Leveled: A Novella (Saints of Denver #0.5)(10)

He took the bag from me and I blanched. “No, wait, I can do it!” I jumped for it, but he held it out of my reach. “Give it back!”

“I just want to be sure you don’t have anything dangerous in here.” He eyed me good. “My safety will always come before your pride. Got that?”

Well, shit.

It took me a whole five seconds to give in. “Okay, but can I please be the one to empty it?” He hesitated. I plead gently, “Please.”

He waited a moment before he handed me the bag. “Okay, but you’ll do it right here. Right in front of me.”

Damn it. I would just have to try and conceal what I needed to as inconspicuously as I could. One by one, I took things out of my pack. Two t-shirts, a ratty men’s sweater, which served me well in the colder weather, a pair of black jeans with holes at the bottom, a pair of grey socks, and…

Wrapping them quickly, I tried to slip them into my pocket, but a hand gripping my wrist stopped me. He squeezed tight and I went rigid.

“Show me.”

Pride held me captive. My cheeks burned.

He squeezed hard enough to bruise and I winced. “Show me.”

I pulled them out of my pocket and tossed them onto the bed. Distressed, I whispered, “Panties. Just panties.”

He glanced at the black balls of material on the bed before turning my bag upside down and shaking it. The small Swiss army knife I’d found on the street fell out of the side pocket. I immediately defended the concealment. “It’s blunt.”

With analyzing eyes, he held it up to examine it. “You could still stick it through someone if you needed it to.” He put it into his pocket. “You won’t need this anymore.”

Of course I wouldn’t. How about my soul? Want that, too? It’s not like I need it.

I was grateful, of course, but I still didn’t understand this guy’s motive.

Taking my bag, he shoved the clothes back into them and threw it high onto his shoulder. “Come,” he ordered, and dutiful as I was, I followed. A door on the left side of the room, next to the wall-to-wall bookshelf, was opened, and at the sight of the bath, shower, shampoo, and soaps, a tremor of delight coursed through me.

“You can wash up in here. Take your time.” He stepped back and added, “I only ask that you don’t lock the door. I won’t come in unless I need to. When I call out, please respond, or else I’ll believe you’re in need of assistance.”

That sounded reasonable. But still, I asked, “You promise you won’t come in?”

His cold eyes pierced me. “I’m not looking for a cheap thrill.” At my blunt stare, he uttered, “I won’t enter. Not unless you ask me to.”

“Trust me, I won’t be asking you to.” I stepped inside and moved to close the door, but it stopped an inch short.

A light whiskey eye peered in at me. “Remove your clothes and hand them to me through the door.” Just as I was about to ask ‘what for?’ in the snarkiest tone possible, he went on, “I’ll put them in to wash with the others.”

The door closed and I removed my clothes, and wrapping a fluffy burgundy towel around me, I turned the knob, threw the clothes, and called out, “Thank you.”

A moment of silence, then, “You’re welcome.”

Lev left me in peace and quiet while I filled the tub with hot water and men’s scented body wash. I glanced down at that tub before looking back at myself in the mirror.

I was dirty. Grimy.

As much as I wanted to slide down into that bath, I decided to shower first, and from the moment I too warm water hit me, sluicing down my bare body, warming the chill from me, something crossed between a laugh and a sob escaped me. Lifting my face up into the spray, I let myself be consumed by the feeling of ecstasy as I reached up and massaged shampoo through my hair. And I did this smiling, although it was wobbly.

I resumed washing away four months of filth. To say it felt good would have been understatement of the century.

It felt divine.

Showering as quickly as I could, I made my way out and moved to the tub, carefully stepping into the near-scorching water and bathed away lonely nights in a cold alleyway.

And true to his word, Lev didn’t intrude.





Chapter Six

Mina



Mirrors did not lie. They could boost an ego, but they could just as easily be cruel and punishing.

Lev’s bathroom mirror was a heinous bitch.

It showed every bruise, every line, and every protruding bone in a way that left even me shocked. But my hair was clean, and I might’ve smelled like a man, but I no longer smelled offensive. I scrubbed my face clean, and although my face was a nice shade of pink, I didn’t have three-day-old makeup congealed and stuck to my lashes, which was great.

It came time to leave the bathroom, and I quickly realized I had no clothes. I opened the door an inch and peeked out, letting steam waft out around me. “Lev?”

He stepped back inside the room and, uncomfortable at my nude state, I slammed the door shut. He knocked lightly. “Mina?”

“Hey,” I started. I looked at the door, wringing my fingers. “Hi.” I rolled my eyes at my muddled mind and took a deep breath. “I just realized I have no clothes and I…” I swallowed hard, passed the apprehensive lump in my throat, and finished softly, “I need clothes.”