Page 108 of Raff
I slid in beside her but let her decide how close she wanted to get. Which, apparently, was practically on top of me. Not that I was complaining.
“What is that scent?”
“What scent?” I asked as my hand drifted up and down her back and across her hips.
“That coconut-lime-rum scent. I can’t tell if it’s body wash, deodorant, or cologne.”
“Because it’s all three. And shampoo and conditioner.”
“How did you get your scents to match like that?”
“Morgaine. She mixes up her little witchy concoctions. We each get a signature scent. This is mine.”
“It suits you.”
“If it makes you want to get all up on me, I will lower myself into a vat of it daily.” That got a small laugh out of her. “How are you? Really?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Today was a lot.”
That was putting it lightly.
She got good news, had a little encounter with me, then was cornered and attacked. As if that wasn’t enough, she had to be there while I murdered a man. Then as Hail, Saint, and Slash did a morbid rendition of theThree Stoogeswith that damn body.
It’d been hard as fuck not to burst out laughing at Hail and his commentary about breaking bones to make the body fit, though. The crazy fucker.
“What’s the overwhelming feeling right now?”
”I feel like a terrible person for admitting it, but—”
“Relief,” I filled in for her.
“Yeah.”
“You’re not a terrible person to feel better knowing that a man who tried to murder you and attacked you himself—as well as stole from you—is never going to hurt you again. I think that’s probably very normal.”
“Maybe,” she agreed.
“What’s under the relief?”
“Shock, I guess. I felt like the floor fell out when I got into my room and realized he was there. Then I kind of… provoked him. I wanted him to lunge at me so he got away from the door. But the room was small and he was fast. He pinned me to it.”
My stomach twisted just imagining her in that situation, all the things that must have been going through her mind, all the fears, all the uncertainty.
“But then I… I stabbed him.”
I’d noticed a small bit of blood on the guy’s shirt as I shot him. I guess I figured it was Lula’s blood at the time.
“With what?”
“A screwdriver. Oh!” she tried to sit up. “I left that in my room.”
“That’s all right. The guys will check your room. They’ll find it. Don’t worry. None of this shit is gonna come back to you. We know what we’re doing.”
“You killed someone,” she said.
“I’ve killed more than one person,” I admitted.
“But you killed him for me.”
