28. Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Seven

While Sev showers, I call Reese to let him know I handled the situation. He begged for more info, clearly not able to just trust me, but I didn't give it to him. I can't let him know who Sev is. I don't need to be tied up with this guy. When I finally get annoyed with Reese and hang up, I drop onto the couch, rest my head back, and close my eyes.

What the fuck has my life become? I can't even figure out which part of it bothers me most. Being nice to him or not fighting him. Seems like the same thing, but they're very different. I mean, I stitched the guy up. Could've let him bleed out.

Why in the hell did he come here, of all places? Does he not have anyone else to go to?

Where would I go if I was in his situation?

I don't have anyone close to go to. Would I go to him?

The thought has me tense. Because yeah, I think I would. Though, I probably wouldn't have to. The psycho would know I was hurt and swoop in to save me like Batman. It's so strange. So fucking strange to have someone there for me all the damn time. Even when I don't want him to be. Yet, I kind of want him to be at the same time.

The way he's inserted himself into my life is annoying. He crosses lines and doesn't take no for an answer. But when I'm near him, he's kind of like Ori. He doesn't take from me. I feel calm around him. Don't feel like I have to pretend or put on a show. It isn't work. All the work comes from me fighting him. Pushing him away. Trying to stop him. If I just let him… it would be easy.

"You think too loudly."

I open my eyes and see Sev standing a few feet from me in nothing but his black boxer briefs that leave nothing to the imagination. Fuck, even soft he's huge. I can't help but stare. His body is a work of art. The man is like a damn tree. Thick and muscled everywhere. So masculine and broad. He lifts his hand, which pulls my attention and I notice he's holding his clothes.

"Can I wash these?"

I nod and get up, thankful for something to do that isn't staring at him. "Doubt the blood will come out but at least they'll be clean."

I grab them from his hand and go down the end of the hall. I feel him following me, though I'm not sure why. Is he worried I'm going to steal his clothes? What would I do with them? He'd probably jump at the chance to steal mine. Make a shrine or some shit. Maybe a pillow out of my used underwear.

I ignore his presence, opening the accordion door to show the small, stacked washer and dryer. I toss his stuff in, put in the soap and run it on a heavy cycle.

When I turn, he's right there, inches from me. My stomach does a flip. I smell my soap on him. His hair is damp, down, little drops dripping onto his chest.

"Why did you come here?" I ask, darting my eyes to his arm, where there's a fresh bandage.

"Don't know anyone else in the area."

"Is this not where you live?"

He shrugs. "I live all over."

"Do you have family or friends anywhere?"

"Not in this country."

"Why are you here?" I expect him to give me some smart ass, runaround answer, so I'm shocked when he answers directly.

"Looking for someone."

"And just figured you'd kill off a bunch of people in the process?"

"You know me so well." He grins and adds, "Nothing wrong with having a little fun."

"You really are a psychopath."

"Maybe." He steps closer to me, and the heat of his body has my nipples hardening. I haven't put on a shirt yet. "I think it's my turn to ask a question."

"Oh, is there something you don't know about me? And here I thought you were obsessed with me."

"Obsessed doesn't begin to cover it." His gaze darts to my lips, then back to my eyes. "Why didn't you kill me at the docks?"

"I already told you."

"You lied." He steps closer and my back presses to the wall. I hiss at the chill of it. There's nowhere else to go. "Tell me the truth."

His hand is on my hip again and I can't think when he's touching me. All I can do is focus on him. Everything about him. How he feels. Looks. Smells. Tastes.

Would it be so bad to give in to this man and have one wild and free night? I don't have to kill him anymore. He clearly wants to fuck me. Maybe letting him do so will get him to leave me alone. He'll lose interest when he no longer has to chase me. Then I can do my job and move on, leaving this life and him behind forever.

"The truth is…" I lick my lips and place my hand over his, running my fingers up his forearm. His brow creases the smallest bit. I've surprised him. That's new. "I don't know why."

He hums a sound of approval. "Don't know or don't want to admit it?"

I drag my fingers up his forearm until I reach his bicep and curl my hand around it. It's firm and tense. He's so strong. What is it about him that has me losing my goddamn mind? Before him I was sure about things. I had routines. I followed plans. I was confident in my choices. Knew what I liked when it came to fucking. Now? I question every little thing. About him. About me. About my life. Past, present, and future.

Suddenly, I feel tired.

Not tired in the way that I want to go to sleep, but mentally exhausted. And I wonder if that's my subconscious's way of giving me the answer. I'm tired of being the strong person all the time. I like that I don't have to be with Sev because he does it. And I trust him to do it because he's proven he can handle it. He won't let me down. I can trust him.

I spend my life doing things for other people. Always have. My worries are always with everyone else. So much that I shut everyone out. What do I do for myself?

I could do Sev for myself. Not a single part of me thinks it would be bad.

"Don't know," I finally say.

He nods and steps back, which is confusing as hell. I frown at him. The last thing I expected was for him to move away from me. I thought…

"Is it cool if I crash here? I can stay on the couch." He hooks his thumb over his shoulder, gesturing to where the couch is.

The couch? That makes me laugh, my disappointment in him stepping away from me lost. "You think you're going to fit on that couch?"

He raises a brow. "Is that an offer to let me sleep in your bed with you?"

"Don't think you'll fit there either."

He takes a few steps back, glancing into my bedroom. "I'll fit."

I roll my eyes and head to the living room to get my phone. "I'm ordering food. What do you like to eat?"

He follows me in and drops to the couch.

"Anything. I'm not picky."

"Pizza then?"

"Generic, but sure."

"Generic?" I glare at him.

"There are so many options, and you choose pizza?"

I scoff. "Did you want me to find you some authentic jambalaya?"

"Mmm, now that sounds good." He points at me with a smirk.

"Too bad. I'm getting pizza."

He gets up from the couch and peruses my place as I call the order in. I watch him curiously as he opens cabinets and drawers, checking everything out like he's never seen a condo before. He shakes his head when he sees how empty my fridge is. I expect him to chastise me, but he says nothing. An hour later, we're sitting at my kitchen table, eating pizza like it's normal.

It's really fucking weird that it feels normal.