6. Ash

Chapter Six

ASH

I was shaking.

Rubbing my hands up and down my arms did little to fight the encroaching cold chilling my bones as I hid in the safety of the doorway. I could not bring my feet to cross the threshold, my bare toes rooted into the soft hallway carpet in the hopes it might swallow me alive.

But nothing ever went as I hoped, and instead, I was left squinting at the beautiful front page of IKEA’s bathroom selection.

Bright daylight washed over the wide claw foot bathtub, steam rolling in waves over the edges and onto the sandstone floor, oozing with hot suds and bubbling water. Plush tan towels were laid over a quaint wooden stool alongside it, with a picturesque arrangement of soaps, shampoos, and a wide-toothed comb.

Lamb covered the large space in a few steps and drew down the bamboo blinds, transforming the bright sunshine into a warm, atmospheric glow. Only stark streaks of light cut through the gaps between slats, leaving small stripes marking my path to the tub as if it were lit by the heavens. Even God had begun praying for me to take a bath. Unfortunately, me and God were in rocky territory, so it just deterred me even more.

I looked between the tub and Lamb’s expectant face. He extended a bare arm, the long sleeves of his Henley rolled up to his elbow, towards the bath.

“ No ,” I spat, hugging my arms tighter.

He made no move to grab me, but I could feel my blood leeching into my shaky legs. With my waning strength, I doubted I could run away, but I was still determined to stumble as far as I could if he dared drag me towards it.

“You take a bath, you get a drink.” Lamb waggled the bottle of whiskey like a dog treat.

I despised how my eyes watched the liquid sway back and forth, my tongue dabbing my dry lips at the memory of its bitterness.

“That’s the deal.”

“How about you just give it to me?” My body had already begun to shake, the effects of the medication Mint had injected wearing off faster than I had hoped. The peace it had brought, even momentarily, had been nice. And tempting. I would be willing to bet that whatever drug it was would not be easy to access; otherwise, I would be in the market to change my addiction.

“I think you need a recap on the term leverage .” Lamb smirked, walking back across the room to join me in the doorway. His warm, woodsy scent stirred my stomach, both soothing and yet didn’t stop me from wanting to vomit on his bare feet. Could not tell if that was an emotional or physical response.

“You just want to get me naked,” I accused, pushing up onto my toes to get into his face. If I vomited now, maybe I would get a headshot.

Lamb, unfortunately, wasn’t privy to my thoughts and, at my words, he closed the tiny distance remaining between us. The warmth of his breath rolled over my cold skin and my lips. If I puckered, they would touch his.

His neutrality vanished. His eyes narrowed, and a sharp reptilian focus crawled through. Brown darkened to black as he tilted his head down to mine. “I know an easier way to do that,” he purred, the vibrations caressing my skin as he placed his bare foot onto the soft carpet between mine. He didn’t touch me, but the intrusion was electric; static rushed through my limbs, and my hair stood on end.

I jolted back but did not get far, as my spine slammed into the frame of the door, dull pain bursting across my ribs. My surprised gasp blew over Lamb’s lips as he refused to give back even an inch of space he had claimed.

His hand latched against the doorway above my head, arm bracketing off the hallway and closing any escape. Sandalwood and cedar steeped my senses as his lips moved across the surface of my skin. He did not touch, but his rolling breath was a ghost across my cheek, moving slowly over my flushed cheeks and tight jaw before settling in the shell of my ear. “Would you prefer the alternative?”

My heart jumped into my throat, suffocating my lungs as I was overwhelmed by his proximity. Shivers racked through my body, and I knew it was not from the medication. Anger flared in my chest as defeat settled in.

“Fine,” I hissed, turning my head away and holding my breath. “Get off me.”

I could feel the bastard smile, but when he stepped back, nothing was there. His expression returned to the passive, gentle persona he masqueraded, extending his hand back towards the bath. “If you’d please …”

I scuttered out of his reach, halting only in front of the tub. Even if I was only a foot out of arm’s reach, air returned to my lungs, and the weight of his tangible aura lessened around my throat.

