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Relief pours through me as I realize I’m not about to be hit again. I close my eyes and breathe out a sigh.
When I open my eyes again, there’s a different look on Damian’s face as he studies me. It’s then that I realize he’s staring at the bruise on my cheek from Mark’s initial hit.
“Where did you get that?” Damian asks, his voice much gentler than I’m used to.
My mouth dries and I flinch as Damian takes another step toward me. He holds his hands up in surrender.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
“I don’t know you,” I whisper, backing away from him.
“You’re Alexis and I’m Damian,” he points out. “See? Now we know each other.”
“That’s not how this works,” I say as I wrap my arms around myself. Damian’s eyes fall on the bruises on my arms and his eyes narrow.
“Look, it’s clear you’re injured, and pretty badly at that,” Damian says. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
His personality change is about to give me whiplash. One moment, he’s demanding to know my name and breaking a baseball bat, and the other, he’s trying to figure out how I’m doing.
“Then why don’t you take me to the hospital, like your friends suggested?”
A dark look crosses his face, and I immediately regret my words. He didn’t want me to overhear his conversation and I just sold myself out.
“I–I?—”
“Can I look at your injuries?” Damian asks again, the tension leaving his body.
Biting my lip, I wrestle with my thoughts. He’s a walking contradiction. Damian’s a stranger, but I can tell he’s being sincere about my injuries. He nearly assaulted me when I wouldn’t tell him my name, but he also rescued me from being kidnapped. He can break a baseball bat, but he also tips food workers twenty dollars.
My own feelings surprise me. I feel grateful to this strange man for not leaving me on the streets where I probably would have been found by Mark or the Carters.
Is this Stockholm Syndrome?
“Well?” Damian presses.
I nod jerkily, slowly letting my arms fall back to my sides. “Okay,” I whisper.
As Damian closes the distance between us, I feel my stomach drop in the same way it did on roller coaster rides. His cologne envelopes me in what feels like a warm hug, and my stomach twists in nerves.
His fingers are light as they touch my face, and my eyes flutter closed. I hiss as he pokes at a particularly tender spot on my cheek, but I also feel warmth and fire, too.
“Who hurt you?” Damian asks, his voice low. “These bruises aren’t from Invicta.” His hands slide down my face. “I’m going to turn you around to check out your back.”
“Okay,” I whisper again.
I feel intensely vulnerable, but also, somehow comfortable. This makes no sense. Mark never made me feel this way.
Damian’s hands are warm as they press against my back. I flinch at a rush of pain on my left side.
“You have a huge bruise by your ribs,” Damian says, his hands stilling at that spot. “That’s also not from the Invicta soldier. Looks like you were thrown around. I’m going to ask you one more time. Who hurt you?”
Goosebumps erupt along my skin, my stomach swirling with a warmth that trails further down my body, a tingling wetness I’m not accustomed to. It’s an uncomfortable feeling, so I step away from Damian’s magnetic pull.
I don’t want to tell Damian who it is, but I don’t think he will allow me to evade the question.
5
DAMIAN
