He laughs and struggles to his feet. “You are…amazing.”
He wipes at my face, pushing us backward into the stream of water, and then he kisses me, tongue dancing on mine, surely tasting himself on me. Undeterred, perhaps even a little aroused by it, he kisses me wildly, hand digging into my hair, which is now soaked and sticking to my face and neck and shoulders.
For a while, we just luxuriate in the spray of hot water, making out. Just kissing. Tongues dancing and twisting, mouths fused, bodies writhing, pressed together.
How long?
Long enough for the heat to dissipate. I twist all the cold out of the stream so it’s hot once more, laughing. “We’d better actually get clean while we have hot water.”
He opens the bottle of shampoo, flips it upside down and squeezes a generous dollop into his hand, then works it into my hair. I do the same for him. It’s kind of awkward, but fun, and we’re both laughing and blinded by suds before we rinse off. We trade, then. I let him work conditioner into my hair and then lather up every inch of my body; once I’m rinsed, it’s my turn. I gently remove the sodden, filthy, crusted strip of shirt from his arm, careful to make sure the spray doesn’t hit the wound directly. Using a washcloth and moving as delicately and gently as I possibly can, I clean the wound and the area around it—it’s ugly, and he’s going to require significant surgery and physical therapy to have anything like normal use of the limb again. For now, though, it’s clean, at least. I wash the rest of him, and we both rinse. By this time, the water is lukewarm.
He’s first out, scrubbing a towel over his face, and twisting it around his waist, then holding one out for me. When I’m wrapped in it, he dries me with it, and I do the same for him.
I push him out of the bathroom. “Sit.” I guide him to the bed.
He sits on the edge of the bed; I discard my towel and dig the first aid supplies he bought out the backpack. It’s already been well cleaned, so I forgo the antiseptic and simply wrap the bandaging around his arm. There’s enough leftover that once he’s ready to dress, I’ll be able to make a sling for him.
I cup his chin and kiss him. “You kept watch in the car while I slept. Now it’s your turn. Get some rest.” I take his towel from him. “You won’t need this. I’ll be waking you up, later.”
He gazes at me with love blazing in his eyes. “You’re sure? I can take first watch.”
I shake my head, helping him tug the blankets over himself. “No. I’m going to dry my hair. Just rest. You’re gonna need it.” I wink at him.
His eyes close, immediately heavy, as if he’d been keeping his exhaustion at bay by sheer force of will. “I love you, Corinna Roth.”
“I love you too, Apollo Dimitriou.”
He’s asleep within seconds.
I keep the hair dryer on low, so I can hear over it, just in case. There’s a brush, too, which is nice.
I’ve got a nasty gash on my head where I took that glancing shot—incredibly lucky, that one. Nearly killed me—millimeters difference in the angle, and I wouldn’t be here.
Little dotted scabs where both stone and glass shattered too close. Apparently at some point I took a grazing round to the outside of my left bicep—I never even felt that one. Nor the cut on the back of my calf; not even sure how I got that one.
So far as it goes, considering the intensity of the firefight, I came out remarkably unscathed. Apollo, too, seeing as the wound to his arm wasn’t sustained during the fight but earlier.
I have the burner.
I call Mom again.
It rings barely half a ring, this time. “Rinna?”
I sob, at the sound of her voice. “They keep finding us, Mom,” I whisper. “I’m on a burner, but I have to assume they’re listening. I just…I needed to hear your voice. I…I don’t know what to do. It’s so scary. I’m trying to be tough like you were, but…”
She laughs, but it’s not unkind. “Honey, I was terrified. I just did what I had to do anyway. Which is what I’m sure you’re doing.”
“I’m trying.”
“Are you safe?”
“Sort of. They keep finding us.”
“Men like this Spaulding dickbag are relentless, and get stuck on this stupid idea of revenge. Or…or just refusing to let it go because that would belosing. It’s petty and pathetic. But they have more money than sense and can just hire as many brainless goons as they want. Those goons will do just about anything for money, and if that means combing every inch of the city to find you, they’ll do that. Just don’t stay in any one place for long, and keep your head on a swivel, as the combat guys like to say.”
“Speaking of whom, are they coming, Mom?”
“They’re off-grid, babe. I can’t get ahold of them unless it’s a life-or-death emergency for me specifically. Cal and I are holed up somewhere as safe as can be—and believe me, Cal ispissedto be safe with Mom.”
