Today? Not so much.

I’m so tired that I’m tempted to cross my arms behind my head, kick back, and relax. Fumbling with me and the key, Nox manages to open the door, no thanks to me, and just as I sigh peacefully from the enjoyment of my ride, he throws me onto the bed.

I jerk and bounce so ungracefully that my hair thrashes about, then falls over my eyes. Currently blinded by my thick locks, I throw both my hands up in the air, flipping him the bird. He laughs to himself as I hear the bathroom door close.

I yell out, “Can I grab some clothes out of the bag?”

Nox replies, “Yeah.” A second passes before he adds, “Don’t touch anything else.”

Which makes me wonder what else is in there to touch.

Sliding my body off the bed like an overweight slug, I crawl to the bag in the corner of the room. I try lifting it but it’s heavy, so I do what any other lazy person would do. I tip it upside-down and the contents spill out all over the place.

The sound of the shower starting alerts me to the fact that I only have a few minutes to snoop through Nox’s things. Quick as I can, I spread it all out and look down wide-eyed in wonder.

How the hell did all this fit into that small bag?

There’s approximately five sets of Nox’s man clothes, deodorant, new toothbrushes and toothpaste (thank God), rope, that damn blindfold, which I shove in my pocket, something that looks like a mini electronic tablet, USB sticks, ski masks, the shiny black cell phone I talked to my dad on, and my eyes widen even more when I spot the collection of switchblades.

Picking up the largest one and opening it, I press my finger to the blade lightly. It’s about eight inches long including the handle, and sharp as hell. I don’t need to press any further to know this thing would surely take off my finger if I tried to push any further. It looks like a hunting knife. The blade is shiny and curved, the sharp tip on an angle.

Running my hand down the back of the blade, Nox says in eerie calm, “What you got there? Not planning to take me out, are ya, princess?”

Eyes still trained on the blade, I whisper, “I want you to teach me how to use this.”

His rumbling laughter fills the room. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”

Eyes pleading, I snap my head up to beg when I see Nox.

Nox in a towel.

Nox in a towel stalking towards me.

His frame is so big that he can’t even wrap the small towel around his waist, he grips the edges shut with a large hand. With every step he takes, I see more of his muscular thigh. His short hair dark as night, and his body glistens with drops of heavenly dew.

Sweet baby Jesus. Is it hot in here?

I’m burning up. My heart rate escalates. Once he reaches me, he bends down to collect a new set of clothes and snatches the knife out of my hand. He’s so quick with his hands that he has the knife shut and back in its place within a second.

I’m still staring at his thigh when Nox utters, “Think you oughta turn around if my nudity offends you.” Then he walks over to the bed and drops the towel. And there’s Nox in all his naked glory. Too bad his back’s to me. I’d kill to see the front of that hard body. Stepping into his cotton boxers, he pulls them up and turns around. And there I am, staring at his fabric-covered pee-pee.

“Like what you see?”

Oh fuck!

He just caught me looking at his junk!

Play it cool, Lil.

Shrugging nonchalantly, I ignore my burning cheeks and reply, “Not really. I thought you’d be more- more- I don’t know. More impressive.”

The ass smiles. A huge-ass smile from a huge ass.

Dear God! It reminds me of Heath Ledger’s smile a la ‘10 Things I Hate About You’.

I love that freakin’ smile. And the ass wears it well.

My heart skips a beat, but I remain cool as a cucumber and question, “I thought you types were all tattooed and stuff.”

Wiping down his broad chest with the small towel, he responds, “I’ve got tattoos, Lily. Just not ones you’re used to seeing.”

My eyes widen in interest. I love tattoos, and if Nox is sporting something I haven’t seen before then, naturally, I want to see it. I ask quietly, “Can I see them?”

Nox’s face turns passive, almost thoughtful, before he lowers the waistline to his underwear slightly.

Without meaning to, I gasp aloud and cover my mouth with both hands.

Unbelievable.

Stepping forward slowly, I reach out with a shaking hand to touch the skin there. Just before I reach him, I rear back realizing what I was just about to do. As I lower my face and try to turn away, Nox takes my hand and presses it to the puckered and mutilated flesh just under his waistline. It feels surprisingly soft under my fingertips.

Given permission, I trace the scars with my fingertips. His stomach clenches and contracts. I’m not sure if this is in discomfort or pain, so I pull my fingers away from the gouged and puffed scar tissue that trails from one hip to the other.

Suddenly tattoos don’t appeal to me anymore.

There are no words. I’m speechless.

Looking up at Nox, mouth parted, I search his face. As our eyes meet, he frowns, lifts his hand and uses his thumb to wipe away the tears I hadn’t realized I’d shed.

My heart aches.

He’s a dick. A huge dick. But I wouldn’t wish this on anybody. I want to say something but the words just don’t come. What can you possibly say to someone who has been tortured?

Chapter Nine

Ch- ch- changes

Lily

A few hours after our close encounter, we remain silent, communicating with nothing but nods or one word questions and equally short answers. The waitress from the diner brought up our sandwich platter, along with a complimentary cherry pie for us newlyweds, while I was in the shower. We ate slowly, avoiding each other’s gaze.

Unable to stand the awkwardness any longer, I jump up and turn on the old-ass TV. Nothing but static. I mentally sigh. Of course there’s nothing but static. No one accused me of being lucky. Luck of the Irish, you ask? Nope. Not even that.

Flipping through channels, I stop on the channel with the least amount of static and manually try to tune it. A few minutes pass but nothing helps, so I do what I do whenever something at home is broken.

I beat the crap out of it.

Slapping the sides of the TV, I urge, “C’mon, you piece of shit. Modern technology, my ass!”

Nox chuckles and I say sternly, “You know, you can help me at any time. Don’t be shy now.”

Then I smack the back of the TV. A little too hard.

It falls off the stand and onto the floor. A loud bang resounds through the room. Looking down in shock at the now broken TV, I lift my wide eyes to Nox and shout, “Look at what you did!”

Then he does something beautiful.

He tips his head back and roars with laughter.

And all I can do is watch in awe as his entire body shakes with hilarity while thoughts rush through my brain.

How can a man who has been through what he has, still be able to laugh? Maybe Nox isn’t as damaged as I think he is. I’m an ass. I shouldn’t have labelled him. Ask him about it.

Walking over to the bed, I throw myself back onto it, next to his still shaking body. Placing my arms behind my head, I sigh long and loud, “I’m so bored.”

Nox nods but doesn’t say a thing.

We lay next to each other as night falls, neither of is willing to move, quite comfortable in our finally broken silence. Feeling more confident, I ask, “What happened?”

Obviously knowing this was coming, he breathes in deeply and replies on an exhale, “Got caught by the bad guy.”

This explanation is not satisfactory. I’m nosey! I need more than that. “When?”

“Few years back.”

I’m confused. Turning my body to look at him, I say quietly, “But I thought you were the best.”

Turning his head to the side, his icy blues search my face before answering just as softly, “It’s why I’m the best. I’ll never let that happen again.”