Steam clung to my chilled skin, humid moisture beaded on my arms, and the plush bathmat felt soft between my toes. Staring at the milky-white water, warmth and subtle scents rising from the surface, a deep and weary ache resonated inside.

It was not like I chose to be dirty. Life on the streets was hard, and when you spent time wondering where your next meal would be and if the rain would hold up for a few hours of sleep, hygiene slipped down the list of priorities. It was rare I had an opportunity like what was in front of me, and yet, I still hesitated.

Something felt like it would be giving in. It was stupid—I knew that—but giving in to one desire would inevitably lead to another and another, and soon, I would be wishing for things I could not have. Should not have. Even a single, tiny wish was dangerous. I had learned that the hard way.

“I …” I stared down at the rippling water, a murky shadow of my reflection, too distorted to distinguish features, looked back up at me. “I do not want this …”

I thought I had whispered it, but either Lamb’s ears were inhumanly sharp, or I had spoken louder than I thought.

“You don’t have to.” Lamb’s voice was soft and even.

I turned over my shoulder and saw him still standing in the doorway where I had left him.

His expression wasn’t hurried or impatient. In fact, he looked no different now than he often did, just neutral. Standby.

“But,” Lamb said, lifting that bottle of whiskey back from his shirt, “a deal is a deal. No bath, no drink.”

“It is a shame humanity is not in your programming.” I sighed, giving up on my mental recess as I turned back towards the tub. “Best just get this over and done with.”

Maybe if I was quick, it would not feel that good. Or if I closed my eyes and pretended it was icy sewage water, I would not want more.

I doubted it.

I reached for the hem of my shirt, the soft, rich cotton of Lamb’s shirt rising up from my waist and—

“Aren’t you leaving?” I spun, eyes glowering over my shoulder.

Lamb leant against the doorway, arms over his chest, his calm brown eyes focused on my face. “No?”

“Leave,” I demanded, hands jumping back over my chest, holding the shirt firmly in place.

“No.”

“You are really going to stand there and watch me bathe?”

A sly smile tugged at his lips, and it sent heat across my cheeks long before I had even dipped a toe into the water.

“Not exactly.” Lamb took the slowest possible turn, exposing his back as he propped himself against the doorway.

“Is that so?”

“I can’t leave you alone.” Lamb shrugged. “I don’t know what you’ll do.”

“What do you expect me to do? Jump out the window?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Lamb sighed, and I swear his irritating dramatics only fuelled the flickering fire inside me. “I can talk my way out of a lot, but a dead body on my driveway would land me jailtime for suspicion alone.”

“I am not suicidal,” I grumbled, once again looking at the window. We were on the same floor as the bedroom, and I had spotted stairs at the far end of the hallway, so we were at least on the second story. Even if I had managed to jump out the window and not break a limb, I would not get far with my sober state; a hard lesson learnt last night.

Between the low chances of a successful escape and Lamb’s unbudging form, I accepted that this was probably my only option and the closest thing to privacy he’d allow.

I stared hard at his back, waiting for a flinch before peeling off my socks and jeans. I steadied my hand against the tub, fighting the flittering spells of dizziness that came and went with movement. The humidity didn’t help with my disorientation, but my skin seemed to breathe the vapour like a beached whale desperate for moisture.

Only my shirt was left after a few suffering moments of fighting the materials, revealing layers of dirt, grime, and sweat. It was only then that I became painfully aware of the large mirror hanging on the wall. Our eyes met, and the person staring back at me was not a person I recognised. She was haggard and hollow, hopeless and destitute. A shell of a person.

I could not take my eyes away, even as I pulled the shirt over my head, exposing the broken body I was burdened with. Even in dim light, the taut scars were reflective in the dim light. Some were worse than others, but each was disfiguring.

I could hear each gunshot in the back of my mind. The longer I looked, the more blood beaded from my skin. From each of my scars, a long trail of red trickled into a puddle at my feet. One in my chest, just above my heart, left a gorged hole in my breast, and instead of blood, a black, viscous liquid ran ice-cold down my skin, dying the red pool into a dark abyssal hole in the floor. My feet slowly sank, consuming me into a frozen, unforgiving embrace. I saw the girl disappearing in the mirror, tears running down her face, crying.

