But that was the day before yesterday.
“Mace, let me go,” I repeated.
His chin moved my hair.
“You stil use the same shampoo,” he said against the skin at the back of my neck.
“Mace –”
“Smel s like mint.”
Oh lordy be.
“Mace, I need to get up and see to Juno.”
“I wanna see your wound.”
Why on earth would he want to do that?
“It’s okay,” I assured him. “Daisy gave me some ointment that’s supposed to make it heal and help the scarring. She cleaned it, treated it and then she redressed it. It’s fine.”
“I wanna see it.”
“It’s fine.”
His arm got a fraction tighter. “I’m the reason it’s there, Kitten, and I wanna see it.”
What could I say to that?
Except nothing.
So I said nothing.
I lay there awhile, my new plan being if Mace was exhausted, if I stopped yapping, he’d probably fal back to sleep. Then when he did, I’d get up and get the hel out of there.
This plan was shit therefore it failed.
Once I thought he was asleep, I tried moving away again and his arm got even tighter.
“Mace –”
“Stel a –”
Effing, effing, hel .
“I want to talk to Buzz,” I said. I didn’t know why (wel , I knew why, because I wanted to talk to Buzz).
His body went stil for a beat then he rol ed away.
I took that opportunity to attempt an escape. I was sitting on the side ready to push myself up when one of Mace’s arms went around my waist, stal ing my progress. His other hand came up in front of me. It was holding my phone.
I pul ed in a breath then I took the phone.
“Thanks,” I whispered.
He moved as I flipped it open and scrol ed down to Buzz.
I couldn’t get up because he kept his arm around me. He straddled me on a diagonal with one long thigh the length of mine, foot on the floor, his other leg stretched out beside me on the bed.