Page 54 of Wraith

And watching her do it — watching her stand over that dealer with her foot on his back and her voice hard as she demanded tribute and whipped him into submission — I felt something I haven’t felt in a long time. Not arousal, though that was definitely part of it. Not pride, though that was there too. Something else. Something that sits in my chest like heat and refuses to be categorized.

Respect.

That‘s what it is. I respect her.

The realization is uncomfortable.

Foreign. Fucking alien.

And now she’s lying here, passed out in a cheap motel room wearing the same clothes she slept in last night, and she got us here. Not me. Her. She handled Molly. She threatened the veterinarian, Morrison. She robbed a drug dealer. She drove us to safety while I bled in the passenger seat and trusted her to make the right calls.

June’s been making all the right calls.

Even when they‘re insane.

The kiss comes back to me. The way she grabbed my face in the truck after robbing that dealer, her lips pressed against mine with a heat that had nothing to do with wine or fear or adrenaline withdrawal. She kissed me like she meant it. Like she fucking needed it. Like maybe, despite everything, there’s something between us that isn‘t just history and damage.

I want that again. Want to be the person she looks at with that fire in her eyes every time she gets turned on from being the fucking relentless, domineering woman that she’s turning out to be.

My side pulses with pain.

The smart thing would be to lie down right now.

But there’s something else I need to do first.

I move carefully, quietly, into the bathroom. The mirror shows me exactly what I expected: a man who looks like he lost a fight. Split lip. Bruised jaw. Blood crusted at the corner of my mouth. My shirt stained dark where my side bled through. My hair a mess.

I run the water until it’s warm and use the thin motel towels to clean myself up as best I can. The blood comes off. The dirt comes off. I finger-comb my hair into something resembling order. By the time I’m done, I don’t look good, but I look like a guy who’s just having a bad day instead of a guy who recently fought two armed men in his underwear.

Good enough.

I check the wad of cash June took from the dealer. There’s more here than I expected. Several hundred dollars left over. Enough for whatever we need.

I step outside. There’s a pharmacy two blocks away. I spot it from the doorway, a big chain place with a bright sign. There’s a pizza place next door.

I leave June sleeping and head out into the afternoon heat.

The walk hurts. Every step reminds me that my body has opinions about what happened this morning, and none of them are positive. But I make it to the pharmacy and I move through the aisles with purpose, grabbing what we need: a proper first aid kit, some snacks, beer and wine because we‘ve earned it, toiletries, and pain medication. Important equipment that has nothing to do with bondage gear or guns.

When I hit the register, I’m about to check out when, at the last minute, something catches my eye.

I pick one up. Hold it. Feel like an idiot. Put it back. Pick up a different one. Feel like an even bigger idiot.

But I buy it anyway. Along with everything else.

The pizza place next door has a special. Large pepperoni for twelve bucks. I order and by the time I get back to the motel, my side is screaming, and I’m regretting the walk.

But I’ve got supplies.

I let myself back into the room as quietly as possible. June hasn’t moved. Still curled on her side, still breathing deep and even, still completely out.

I set everything down on the small table by the window — the first aid kit, the snacks, the beer and wine in the mini fridge that wheezes to life when I open it, the pizza box on top of the dresser where the smell won’t reach her immediately.

Then I take the last item. Hold it in my hand. Look at it. Doubt it.

Then I cross to the bed. Stand over her for a moment, watching the rise and fall of her breathing. Then I lean down and place it on the pillow next to her head. Careful. Quiet. Trying not to wake her.

But her eyes open.