She shakes her head. “Nothing. He just said… But didn’t do anything.”
“What the hell did that fucker say?” My blood simmers and a strong distaste fills my mouth.
She shakes her head and looks away. But I put a finger under her chin, bringing her face back to me. “Tell me.”
Tears roll down her cheeks. “He said he liked them…young and bloody.” She shows me the bandaged cut with some dried blood over her clavicle.
Those fuckers cut her with a knife.
The car swerves and I hear Gavin cursing under his breath.
“I’m gonna kill that fucker.” My jaw tenses and fists clench at hearing the disgusting words.
But some of that tension leaves my body when Clem folds herself back into my arms. Her silent tears continue to wet the cotton of my T-shirt.
20
CLEMENTINE
I have a faint awareness of Keith guiding me into a small safe house and turning on the floor lamp near the couch. I’m thankful for the dim light. I can’t look him in the eye, knowing the state he found me in.
“Clem, you need to let me go.”
My grip on his T-shirt tightens as if my life depends on it. His heat is the only thing telling me that I’m not stuck in that room with those sick bastards.
“I can’t,” I whisper, and fresh tears race down my cheeks.
How did this happen to me?
He settles me on a couch, but I don’t let go of him.
“I’ll be back in a minute honey.”
I loosen my grasp upon hearing the soft, unfamiliar tone of his voice. Before getting up, he gives me a small smile. A smile I’ve never seen before. It’s kind and tender.
Keith’s jacket, which he handed me during the drive, still covers my legs and I bring it closer to my nose. It smells of leather, pine, and…comfort. It smells of him.
Seconds later, he’s back with a blanket, a bottle of whiskey, and two shot glasses. When he tries to pry his jacket away from my fingers, I don’t let go.
Fear flutters in my stomach as the thing preventing me from returning to that shabby warehouse is being pulled from my hands. He raises an eyebrow in confusion, but I simply shake my head. He gives me that smile again, which causes a warm tingling to spread from inside my chest into other parts of my body.
Keith pours whiskey in the two shot glasses and passes one to me.
Reading the look of surprise on my face, he says, “Don’t think. Drink it up. It’ll get you warm.”
And I do. Without thinking, I gulp the liquid and a burning sensation hits the back of my throat. I splutter half of the drink out.
“Fuck!” Using the side of the blanket, he wipes my face. “Jesus, Clem. Drink it slow.”
I nod and offer my empty glass for a refill. He looks at me suspiciously, and only when I give him a weak smile, he pours me another drink.
I sip it slowly this time, without looking away from him. From the top of the glasses, our eyes meet. His warm and gentle, filled with concern.
As a designer, I’m pulled by a subtle hint of yellow in his otherwise ocean-green irises and move closer to him.
When I’m only inches away, he whispers, “How are you feeling?”
“Better.”