This Is War, Baby - K Webster Page 0,58

or shoes for that matter. His bare, muscular chest is ethereal and spooky under the moonlight. And yet…I like what I see. Even if that means what I’m seeing is a wild-eyed man chasing me.

A car horn blares at me as the vehicle swooshes past me, jerking me from my stare down of War and I snap back to attention. I drag my gaze up and down along the row of buildings across the street.

Nothing but darkness aside from a hotel about a mile down the road.

I can do this.

I can make it.

My legs finally wake up and I start jogging across the street. There aren’t any cars at the moment so I easily make it across. I’ve still got my eye on the big hotel when something stabs the bottom of my foot.

Pain cripples me and I stumble forward. Something grabs at the back of my sweater and I’m jerked back to my feet. I snap my head over my shoulder to meet the feral eyes of War. His nostrils are flaring in anger and I almost don’t recognize his foreign glare.

He’s zoned out.

An animal.

And I’m in his unpredictable grasp.

“Jesus,” he snarls and snatches my wrist.

He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t fret about germs. He just drags my limping ass back to his home.

And like an injured fool, I hobble after him while he mutters out numbers and words that make no sense. My heart is racing but my focus is on where he touches me. His touch, despite the need to get me to his house, is firm and gentle. I almost wonder if I could jerk out of his grasp. Yet, I don’t want to. I’m defeated and hurt and all I want to do is lie down under a blanket. Tears roll down my cold cheeks and I let out a sob.

How will he punish me?

When we get inside, he slams the door shut and releases me. I cry harder as his shaky hand flies over the numbers of the key pad. He’s changing the code, I know it. My eyes are blurry and out of focus from crying so I don’t make out the new one.

“I have to shower,” he snaps at me and storms away leaving me a quivering, sobbing mess in the entryway.

A shudder wracks through me the moment I see the blood all over the marble floor. It’s soaking through the socks and leaving a trail with every step I take. I should be worrying over how angry War is about my running away.

But all I can think about is how horrified he’ll be to see the blood.

Hoping on one foot, I make my way into my bedroom to shower. Once I’m clean and have my bleeding foot under control, I can clean up the entryway.

The shower is hot and the blood does slow. When I feel brave enough to look at the damage, I sit down and draw my foot up to my knee under the warm water. A long, but not necessarily deep gash runs along the fleshy part of my heel. I use my finger and thumb to open the cut in search for any remaining fragments of glass or metal, whatever it is I stepped on. Nothing remains but it continues to bleed. When I’m clean and it finally slows, I climb out of the shower and wrap up in a towel.

I hobble out of the bathroom in search of clothes and am shocked to find a first aid kit sitting on my bed. Once I’ve bandaged up my cut and dressed, I limp back to the entryway in order to clean up my mess.

War, like a man possessed, is on his knees scrubbing with bleach at the floors. The blood no longer remains but he scours at the floor as if he’s ridding it of invisible toxins. He’s donned his black respirator and is wearing yellow gloves that hit midway up his muscular forearms. I can tell he’s freshly showered as his wet, messy hair is sticking out in every direction, bouncing as he scrubs. He’s wearing nothing but jeans and he looks good. Really good.

Tears well in my eyes again as realization washes over me.

I ran from someone who needs me. He needs me in his world for it to make sense. I may not understand why my parents haven’t gone public with my missing whereabouts. I may not understand how I am to outsmart Gabe. And I certainly don’t understand why I feel guilty for running