This Is War, Baby - K Webster Page 0,59

from War.

But I do.

My chest aches and I long for his possessive touch around my wrist.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him, a quiver in my voice as I blink my eyes to drive away the tears. “I shouldn’t have run.”

He mumbles. He’s counting. Each scrub back and forth along the smooth marble. Numbers in the hundreds.

“War,” I say louder. “It’s clean.”

He jerks his head over his shoulder and for a moment, his gaze scares me. His normally beautiful eyes have turned dark with mania. With a quick tug, he draws the respirator down and his jaw clenches in an angry fashion. But the look is fleeting. The scrub brush clatters to the floor as he stares up at me.

“I was fucking terrified, Baylee.”

Guilt trickles through me and I bite my bottom lip to keep from crying again. His gaze softens as he glances down at my mouth and then back at me again.

“You promised me,” he chokes out as he stands. “You promised me you wouldn’t leave me.”

I let the tears fall again and glance down at my feet. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think it through. All I wanted to do was find my parents and figure out why they aren’t looking for me.”

He lets out a sigh and I look over at him. Dark shadows under his eyes tell me he’s exhausted. Because of me.

“What did you step on?” he questions, changing the subject.

I shrug. “I don’t know. Glass or metal. Nothing is left and I cleaned it thoroughly.”

He groans and his hands begin to tremble. “The metal—” he curses, “—it could infect you. Poison you.”

“I had a tetanus shot last year and I poured half the bottle of alcohol on it before bandaging it up. I’ll keep it clean.”

My words seem to calm him and he relaxes a bit. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow. Get some rest, Baylee. I’m going to shower again and then go to sleep.”

Without another word, he turns and strides down the hallway away from me.

“War,” I call out. I hate myself for asking this question but I need to know the answer. “Are you going to punish me for leaving?”

He jerks his head over his shoulder to stare at me, an incredulous look on his face. “No, Bay. I could never hurt you. I’m not like him. When are you going to understand that?”

And with that, he disappears into his bedroom.

I flip off the lights and crawl back into my bed where I cry myself to sleep. And for some reason, I’m crying for him.

For making him do things he can’t handle.

Chase me.

Touch me.

Brave the outside world.

Clean my blood.

I cry because despite everything, I’m already starting to care for him and that scares the hell out of me.

I could never hurt you.

Then why do I ache for you, War?

FOUR DAYS IS a long time not to speak to someone living in your home. I mean, we’ve spoken, but we haven’t talked—really talked. Every time I think about the way she left that night, hell bent on going home, I get angry all over again.

I trusted her. I gave her the fucking code to the house for crying out loud. I gave her the chance to spread her wings a little and boy did she fly. She flew right out the goddamned door, nearly into oncoming traffic, and directly into harm’s way.

A shudder ripples through me as I recall how truly terrified I was that night. Not only for her safety but for my own as well. I’m not the kind of man who leaves his house. Only in emergencies. And even then, I take every precaution to protect myself. But that night? I couldn’t think straight. All that mattered was getting her back home safely.

My mind had zeroed in on her and nothing else mattered.

Nothing.

It wasn’t until she was locked back up in my home that anger began to set in. This is the main reason we haven’t spoken much in several days. Each time I start to bring it up, I can feel my blood practically boiling. I’ll give myself a heart attack if I’m not careful.

The horrifying thought of having surgery—the cracking open of my chest, the tools working beneath the flesh—damn near sends me over the edge.

Luckily, Dad sent some program requirements for his new client from New York and wanted to know if I could come up with some customized programs for them. Of course I could. It’s taken all of my energy and focus, but I’ve finally come up