Why bother?

Crying had never solved anything.

“Did you get stuck in your shirt?” Lamb’s voice snapped me from the nightmare. Light slipped through the blinds again, and the girl in the mirror stared back at me, dirty and tired, but no more blood stained the floor. “Need a hand?”

“Do not turn around,” I growled, turning away from the mirror at last.

I carefully lifted my foot over the rim of the bath, letting myself slowly slide down into the tub. It was unbearably hot, but the heat seeped deep into my bones as I melted beneath the surface. Soft floral scents floated into my nose, a mix of jasmine and lavender sinking into my mind and body.

The water turned dark and murky as I watched the dirt lift off. I rubbed my body with my hands and a bar of unscented soap on the stool, fascinated at the bare, clean skin beneath. I washed my face by splashing water onto my hands and let my hair sink into the water. It was knotted and matted, and even with the shampoo and conditioner at my disposal, it did little to loosen the nest I had grown.

I gave up, my hands shaking too hard to even attempt to tame it, and finished up cleaning what I could. The bath had long grown cool, and as I stood, I once again saw the distorted reflection of my pale skin in the dark water.

Lamb, true to his word, had not turned around or even made a single comment since. He had all but faded into the background of the doorway, a solitary, silent statue.

Even as I staggered out of the bath, shaky hands fumbling with the white towel that I wrapped around me, he stayed quiet.

“I am … done,” I chattered, the tremors in my body reviving the nausea the bath had only temporarily soothed.

“There’s clothes on the counter,” Lamb spoke, his low voice jarring in the extended silence.

I looked across to the porcelain sink, where a stack of clothes was neatly folded in squares, piled on top of each other.

My feet pattered across the sandstone tiles as I shakily pulled the items apart. I held the cotton black knickers on the tip of my finger, a matching black sports bra staring up at me.

“You even went this far ...” I grumbled.

Lamb said nothing.

I kept as steady as I could and pulled each piece of clothing on—the underwear, cotton socks, and the joggers. They were soft, and clean and dry, and fit suspiciously well. It was only as I was reaching for the final item that I paused.

I stared at the empty counter. “There is no shirt.”

Lamb lifted himself from the doorway, turning with supernatural grace until his eyes landed on me. His gaze stayed steady on my face, as if nothing existed below my neck. An arm extended, and in its hand was a folded grey shirt. “Here.”

I pulled it from him, smelling the familiar earthy notes, and pulled it with little grace and some struggle over my head. It kept falling until it stopped below my hips, hanging loose and large from my shoulders. It was not massive on me, but it wasn’t my size.

“This is your shirt,” I stated the obvious, the scent of his detergent filling my nose. “You managed to buy new everything down to my underwear, but not a new shirt.”

Lamb’s eyes raked over it, the grey shirt under tough scrutiny.

“They were sold out.”

“Of shirts?”

Lamb nodded.

“Everywhere?”

“Everywhere.”

His blatant lie left no room for argument. His eyes had finished their perusal, as well, moving back up to the hair on my hair, the knotted clumps hanging around my shoulder, dampening the collar of his shirt.

“It’ll do.” He unfolded his arms, and the whiskey bottle popped open with a twist.

I lunged for it like a starved animal. The scent rushed up my nose, the world tilting with desperation and the intense urge to vomit slamming into me all at once. I reached out to grasp the bathroom sink, steadying myself as Lamb lifted the bottle to his lips, taking a long swig.

“Hey!” I snap, diving for the bottle.

He caught my arm, his fingers latching easily around my bicep, and he pulled. My weak and tired body followed his command, my chest slamming into his, his warmth, and scent, and body entwined with mine as soft, firm lips pressed against my open mouth.

Before I could fight or think, the wet spice burnt in my mouth, and I swallowed. Warmth rushed through my veins and nerves, and my body softened against his. His firm chest held me aloft, but I did not care. Relief washed through me like a broken dam as thoughts vanished from my mind, and all I could do was groan at the spice and bitter warmth rolling over my tongue.

Lamb pulled away, and I grieved the loss of the taste, my tongue dabbing the few escaping drops trickling over my lips.

