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Charlie saunters toward me with a white towel in hand, his ink black hair curling around his neck and face—he's undone his ponytail. “Wipe yourself off,” he says softly on reaching me, and shakes out the towel, I assume because I don't take it. I'm just glaring at him, a storm brewing inside me.
“What's with the silence? Hm?” His blue eyes glow with uncertainty as they search mine. “Maksim said you can speak to me.”
I huff under my breath, amazedby his impudence.He goads Maksim into making me beat my friend half to death and wonders why I don't want to chat?
“I don't need that,” I refuse the towel. Crouching down, I pick up my friend from the floor, hooking my arms under his so I can drag him out to the car.
“Leave him-” Maksim says.
I glance up, my muscles straining under James' weight.
“-Go on. Leave him where he is.” Maksim smiles at me with zealous wickedness, standing amid the other men who are patting him on the back.
“Okay,” I say softly and without thinking. “Sure.” I carefully put James back down on the ground and fold his hands in his chest.
“Don't worry,” Charlie whispers, draping the towel over his shoulder, “I'll put your friend in his car.”
“Don't you dare touch him,” I warn under my breath and stand up to him in defiance, barely coming up to his chest. I have no idea why I feel I can talk to him like this, but I do. “You asked for this.”
He hunches down so we're almost at eye level. “I just wanted to see what you're made of.”
“Well, now you've seen.” I'm trying to be sarcastic but I can't keep the misery out of my voice. “Happy?”
A lick of blood slithers down the side of my face, over my cheekbone. I catch it with a single finger and wipe it off on my trousers.
“You in a lot of pain?” Charlie lifts a hand to touch me, ignoring my question. “I can get you some painkillers if you need them?”
I bat away his hand with such force it makes a slapping sound. “I'm not allowed painkillers.”
His eyes widen. “Like hell you're not.”
I ball my trembling hands, the storm inside me whirling like hurricane Katrina getting ready to explode. “Who are you to tell me what I can or cannot have?” I'm just about to tell Charlie to piss off and leave me alone, then-
“What are you two talking about?” Maksim asks, reminding me that Charlie and I are not alone, and James is still lying there at my feet.
On instinct, so I don't get in trouble, I say, “Charlie was just praising me,c?pMaksim.” I give Charlie a desperate, knowing look. “Weren't you?”
“Yeah, I was,” he concurs loud enough for all to hear, and then whispers, “For that, I want to talk to you before the night is over.”
I frown at him, maintaining eye contact. What could he possibly want to talk to me about?
There's a faint vibrating sound not very far away. I realize it's Charlie’s mobile when he pulls it from his jeans pocket.
He doesn’t even check the screen to see who it is—he doesn’t once look away from me. “What?” he answers, and because we're just staring at each other, I blink about in a fluster.
He leaves the room through another door, I see out the corner of my eye.
This is so fucking weird. I've never lied to Maksim before, and I'd never be so blatant as to hold someone's gaze in front of my master.
“Come over here and have a drink, my little pet,” Maksim says, and I'm assured by his relaxed tone of voice that he hasn't clocked onto anything.
I walk stolid across the room with a slight twinge in my back, smoothing scraps of hair back out of my face.
“There you go...” He gives me his glass and smiles with obvious elation. “Drink up. It will make you feel better.”
I nod with a forced smile, taking the glass. It's cold against my palm and quite heavy. I scoop out a cube of ice and press it to my broken lip, blinking droplets of sweat over my lashes. Not just sweat. Blood. It makes my left eye sting.
“Told you she was good,” Umberto says, his chin doubled because he's staring down at me from at least six foot.
