Chapter 6

ChapterSix

BRYCE

Isla jumps up. “Excuse me?” She’s visibly shaking as she braces her hands on her hips. “As I told you earlier, I’m not a prostitute.”

I can’t help the smirk that forms on my lips. I withdraw my hand and cross my arms over my chest. “Who said you were?”

“You. A moment ago. You said I was going to sleep in your bed.” She frowns as she wags her finger at me. She’s like a little lion cub trying to be brave.

“You are.”

Isla glares at me before pushing her chair back and stomping from the dining room. I follow her, watching as she huffs, grabs her black leather bag from the island, and stomps to the front door. She pauses, her gaze dropping to the shattered crystal vase from my altercation with Paul.

Her head lifts, and she sighs before bending to collect the fragmented pieces. I’m unsure why the image of her on her knees cleaning up after my son irks me, but it does. So much so that I want to lash out, but I know that would only spook her again.

It’s not easy for me to be gentle, but I have to try. For her sake.

“Get up, Isla.”

“Don’t tell me what to do. I’ve had enough of that from your son.”

I take two quick steps toward her, and she stumbles forward. Crimson slowly blends into the crushed crystal on the floor.

I lunge forward and grip her now bloody hand to examine the wound. A shard of glass is embedded in the middle of her palm, surrounded by other fragmented tiny cuts. “Jesus. I told you to leave it alone.”

Isla jerks her hand, but my grip is stronger. I hold it to me and slowly pick at the shards of glass in her flesh. She inhales sharply as I pull piece after piece from her soft skin.

“Don’t expect this to feel good,” I growl, irrationally irritated at her injury and hating myself for it.

“Sorry to be an inconvenience,” she mutters under her breath.

She winces as I wrap my hand around hers and glare at her. Her hands appear so fragile in mine. One forceful squeeze, and I could crush every bone. My fascination with her fragility is doused with ice water when I hear her whisper,

“Hit me. I’m sure all this is my fault somehow.”

My anger sparks at her comment, but I rein it in because the rage building inside me has nothing to do with her and everything to do with my damaged and dysfunctional genetics. My father would become irrationally angry and blame every little thing that happened on my mom or me. And sadly, Paul is a clone of my father.

“I’d rather slit my throat than put my hands on you in violence.”

The urge to kick Paul’s ass again is high on my priority list. Isla never stood a chance against him. She was his victim, and somehow, he made her believe she was the aggressor. “What did my piece of shit son do to you?”

Isla’s eyes catch mine. Her lips part, then close abruptly as if she’s desperate to shield the ugliness of the truth. I understand the sadness in her eyes. It’s the same sadness my mother wore like a heavy cloak as she bore the horrors of living with my father.

“You don’t need to censor yourself around me.”

“He’s your son.” Her voice is barely a whisper.

I tug at the last piece of glass lodged in her hand. “Let’s get this washed up.”

We rise and head to the sink. She hisses as the cold water cascades onto her wounded hand.

I grab the soap. “This might hurt.”

She smiles hollowly. “Life hurts.”

Reluctantly, I abandon her hand and move to the cupboard on the other side of the kitchen to retrieve the first aid kid.

“That’s a heavy-duty kit,” Isla says, eyeing the large case.

“I’ve had heavy-duty wounds.”

“You’re fantastic at bandaging,” she murmurs a few minutes later.

I smile as I fasten the gauze. “It’s a skill I didn’t gain by the noblest pursuits.” I grip her good hand and tug. “Come on. It’s been a long day. Let’s get some sleep.”

I push open the French doors to the primary bedroom and gesture for her to enter.

She takes a hesitant step forward. I stare at her soft face, green eyes, and furrowed brow as she looks around. Her eyes wander to the black curtains, black satin sheets, and dark burgundy walls. “It’s not white.”

“No. It’s not.”

“Paul liked everything white.”

“Bloodstains are impossible to get out of anything white.”

Her eyes round, and her mouth forms a perfect O. She looks petrified at my words.

“Don’t worry. I’m not butchering people in here if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

Isla pulls her hand from mine and twines her fingers. A nervous gesture mixed, along with how she keeps biting her bottom lip. “I have nothing to sleep in.”

I move past her to my dresser drawer, pull out one of my t-shirts, and hand it to her. “I’ll get some things delivered tomorrow, but this should do for tonight.”

“Where are you going to sleep?”

“On the floor beside you.”

“What?”

“I’m not risking you running out of here the minute I turn my back.”

“So I am your prisoner?”

I brush my thumb over the soft flesh of her cheek. “My guest. You’re my guest.”

“Guests can leave.”

“I swear I’m not planning to keep you here against your will, Isla. I just need you to remain here for now so I can monitor you. Paul isn’t going to let this go.”

She sighs as she tips her head back. “Even the ceiling is burgundy.”

I place my hands on her slender shoulders and shake her gently to get her attention. “I won’t have your life in jeopardy.”

Her gaze moves to my hands on her shoulders. “And I’m supposed to believe that I’m safer here?”

I fill my lungs with the toxic air surrounding us, searching for patience. She witnessed me beating the shit out of my kid to protect her. Saw me kick him out of my apartment. And she has the nerve to question me when it comes to her safety?

I wish I could crack my brain open and show her my intentions. It would sure as fuck make things easier. As much as I want Isla to take me for my word, I understand why she can’t. Because all she’s seen from me is violence. Sure, my aggression was for her protection, but that doesn’t mean much to a woman who’s been a victim of violence.

I take another breath to calm myself as I gaze into her beautiful eyes. “I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a liar. I give you my word that no one will harm you here. Not even me. I realize you don’t know me, and asking this is a lot, but I need you to trust me. Can you do that?”

“Trust isn’t easy for me.”

“I get that. The idea of having a woman in my house turns my stomach.”

She tugs her shoulders out of my grasp. “Geez. I’m sorry I repel you so much.”

“You’re a lioness trapped in the body of a mouse. I’m having a hard time with the notion that you’d ever allow a man to tell you what to do with that smart mouth of yours. But I’d bet you’re not afraid to give me the edge of your vicious tongue because you sense I’d never hurt you no matter what you do or say. There’s safety in that knowledge, isn’t there, Isla? You can pretend you’re a big, bad girl here, but when it matters, you cower and hide like a helpless animal.”

“You’re an asshole.” Her hand flies up to strike my face, but I stop her with a firm grip on her wrist. I’m shocked at my reaction to her, the heat, the animalistic need to slam her against the wall and fuck her until the only words she can utter from her pretty mouth are “Bryce” and “harder.”

“I’m not a little boy, Isla. I’ve had my fill of manipulative women. You’re going to be a good girl, or I’ll be forced to treat you like a bad one.”

Isla sneers right before she slaps me across the face.