gave her. She has a sad look on her face. I can’t even begin to guess what’s causing it. There’s so much shit she has to deal with.
She takes the glass with a grateful smile and quickly swallows the pain meds.
I sit on the bed next to her and take a deep breath. I’ve been holding off on talking. It’s what we do in the family. You don’t talk about shit. It’s done and over with, and you move on. And we sure as shit don’t discuss any business in front of women. But this is different. She’s involved. She’s hurt. I need to understand what’s going on in her head in order to help her.
“Tell me what hurts, doll?” I start with an easy question.
She gives me a weak smile and says, “I’m f-” She stops her word and bites her bottom lip while smiling.
“You think that’s funny?” I shake my head. It’s a little funny that she always says she’s fine, but not really. 'Cause she’s not fine.
“I’m alright, Dom.” I turn my body toward her and run my finger over the small bruise showing through her makeup.
“Take all this off so I can look at you.” I know she’s roughed up. And that there’s more to her injuries than just the physical component. I’m gonna start with the bruises, then work my way to everything else.
She stares back at me for a minute with a blank look, like the one she gave me earlier and for a second I think I’m gonna have to remind her that she needs to listen to me. She swallows and gets up, heading for the open bathroom door to my en suite. I follow a few steps behind her. I’ll set her up with the steam room as soon as I get a good look at her. It’ll help her muscles. I should know. I’ve gotten the shit kicked out of me a few times, and the steam always helps relieve the soreness.
I hear her gasp when she turns on the light, and that makes me smile. My place is pretty fucking sweet. I didn’t hold back on the upgrades. Her bare feet make a soft padding noise as she walks across the travertine floor to the floating marble vanity. The sink itself is carved out of the marble, and I can tell she’s impressed. She turns to take in the rest of the room. The river rock shower takes up the back half of the room, with glass doors that separate it from the rest of the bathroom. There’s a comfortable bench inside where she can lounge while the steam goes to work on her body. In the center of the room is a rustic bowl soaking tub also made of stone. She walks slowly to it and runs her hand along the dark grey edge.
“You wanna soak a bit, doll?” She startles when my low voice seems to echo off the walls of the large bathroom. She looks at me with wide eyes, and then stares at the tiled floor. “I thought you might wanna lie down in the steam room, but a soak in the tub would be nice, too.” I still have some of that sea salt for healing. Not the shit that stings, but the good stuff. I take a step toward her, and she takes a step back.
“What’s gotten into you, doll?” She’s wearing that same guarded expression from dinner. I don’t fucking like it.
“How…” She struggles to ask whatever’s on her mind. Whatever her question is, it can’t be good. There’s a reason we don’t like the women asking questions. We don’t want them involved in this shit, it makes them targets. There’s usually an understanding about this. Women stay out of it.
But that’s not how shit worked out for her. She can’t just go along with things and leave the business to the men.
“Ask it, doll; whatever you want to know. I’ll tell you right now.” That’s partially a lie. I know it, but I don’t want to tell her there’s shit I’m not going to answer. I’ll let her ask whatever’s on her mind. Hopefully it’s nothing too specific. Something I can talk around.
“How many people have you killed?” she asks in a voice so low, it takes me a moment to actually understand her question.
Red fucking flags shoot up in my head. Cops ask questions like that. I run a hand through my hair and watch as her knuckles turn white