100-Days-in-Deadland(11)

The half-moon was fully overhead now, sharing just enough of its light for me to hurry to the house without tripping over anything. I was half surprised to find the porch door unlocked. Looking down at my Doc Martens, I suspected the black leather was as grimy as I felt. But, there was no way in hell I could scrub them until tomorrow when—hopefully—I could feel my fingertips again. Stepping inside, I took off my boots and left them on the unlit porch.

A savory, meaty smell wafted forth, and my stomach growled. It was late, and I’d lost whatever had been left of my lunch after Alan died. I hustled forward, only to be blocked at the mudroom by a towering Clutch. He was wearing different clothes, and his hair was still wet. Gray peppered his stubble. Lines marked skin that had seen a lot of the outdoors.

He was handsome in a hard way. Maybe it was his eyes. There was an intensity in his gaze. Even without his tattoos, he would’ve had an aura of power.

Or, maybe it was because he had a pistol leveled on me.

My eyes widened as I met his gaze.

He grimaced. “Relax. If I was going to kill you, I would’ve done it outside where you wouldn’t make a mess.”

I chortled. Like that made me feel any better.

It was then I noticed that he was also holding a rag and a small bottle of gun oil. “You were cleaning your gun.”

He looked me up and down before narrowing his eyes. “Take off your clothes.”

I pulled together the collar of my utterly destroyed shirt. “What?”

“I don’t mean it that way. Jesus.” He ran the back of his hand over his face. He laid his weapon on the washer, reached behind him, and pulled out a garbage bag. “You’re covered in zed sludge, and I don’t know how contagious that shit is. Everything’s got to go. I’ll burn it tomorrow.”

He held open the garbage bag. I shot him a hard glare while I unbuttoned what was left of my shirt.

He sighed. “Don’t worry. I won’t look. You’re not my type, anyway. Too scrawny.”

“Scrawny?” I asked but received no response.

Clutch kept his word, looking over my head while I stripped out of my disgusting clothes. I stopped at my bra and underwear. “Nothing soaked through.”

He glanced down and grimaced, like he wasn’t enjoying himself. I scowled. I wasn’t that hard on the eyes, and I was petite, most certainly not scrawny.

“Turn around,” he ordered. “I have to check.”

I gingerly spun and felt his eyes on my back. I shivered, more self-conscious than I’d ever been in my life. If I’d known how this day was going to turn out, I wouldn’t have worn a thong. Then again, I would’ve done many things differently.

“I think they’re savable,” Clutch drawled out in a rough voice. “Throw both in the wash when you’re done with your shower.”

Turning back to face him, I covered my chest as best I could with my arms, though thankfully Clutch was busy looking anywhere but at me.

“The shower’s upstairs. Second door on your left. I set out something you can wear for tonight. Dinner will be ready by the time you’re done.”

“Got it,” I said and hustled past him.

“Oh, and Cash…”

I paused.

“Be sure to scrub good and hard,” he called out behind me. “You’ve got bits of your boyfriend’s brain in your hair.”

Bile rose in my throat, and I bolted up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Once in the bathroom, I took deep breaths, refusing to look in the mirror. When I had control of myself again, I pulled off my remaining clothes in a rush, cranked on the shower, and hopped in before it was warm.

The cold water that ran down the drain was brown at first, with little flecks of things I didn’t want to think about. I set the water as hot as I could stand, grabbed the washcloth, and started scrubbing. Clutch clearly wasn’t married, because the shower/tub combo only had a bar of soap and a bottle of generic shampoo.

I washed my hair three times before I felt relatively confident that it was clean. And, I scrubbed at my skin until it was red, standing under the spray until it was lukewarm.

Stepping out, I grabbed the towel left out on top of a thin stack of clothes, and dried myself off. I caught my breath when I looked into the mirror. Dark circles underlined my bloodshot eyes. Fresh bruises marred my chest courtesy of Melanie. I looked like shit, plain and simple.

Picking up the clothes he’d left, I found a pair of white long john bottoms and a gray T-shirt with ARMY across the front. Both were huge on me. The shirt nearly went to my knees, and the bottoms slid down every time I moved. Sifting through the well-stocked medicine cabinet, I found a couple large safety pins and tightened the long johns around my waist.