Page 45 of Raven's Hunt
She glanced at the new window. If she hadn’t been involved in the ambush, she wouldn’t have guessed half a dozen men had trashed the place a week ago. The walls had been patched, and everything had been put back in its place.
Dalton motioned to one of the doors off to her left. “You and Buck can take that room. Not that you have to sleep there, but there’s an ensuite. Might feel more secure while you get washed up. I’ve got the door, so take as long as you both need. Nothing’s getting in tonight.”
Buck raked his hand through his hair, wincing a bit when it must have pulled on the laceration Chase had fixed. “Dalton?—”
Dalton cut him off. “Not an argument you’re gonna win, buddy, so don’t even try. It’s not like I’d really sleep anyway.”
Buck sighed, looking over at her. “I’ll make hot chocolate while you rinse off.”
She merely nodded, walking into the bedroom then into the bathroom. It looked a lot like Bodie’s suite only more cozy coastal than urban loft. The water sounded in the background as she peeled off her clothes, noting the multiple impacts she’d taken on her vest as she glanced in the mirror. Skin mottled with purple welts, a collection of scratches along her arms and legs, plus the cut on her cheek Rowan had glued and taped — she looked battered and bruised, but alive.
She jumped under the spray, watched the mud and blood circle down the drain, as Pike’s taunts replayed in her head. How it might not be over.
That, despite everything, she might still have a price on her head.
Snick-clink.
She closed her eyes. They were dead. She’d won.
Except it didn’t feel like victory. She hadn’t envisioned that revenge would play out the way it had.
This… This was just another form of prison without the concrete walls and barred doors.
She pressed her hands against the tile, used the smooth, hard surface to ground herself. Tears joined the water, but she didn’t have the strength to care.
It took a while to move beyond the shower — yank on some yoga pants and one of Buck’s hoodies. Rowan had given her more than a few options, but she liked the way his sweatshirt surrounded her, how it smelled like citrus and cottonwood with a hint of pine.
That for a moment, enveloped in his scent, she could breathe.
A knock jolted her out of her thoughts as the door inched open, the hinges creaking, as a wedge of brighter light lit the floor. Buck slipped inside, twin mugs in his hand, smelling of woodsy spice and coconut shampoo, his hair still damp from showering in Dalton’s bathroom.
Buck handed her a cup, leaning against a large dresser as he sipped at his, looking sexy and strong, and so damn handsome it made her chest hurt. She must have made some kind of noise because he snapped his gaze to her, frowning as he shook his head.
He placed his cup on the side table. “Did Rowan look at your ribs?”
Tierney pursed her lips. “I’m fine.”
“That’s a no.” He pointed to her shoulder. “The hoodie’s so big on you, I can see the bruising peeking out of the neckline from that one round from here. What about all those cuts? Did you put antiseptic on them?”
“They’re just scrapes. And I cleaned them in the shower.”
“And that’s another no.”
“You should talk. You’re more messed up than I am.”
“And I had Chase rip me a new one while he poured alcohol on the wounds to, and I quote, ‘help me make better choices, next time’.” He walked over to a bag she hadn’t realized he’d placed inside the door, removed an oversized tee. “Put this on. At least I can treat whatever’s not covered.”
She took it, the same aroma lifting off the fabric. “Buck, I’m?—”
“Stubborn. I know. And this isn’t a fight I’m going to back down on.”
She huffed, motioning for him to turn around as she stripped everything off, then tugged his tee over her head, the hem landing mid-thigh against her bare legs. “You can turn around.”
He glanced back, taking her in with a sweeping gaze, the corners of his mouth twitching into a hint of a smile before he headed for the bathroom, emerging with a first aid kit. He gestured to the bed, spreading the kit out beside her as he went to one knee, tsking. “Christ, you practically shredded your legs.”
She laughed. “Are you always this dramatic? It’s nothing.”
He tore open some antiseptic wipes, looked at her as he cleaned one of the lines. “The way you’re wincing suggests differently.”
