Predator - A Stand Alone Suspense Romance(10)

Her eyes dart around the room. There’s nothing but two beds and a table. The motel looks like shit, but the worse it looks, the better for us. It’s easier to hide that way.

“You’re the man…” She clears her throat again. “You helped me?” She frowns and it looks like she’s in a world of pain. I don’t know the extent of her injuries yet. I wanted to let her rest, but now that she’s up, we’ll have to look at her wounds and get them cleaned properly. “Predator?

Oh yeah, the nickname I’ve been given. I don’t use my real name anymore. She’s going to be with me for a year and I can’t have her calling me Predator while she’s staying with me.

“Damian,” I say the name I’ve been using for the past few years. I watch a look of confusion flash over her bruised face. “My name is Damian Weston.” I watch her closely and then understanding crosses her features.

“Damian,” she whispers, testing the name on her dry and bruised lips.

“Great, you’re talking today. That’s very good.” I slap my hands on my thighs and then get up from the chair I’ve been occupying in the corner for the past fourteen hours. “It’s time to get you clean.”

I move into the bathroom to open the faucets. When I walk back into the room, she’s struggling to sit up. It’s important for her to do most of this herself, no matter how hard. I can’t have her becoming dependent on me.

Women especially are like wounded birds. You have to let them heal on their own, or they will never leave. They won’t be able to fend for themselves if you baby them. They tend see you as the hero in their nightmare, and then they want you to keep fixing them. Once you let that happen it’s over, emotions get involved, and hearts get broken.

She whimpers and slumps back to the bed, closing her eyes.

“No. No sleeping. You need to get cleaned up first,” I say with a little more force this time.

I grab the painkillers and a glass of water and walk over to her. “Lift your head, Cara,” I snap and her eyes fly open on my command. “You need to work with me here,” I demand.

She listens and lifts her head. I drop two tablets in her mouth and then move my hand behind her head to help her keep it up. No use if she chokes, then this will all be for nothing. I bring the glass to her lips and she takes a few sluggish sips.

“It’s going to hurt when you shower, but if you don’t, you’ll get an infection and we don’t need that kind of shit. You’ll feel better afterwards. I promise,” I say while placing the glass back on the table.

I throw the covers back. Her whole body tenses and the little color she has left drains from her face.

She’s so scared I can almost taste her fear.

I take hold of her arms and I pull her into a sitting position. “A little help, Cara.” I pull her to her feet and this time there’s more strength in her body. She sways on her feet and I quickly place an arm around her waist.

She tenses again and pulls away from me. “I can walk. I’m fine,” she slurs through the pain.

I nod and step back. No matter how much I want to help her, I can’t baby her. She’ll latch onto me. I’ve had that shit before and it’s hard to make them understand that I’m a killer, not husband material.



Cara~

There’s something about losing yourself, being hollowed out and stuffed full of pain. All I have on is his jacket. He didn’t do anything but put me in the bed. It must be because I smell like a sewer and I look like shit.

I’m tired, not just physically. I’m shattered to the bone. It feels like my soul weighs a ton, dragging me under the wave of emptiness that keeps crashing over me.

I press my hand to the wall and use it to keep my balance. When I reach the bathroom, steam is billowing from inside. I walk in and immediately go to the basin so I can use it to keep myself up. There is a little square mirror hanging above it, but it’s misted over.

“This is how it’s going to work. You’re going to shower quickly. Once you’re in clean clothes you will eat. I have to look at your wounds so they don’t get infected and then you can sleep. This is all you have to do today.”

I wonder if this man has any feelings. He sounds as dead as I feel.

“Who are you?” I ask, wanting at least one of my million questions answered.

“Tom Smith hired me. I clean up other people’s fuck-ups. You’re a mess. That’s all you are,” he says coldly.

Tears burn in my eyes. Uncle Tom didn’t leave me! He sent someone for me. I cover my mouth with a trembling hand to smother the sob. I swallow hard, forcing the tears back down.

“I have two rules,” Damian says and he takes a step closer to me. He might have saved me but I feel far from comfortable around him. “Do not look down. You can look anywhere in the bathroom but at the mirror or yourself, and no locking doors.” There’s a clear note of warning in his voice and I nod. I glance at the faded pattern on the tiles. They’re peach and brown. The brown makes my stomach churn.

My eyes jump to faded peach towels. There are bleach stains on them.

My eyes finally find their way to Damian’s, and I’m met with a harsh look. “You have ten minutes.”

I wait for him to leave and when he does, he leaves the door half open. I’m relieved. I think I might die if he closes that door. I couldn’t stand small spaces before I was taken. Now, they terrify me.