Chapter 66: Chapter Eleven

Alice

I was in the process of wiping off the sparkling countertops when the door to the apartment opened and shut.

I jumped when he locked it.

He wasn’t looking at the kitchen. He was staring straight ahead like he was lost, or maybe like he didn’t want to be found. I couldn’t decide which.

But it gave me time to take in his form. He had blood splatters all over his suit. He shrugged out of his jacket, keeping the leather gloves in place, then jerked open his white button-down shirt.

Buttons flew everywhere. I held in my gasp at his ridiculous body.

I wasn’t attracted to men.

Men terrified me.

Men like my brother.

But this man was built like he never ate a carb in his entire life. He looked like he’d been cut from stone.

His shoulders were huge, something I hadn’t noticed in his jacket but saw now. I’d thought him lethal before.

He looked like he was barely holding onto his own sanity as every muscle flexed and he leaned his head back against the door and cursed.

I was afraid to say something.

Afraid I would make him angry or angrier. Afraid that he had forgotten I was even there and needed a moment.

He kept his leather gloves on, peculiar, but other than that, he had no clothing on except for trousers that molded to an even more perfect bottom half.

I gulped not recognizing the feeling at first, and then I nearly burst into hysterics.

I was losing my mind.

Because I found him attractive.

Not just attractive.

He was one of the most beautiful people I’d ever seen in real life.

And he said he would keep me safe.

What sort of mind games was he playing?

I took a step backward.

I didn’t think about the floor creaking, or that the guy would hear my heavy breathing, but he must have.

His head snapped in my direction.

His eyes locked on mine with cool indifference, and then slowly he drank me in like he’d never seen a woman before in his entire life.

I crossed my arms. I wasn’t wearing a bra, and I wasn’t flat chested either.

I gulped, suddenly insecure and worried he was going to hit me or raise his voice.

My gaze locked on his gloved hands.

I didn’t realize I was shaking until he took a step toward me, and I tried to grab onto the countertop and missed because my hands wouldn’t stay still.

And yet he kept walking.

Every muscle in perfect view.

Every muscle growing before my very eyes.

How had I thought this guy was lean?

Lethal. Yes.

Lean? Hard no.

His blue eyes flickered with something as his lips parted like he was going to speak, and then he whispered with barely controlled rage, “Are those my clothes?”

Shit.

I gulped. “I figured you would want me to throw away my clothes, and I didn’t exactly have any other choices, and you hate it when I ask stupid questions.”

“Know me so well already, do you six thirty-two?” He tilted his head.

I could see a few splatters of blood still on his neck.

Whose blood?

My brother’s?

Another De Lange family member?

How many of us had to die for them to be happy?

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a knife I recognized. It was covered in blood. He slammed it onto the counter, the sound slicing through the silence between us. “For you.”

“That’s Rome’s knife,” I whispered in disbelief. “Where did you get it?”

“Oh, he handed it to me, and then I cut out this.” He reached into his other pocket and placed a piece of what looked like tongue next to the knife. “You can thank me now.”

I couldn’t move.

Couldn’t breathe or think.

“Y-you cut out his tongue?”

“It was either that or chopping off his dick, and I figured you’d want to do the honors. I wasn’t wrong, was I?” He crossed his arms across his perfect chest and waited.

“No.” I cleared my throat. “No, you weren’t wrong.”

“Excellent.” He swept past me, leaving the tokens of whatever he’d just done sitting on the counter I’d just cleaned. I couldn’t look away. “You need clothes that are clean.”

“That’s why I grabbed—”

He held up his hand without turning around, silencing me immediately. “I said, you need clothes that are clean.

“What you don’t understand is that I may have a ridiculous amount of clothing, but all of that clothing has been touched by me. Nothing is clean, you need clothes that are clean.”

“You make it sound like you don’t shower.” I tried teasing.

It was a very bad idea.

He looked over his shoulder and scowled. “The proper response is ‘yes, great idea, by the way, thank you for torturing my rapist and saving my life.’”

“Yes.” Searing tears filled my eyes. “Great idea.”

He tapped his foot impatiently.

“And thank you for torturing my rapist and saving my life.”

“Better, six thirty-two, better.” He nodded and then pulled out a cell phone. “Yeah, I’ll need everything. For a female.” He walked back to me and without blinking, cupped a breast.

“D cup,” His hand slid around my side, I was too stunned, too angry to move. He had no right to touch me!

I hated my response to it almost as much as I hated the fact that he had no physical or emotional reaction other than a blank stare. “Thirty-six,” That same hand slid down my ass.

“Medium, some small,” I squeezed my eyes shut, praying his clinical inspection would be over soon. He looked down. “Seven and a half.”

He dropped his hand and slid his cell back into his pocket like nothing had happened when I was shaking like a leaf.

“I’m not a rapist, six thirty-two, I was just trying to get you clothes, so if you’d stop standing there looking like I wronged you, I’d appreciate it.

“I’ve been surrounded by beautiful women my entire life. Believe me when I say, nothing about you tempts me to finally act on it.”

He jerked away.

Something crashed in the other room.

Loud cursing ensued for a few minutes.

And that’s when I realized he’d said finally.

As if he’d never once acted on it in his entire life.