name.
I slip on top of him. He doesn’t stop me as I trail kisses down his chest and lower. His eyes open, watching me as I continue. I might have been a tad drunk last night, but I knew what I was asking for. Today is a new day, and there is no reason for him to tell me no. In fact, I don’t think it’s a word Fernando would use often with me. He told me he’d never lie to me again, and last night he told me he’d let me be or do whatever I wanted as long as it didn’t put me in harm's way.
“You don’t like to be touched, do you?”
He’s not used to it, but I plan to rectify that.
“I love being touched by you.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Your touch is soft and sweet. There is no agenda behind it.”
Now that piques my curiosity. “What do you mean?”
“Is this something you really wish to talk about? Me with another woman?” My nails sink into his chest.
I quickly pull them back, not having meant to do it. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. I enjoy all your touches. Scratch away, sweetness.”
“Fine, tell me,” I blurt out. “I want to know everyone on the list. You see, I know this man with a very deadly set of skills, and I could have them all taken out.” I try to make light of it even while the jealousy is eating me alive.
“There is no list, sweetness, nor do I think you’d create one. It’s not in your nature.”
“I might,” I huff. I’m finding I’m rather possessive of Fernando. I didn’t get to have a lot of things in my life to be mine alone.
“The women who have hit on me, as you might call it, do so because they want something rough. They think I can give it to them. It’s not about wanting me. It’s about them wanting what they think I’ll do to them.” A coldness lingers in his gaze.
“They’re wrong. I think if we had sex, you’d be sweet and loving.”
“With you I would be,” he agrees.
