He’s lying.
I don’t know how I know because I’m not a great judge of character, but I know the words that fall from his lips are a complete mistruth. The question is, what reason does Tommy have to lie to me? Is it possible he’s here to kill me? Have I done something wrong? Have I seen too much?
The thoughts cause panic to burn bright in my chest. No. That’s not possible. Wynter and I have been together for years since she first took her role as CFO, and I’ve always known there were things she couldn’t talk to me about. Why would that change now?
“What’s going on in that pretty head, little fawn?” he murmurs as he brushes a stray piece of hair from my face. “Where’d you go?”
I shake my head, attempting to clear the panic in my chest enough to speak. “It doesn’t matter,” I whisper.
Tommy watches me closely for a few more seconds before moving back to pulling my boots from around my calves. The first one gives way easily, but as soon as his hands wrap around my left calf, I hiss out a breath and pull my leg back.
He looks tortured at the idea of causing me pain, and for some reason, I want to take it away. I want to reassure him that he wasn’t the one that hurt me, and it was the car that clipped me that made me flinch away from him. “I’m sorry, Clara. I should have been more careful.”
“It’s fine,” I hiss through clenched teeth. Jesus that hurts.
He hesitates for a few seconds before moving back toward me again. “I need to check your leg, so I need to get the boot off. We can either try to pull it off again, or I can cut it off.” He produces a long knife from the back of his black jeans and my eyes widen at the sight. Where the hell was he keeping that thing? And how did he not stab himself when he squatted down in front of me?
“Don’t cut it,” I rush to say.
He quirks up a brow before following my eyeline to the blade in his hands. He has to realize how disconcerting that thing is…right? “So, you’re going to let me pull it off you?”
I nod despite the uneasiness rolling around in my belly. I’d really prefer he not slice into my favorite pair of knee-high boots, but my leg hurts, and I have a feeling it’s going to take a lot to get this damn thing off. “Yes.”
He gives me a quick nod and places the knife down on the table behind him. Somehow that makes it look even bigger, as if the white surface makes the weapon look even more menacing than when wielded by someone as terrifying as Tommy. “I’m going to do this as quickly as I can, like ripping off a Band-Aid.” He pauses, his blue eyes flashing with something akin to lust. “Scream if you need.”
My cheeks heat under his words and it’s almost enough to distract me as he slides the leather over my sore calf. A cry tears from my throat without permission and dread falls over me. I was always taught not to show pain outwardly because why would anyone care about my comfort? Or at least that’s what my father used to say when I was a kid. His voice echoes in my mind, and I silently reprimand myself. Is it not bad enough that Tommy’s seen me cry and was forced to comfort me? I’ve tried to tell myself over the last few months that it was okay for me to show emotion that day, that being held hostage by some of the most ruthless men in the city and used to lure my only friend into a trap was a justifiable reason to be upset. But there are times when the voices are a little too loud and I’m reminded of something my parents always tried to instill in me. No one cares about me. No one cares if I’m upset, or hurt, or broken. Everyone is out for themselves and that’s a hard reality I’ve had to face over and over again.
“All done,” Tommy whispers, his rough fingers brushing over my bare skin in comforting circles. He doesn’t strike me as someone who has ever comforted another human purely because his nature is so brutal. And yet, the way he touches me soothes the pain, and all I can focus on is him kneeling in front of me, looking completely out of his comfort zone.
He doesn’t stop stroking my leg until my body relaxes beneath his touch, and for some reason, my stupid heart flutters at that. Feeling anything toward a man like Tommy is straight-up stupid, and yet, he still features in most of my dreams.
He grips my ankle in his scarred hands and gently turns my leg slightly so he can look at my calf. I should be looking too. I need to know what I’m dealing with because I’ll need to look after myself through whatever’s wrong with me, just like I do everything else. But instead, I stare at his dirty-blond hair and the way his brows pull together slightly as he looks me over. His touch is gentle as he maneuvers me the way he needs to check me over, and there’s something ridiculously sexy about a man who has killed people with his bare hands taking such care with me. I need to get a handle on this whole finding a serial killer attractive thing because that can only end one way, and it most likely involves taking my last breath.
“You’re going to have a nasty bruise, but you haven’t broken anything,” he finally surmises.
“Oh good!” I try to pull my leg from his grasp, but his grip just tightens slightly, keeping his hold on me despite my attempt to escape. “I should get to work.”
“No.”
“What do you mean no?” Déjà vu hits me. Didn’t we do this a few minutes ago? Why does he have to be so damn stubborn?
“I mean, no. Wynter won’t want you to come to work if she knows you were hit by a car this morning,” he challenges.
“I wasn’t hit by a car.” I roll my eyes. “I was clipped.”
He raises his brow and a small smile plays on his lips. “I’m sure Wynter will see the clear distinction.”
“Okay, so I won’t tell her.” I shrug.
He stares at me for long moments before nodding. “Okay, sure.”
His sudden agreement takes me aback. What did he say? Wasn’t he just being a stubborn ass a few seconds ago?
“Why don’t you get up and I’ll walk you to your office? I’m heading that way for a meeting with Everett, anyway.”
Why does this seem a little too easy?
I don’t allow myself to question him as he releases my ankle from his grip and moves back onto his haunches. He holds his hand out for me to take, which I do without hesitation. It’s not until I try to pull myself up that I realize it’s a trap.
Agony shoots up my leg and tears a cry from my chest. Holy shit that hurts. I fall back onto the plush couch, but the relief doesn’t come immediately, and I can’t help but stare at Tommy’s smug face.
“Okay, maybe I’ll work from home today,” I concede. “But only because I want to. I could go to the office if I really wanted.”
“I’m sure.”
“I could,” I snap.
He chuckles and pushes himself to his feet. “If you say so.”
“You’re an asshole, you know that, right?”
“I’ve been called worse.”
“I’m not surprised.”
He considers me for a few seconds before the corners of his lips tip up. “You don’t show the rest of the world this side of you very often.”
“What?”
“The fire. You seem scared to rock the boat most of the time, but right now, you’re just…free.” He turns and strolls toward the door before I can think to respond. “I’ll let Wynter know you’re taking the day off, and I’ll be back around later.”
He disappears before I can argue, and I’m left staring at the closed door of my apartment. What the hell just happened?
