Binding Ties

Chapter Three

Clarke had always been a mostly silent man - not only vocally, but physically as well, despite his bulk he moved quietly.

It always came in handy when he was working, especially when he had to reach a certain Russian gangster princess in the dead of night to break her out at the exact moment that Tourniquet’s infra-structure began to crumble.

There was a gasp when he entered, as she clasped the sheets around her barely clad body – he could see long, smooth legs wrestling out of the confines in his peripheral vision. Jesus, what was the matter with him? Their lives were on the line here, and all he was worried about was where that golden tan would end on the length of flesh exposed!

“What are you doing?” she started angrily in a stage whisper, pulling the coarse, thin blankets up to her pale chin.

He put his finger to his lips gently, as he moved to brace his back against the crimson wall behind the door. There was only a small block window in the upper part of the wood – otherwise he was completely concealed from the huge guard that peered his head around the door at her.

“Get to fucking sleep, princess,” he growled at her – his eyes running over her bare flesh so that she felt violated, just from a single touch of his eyes on her skin, and she fought to wrestle herself within the implied security of her blanket, “Before I give you something to stay awake for in that lonely bed of yours ...”

When he slammed the door behind him with a dirty, slimy snigger, she saw the scarred guard, his entire body coiled and tense against the wall – his huge hands curled into tight fists. She could never really be sure if he was intentionally sneering, or it was the effect of that deep, ruged scar that ran across his features – but he looked to be absolutely feral, and she shivered slightly in response to it.

Although what had ran through her hadn’t felt like fear, she didn’t know what it was – but it was almost electrifying in its intensity.

Cocking her head to the side, she watched him warily – never having expected any of the guards to come into her space once the parade was over downstairs. She’d be stupid if she gave him blind trust – if she gave it to anyone.

His eyes were dark and narrowed on the closed door, as though boring into the brawny, menacing man that had stood there only moments before, until she cleared her throat softly, and he immediately turned to her.

For a split second, there was such a deep darkness inside him that she shivered, until it was quickly obliterated with an almost tender, sheepish smile. How could any face look so perfect – obviously marred as it was by the scar that ran its length? It was somehow his only flaw – as though the Gods had struck down over his features, realising twenty seconds too late that they’d made a mistake in the creation of such a resonantly beautiful specimen of masculinity.

“Sorry,” he whispered, “I uh ... I brought you something?”

“Are you asking me?” she asked, imitating his awkward phrasing, and he shook his head with a short, barking laugh, before dropping down at her feet – his back against the side of the mattress – and handed her a large block of Cadbury’s over his broad shoulder.