Chapter 11

ELEVEN

A lek Anders turns to face me, his expression like thunder. His nostrils flare as he looks over me where I stand behind him in line, as if I stalked him here or it's my fault I needed meds. Without a word, he thanks the cashier and stomps out of the store.

Fuck him, but then I realize I still need to thank him, and my mom didn't raise a bitch. Well, she didn't really raise me, but you get my drift.

Quickly slapping my money on the counter for my meds, I hurry after Alek as he marches through the deserted lot to his car at the back. I didn't even see it at first since it's parked away from everything.

He's already opening the door, sitting in his seat and rooting through his bag. Rolling my eyes, I stop next to him, but he studiously ignores me like that might make me disappear.

Nice try, asshole. People have tried that my whole life. It didn't work then, and it won't work now.

"You can go back to ignoring me in a minute," I mutter, leaning into his open doorway, my arm on the top of his car. "I just wanted to thank you for looking after me."

"Alice made me," he grits out. At least he's talking to me now .

"Liar," I retort, and his head snaps up, his dark eyes narrowing on me. For a moment, I debate if this is really the hill I want to die on, but I have a feeling Alek Anders is worth the effort. I raise an eyebrow as his eyes narrow further.

I watch his muscles bunch before he strikes out at me.

Catching his fist, I tell him, "Nice try. I let you get one in, but no more." I tighten my hand around his, and he hisses, yanking it back, or trying to, and I frown, turning his hand despite his protests and prying his fist open.

There's a wicked gash on his palm, and it's still bleeding.

That's when I notice the bag on the pavement between his legs, filled with cleaning supplies and bandages, the handle coated in blood.

"Shit, what the fuck happened?" I ask, worried. Those are some nasty gashes. Are they knife marks?

"Nothing." He yanks his hand away, avoiding my eyes.

"Fine, but is the other guy alive?" I joke.

He glances up at me, and for a moment, we just stare. I crouch, ignoring the wet pavement dirtying the thousand dollar jeans—some of the last I have from my past—and grab the bag. I pretend like I don't see him staring at me like he's debating how best to murder me and get away with it.

Rifling through the bag, I lay out what I need as he watches me with a withering expression. I ignore the death glare and gently grab his arm. He tries to pull it back, and I lose my patience.

"Stop it," I snap, and he stills at my angry tone. "You can't bandage these yourself, and since you're a stubborn fuck determined not to see a doctor, I'll do it. I dressed enough wounds during Mauy Thai, not to mention after fights." I jerk his arm back, and for once, he doesn't fight me.

"Get in a lot of fights, do you, rich boy?" he asks, needing to have the last word, but I talk to distract him from what I'm about to do because it will sting like a bitch.

"As a bisexual man from a tiny town? Yes," I answer.

He's quiet for a moment, and I glance up to see him watching me with a considerate expression. "Now don't go feeling sorry for me, Anders. It isn't your style."

"You fucking wish. I'm just thinking they didn't hit you hard enough to dent that pretty face," he snaps. I can't help but laugh, even as a slight blush stains my cheeks.

"You think I'm pretty, huh?" I wink.

"You fucking wish—" I dab the antiseptic into the wound, and he yells, pulling away.

Rolling my eyes, I grab his arm and lay it across his knee. "Stop being a big baby," I chastise and blow over the wet wound to dry it.

A shudder runs through him that makes me really happy, but I don't comment on it. He might try to hit me again, and it will only make his wound worse. I quickly bandage his hand, making sure to wrap it well because I have a feeling he's the type to pull off bandages so he can work better.

I hold my hand out for the next arm. He grinds his jaw but hands it over, and I clean that one, making sure to blow on it again. "Why did you do it?" I ask as I roll out the bandages.

"Do what?" he asks, but he sounds distracted.

"Bring me food and meds and look after me. I know Alice didn't ask you to," I reply carefully, not meeting his eyes as I wrap his hand. He's quiet, and I don't think he'll answer, or he'll try to hit me again, so it surprises me when he speaks.

"If you die, then who am I going to torture?" he mutters, and when I meet his gaze, there's a small smile on his lips. "Besides, only I get to end you, rich boy, not some illness."

I can't help but grin, and when I release his hand, I narrow my gaze on him. There's blood on his shirt, and he's holding his arm weird. Just how hurt is Alek? Hell, he'll probably deny it just to piss me off, but while we have a soft sort of truce happening, I decide to push it a little. He'll never accept help otherwise. He's too proud for that.

"Any more?" I murmur while peering up at him from between his legs. I watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows then mutely jerks his head in a nod. He reluctantly strips his jacket off to show me his arm, knowing better than to argue. The cut's shallow, but it runs the length of his forearm. I turn it over to see it better, trying to ignore the veins bulging in his muscular arm.

After carefully cleaning the wound, I grab the bandages.

"You didn't do the thing," he mutters as I blink up at him. He looks embarrassed for a moment and then angry. "The blowing thing. Don't you need to?"

I purse my lips to swallow my smile, then I lean in and blow on the wound. Both of us know I don't need to. Alek Anders likes my touch, even if he doesn't want to admit it. I push it one step further just because I can't resist and I eat up Ander's reaction. He acts like my existence is a sin, but when it's just us, I can see hunger in his eyes and the way his body leans into mine. Pressing my lips next to the wound, I lay a gentle kiss on his skin as I meet his dark eyes, watching as he swallows nervously.

I lean back and dress the wound, knowing better than to push it any further. I would definitely get hit again, but I'm starting to think it might be worth it.

"There." I lean back on my knees, smiling sweetly up at him like I didn't just lay a claim on him, one he doesn't understand yet. "Now we're even," I say as I stand and try to dust off my knees, but they are wet and filthy, so I leave it.

His eyes drop to them, and his mouth purses.

"You fucked up your designer pants, though I bet you have a million." It's sly but not mean.

"Nah, only this pair. I could only bring what I could carry." I shrug. "It's fine. I never liked them that much anyway."

"I didn't ask," he snaps.

"Sure." Gripping my bag, I toss it over my shoulders. "Later, Alek, try not to scare too many people tonight."

I take two steps before his voice stops me. "Rich boy."

I swallow my smirk as I turn to face him.

Oh yes, Alek Anders will be mine. He just doesn't know it yet.