Lamb’s lips mirrored my own, his head only a few inches away, watching my face change with avid fascination. His eyes searched mine with an intensity that dragged me closer. The gravity of his expression was strong, and for a moment, I feared I would be lost in it.

Warmth pooling in my stomach sent a tingle to my brain. the delirious fog lifted, and clarity struck hard.

Metaphorical ice water rushed over my brain as I launched from his grasp.

A mix of shame and remnant cosmic static ricocheted down my nerves as I gripped the closest surface to not fall flat on my arse.

“What are you doing?” I hissed, scrubbing my hand over the back of my mouth until my lips burned and I tasted a small tinge of iron in my gums.

“Let’s call it desensitization,” Lamb dared to say without a single spec of shame.

“So, we are going to ignore what just happened?” I growled, moving myself far out of his reach.

Lamb collected a lowball whiskey glass that had magically appeared next to the sink. He poured a finger into the bottom, sealed the lid, and then placed the glass back down and slid it closer towards me.

It was a trap. I felt paranoid and crazy, but even so, it felt as if taking the glass would drop a cage over my head.

Lamb stayed silently still. His eyes found interest in the bottle of whiskey in his hand, his hand secured tight around the top, in case I was brave enough to attempt a snatch. I was not. My eyes were on the glass, on the way the honey-brown whiskey stirred, and the spiced scent settled deep in my lungs. My pulse drummed beneath my skin, and my mouth whetted with the remnant taste. It took barely a breath for my need to shove apprehension into the back seat and slam its foot on the gas.

I seized the glass from the counter, my shaking hands struggling around the smooth edges as the whiskey sloshed from edge to edge, threatening to spill over the sides. Fear of losing my precious release, I slammed the glass against my lips, knocking into my teeth and bruising my gums.

It was sharp going down my throat, but the moment it settled in my stomach, the sweet burn rolled in waves across my body, a euphoric relief stronger and more potent than any physical pleasure. I wanted to groan and purr as it found home down my throat, my eyes rolling into my head and pain washing from my mind.

I had intended to savour it, but the second it touched my tastebuds, I had no control nor willpower to do anything but consume every last drop. Like a zombie for brains, I was mindless for that drink.

My tongue lapped the edges, milking every drop. It was not enough.

I shoved the glass back at Lamb’s chest, ignoring the boundary I had laid out for myself just a moment before. Dangerous territory meant nothing as I pressed the glass into his chest, my voice raw and pained. “More,” I gasped, fighting with my trembling hands not to drop the glass. “I need another one.”

Lamb did not move, his dark eyes languid across my face.

I hated the whimper that slithered out. “Just one. Please .”

In a rare moment, the sharper, colder features of Lamb’s face softened. “Not yet.” He reached out, soothing a wet strand of hair back behind my ear. I barely felt the touch, my eyes staring holes into my empty glass. “That’s enough for now.”

“For now?” I frowned, pulling the empty glass back to my chest. I tilted it side to side, hoping for even a slither of whiskey to glaze over the bottom.

“Your dependency is dangerous. You’ll need to be weaned off it.”

Warmth turned to fire in my stomach, a feral defensiveness overwhelming my brain. “You do not get to decide that,” I hissed, clutching my glass and stepping far out of the man’s reach. “You have no right to tell me what to do.”

“You’re right.” Lamb smiled, and I disliked the satisfaction of finding a home in his expression. He closed the gap, and I could taste his woodsy scent through the tang of whiskey on my tongue. I fought the need to escape, determined to hold my ground. “That’s why you’ll choose to detox yourself.”

“What?” I almost laughed. This man was delusional. “That is not going to happen.”

With only a single smirk, turning his soft and gentle expression into one of devious devilry, he turned his back towards me and walked out of the room.

Fear travelled through my body in a way it never had. Standing, abandoned in the empty bathroom, the floor had long grown cold underfoot as an inkling of self-doubt skated down my spine. It was buried deep within my heart, as a cold truth I struggled to deny whispered in my mind. Lamb was rich. Intelligent. And capable. But more importantly …

If Lamb wanted something, he would have it.

By any means necessary.