Wildfire

Chapter 5

5. Admit

Reality came crashing down on me like a ton of bricks. I likened the sensation to being clobbered over the head with a giant hammer; confusion and panic, with a pinch of what the fudge-cakes just happened? hurtled through me at breakneck speed.

I'd let a total stranger touch me intimately – a stranger who may or may not be involved with the mob, one with suspiciously superhuman healing capabilities and unnaturally beautiful eyes.

A stranger who had suddenly gone pale. His brows rose a fraction and in the next second, he was leaning over the sink and heaving up the contents of his stomach. I barely saw him move – he was gone in a blink, moving faster than anybody I'd ever seen. Not that I could blame him, really. Vomit had that effect on people.

But not exactly the kind of reaction a girl is expecting after her first orgasm, I thought absently as I pushed myself off the counter, landing on unsteady feet. My brow creased with worry as I stepped closer to him, my hand automatically reaching to rub the base of his spine in soothing circles.

His skin was blazing hot beneath his t-shirt, scorching my hand as I touched him. He was burning up like crazy, I realized.

"Should I call one of those dodgy doctors now?" I blurted out.

His response was the last thing I expected – he laughed into the sink, a low rumbling sound that did funny things to my insides. Things that made me think of where his hands had been only five minutes earlier, and just how good he was at using them.

My face flushed hotly.

After a few seconds, he groaned and flipped on the faucet, washing away the contents of the basin. When he turned to face me, his face was paler than it had been when I woke up, but he wasn't nearly as ashen looking as he'd been when he got shot. The thought eased my worry, somewhat – but not all of it.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

He nodded slowly. "It's just one of the serum's side effects – I'll be feeling crappy for a few days. Not too bad, considering."

"Considering you got shot." My eyes flickered toward his chest, lighting on the spot where the bullet had penetrated his skin. Confusion and a trace of disbelief coloured my thoughts. "You wanna explain that to me?"

When I glanced up at his face, his lips were pursed, like he was suppressing a smile. His eyes were the lightest I'd ever seen them; warm, honeyed chocolate and gold. "I'll get you some clean clothes."

I watched warily as he left the room, his feet moving soundlessly across the floor despite his considerable height. He was avoiding the question, which couldn't be good. Only guilty people avoided answering questions – which put credence to my mob theory. That covered why he got shot and who was doing the shooting, but not why the bullets were laced with a poison I'd never heard of, and how he'd recovered from the gunshot.

There were too many unlabelled dots left in the puzzle to match them all up correctly. I was still missing clues.

And then there was... that. My eyes slid in the direction of the countertop, my skin prickling with remembered heat as I stared at the cool, marble surface. Was that the kind of thing mobsters did to the girls who saved their lives?

I was staring at the door in consternation when he walked back inside, a black t-shirt in one hand and a pair of boxers in the other. He handed them to me wordlessly, eyes flicking over my face like he was searching for something.

"Thanks," I mumbled.

I practically ran to the bathroom, the bundle of clothes in my arms.

I slid the lock closed on the door and sat down on the toilet lid, a wave of exhaustion surging through me. Diego had obviously done his best to clean up; my blood-soaked hoodie, his shredded t-shirt and his jeans were thrown in a corner behind the door on a bloody towel, while the rest of the room was more or less spotless. Considering the mess I'd made while trying to get the bullet out, I was reluctantly impressed with his cleaning skills.