BUFF Read online

  “Well,” he smirks, “since you know how much I love it when you beg for me to do things for you."

  He walks her over to his Porsche and pops the boot open. “You’re in luck. Got some with me.”

  He shifts a few boxes before opening one. “Here's a topical antibiotic. Make sure to put it on twice a day. Here's an antibiotic, take it with food.” He extends out a paper bag and says, “All the other stuff is in this bag.” When she reaches to take the bag he snatches his hand back. “Who's this for?”

  “That's between me and my maker.” She locks eyes with him again.

  “And my favor?"

  Becky grabs the bag. “For another time and place.” She tries to hand him a one-hundred dollar bill—it’s the last of her saved money from her dinky summer job at the grocery store—but he closes her hands around the money with no intention of releasing her.

  “Oh, Rebecca. Your favor is worth more than money.”

  She yanks her hand away and takes long strides to escape his clutches, almost turning into a jog when he calls out, “I hope you're ready because you owe me now and I intend on paying you a visit real soon, Petal."

  * * *

  A DYING BEAST.

  Her head cranes to the side, the attic door thuds softly behind her. His sickly presence grazes her vision.

  Just... still.

  Unforgivably aching beauty, so real and tangible, and yet the closer she comes toward him the further away she seems.

  One slow foot moves in front of the other. Tiny beads of sweat break through on her forehead. The attic, her haven, it doesn’t even resemble her hiding spot. His presence wrecks the illusion her mind has taken years to build up. She wants to hate him. Hate him for stealing away her easy recluse life. But she can’t.

  She keeps coming back.

  She stops a foot by his bedside. He hasn’t moved. He’s on the floor with the mattress behind him just the same as when she left him. His whole face is lit up, there are no dark shadows, just a smooth, plain surface of skin and stubble. It’s impossible to tear her eyes away.

  Do I have to wake you? Being awake makes the nightmares true...

  Becky's fist tightens. The paper bag she’s holding crinkles. Colt stirs, his head turns to the side. She kneels watching him the whole time as her body trembles. She removes the blanket with ease, but when she looks at his t-shirt she licks her lips.

  There’s only one way this can be done…

  Forcing herself not to think she lifts and pulls the thin material back over his head. Her limbs, her arms, freezes for one, quick second.

  She swallows the moisture in her mouth as her eyes trail over his lean hips, his narrow waist, his eight-pack and the sexy V-lines of his obliques. Everything from his chest and biceps is cut to perfection and rock-solid. His tattoos circle the exact point his bulging biceps and broad shoulders meet.

  There’s a small circular scar on the side of his upper arm… It’s the bullet he took to save her life five years ago… Her thighs clench and a ribbon of yearning unfurls deep in her core.

  But beyond all the beauty there’s so much blood. It’s an endless ring around the small puncture of flesh. The amount of blood soaked around the wound looks like a grenade has gone through his side.

  She pours the rubbing alcohol onto the clean cloth, placing one hand above the wound and wiping with the other. Some of the blood is old and some of it is fresh just from this morning. Becky does her best to remain detached through the rusty smell of the blood and the deep black hole that begins to show once her strokes work through the mess. His shallow breathing picks up a notch and her hand tingles in awareness for a split moment, only to heighten when he groans.

  God he sounds so sexy, so manly when he makes those deep, low noises... There is something wrong with me…

  “Stay still, okay,” she whispers.

  He doesn’t answer but she knows her words haven’t fallen on deaf ears. His body becomes like a living statue underneath her again. Alive but as posed as a flower on a windless day.

  She leans back, finished with the cleaning part. The bullet wound doesn’t appear so threatening without all the blood covering it. She’s never realized something so small can cause so much damage.

  Looks certainly are deceiving.

  “How are you feeling?” she asks.

  Colt swallows a few times before he hisses out, “Fine,” as the alcohol seeps through the open wound.

  The topical medicine soothes the injury before she places the gauze over, using the medical tape to secure it in place. He isn’t bleeding. She hopes it stays that way. Becky pulls out the antibiotics from her bag.

  “You took my clothes off,” he says. “Always the quiet ones.”

  Is he smirking at me? Is this all a game for him?

  “I'll get you a clean shirt when I get the chance and I didn’t take everything off…"

  He doesn’t say anything for five minutes. Her eyes finally roam near his face. His eyes are shut but he’s definitely awake. His face is way too tense and straining now to pass for slumber.

  “You don't have to lie, you know.” She waits for his reaction, each ticking of the clock seeming to grow louder each second.

  “I'm… fine.”

  ‘Fine’. Always fine.

  Becky shakes her head, lifting the bottle of pills in front of her and reads the label carefully. “I don't believe you."

  He coughs, his hand covers the harsh sound, but she sees the burn it causes in his eyes. When it subsides he dares a quick glance her way, but instantly looks back at the ceiling. “Well, how nice for you."

  She sighs, hovering closer to his top half. “I got some medicine.” She holds it up but her words fall onto nothing. “Colt. Please sit up. You need to take this." The look he gives her catches her off guard. The unfound intensity is blinding. “I... uh… this will help."

  He tries to sit up on one elbow but like a domino he nearly topples back down. She catches him from underneath his arm and supports him the rest of the way. His eyes never leave her.

  The bottle cap pops open and she hands him two white pills. “This is an antibiotic for the fever and if there’s a possible infection... If there is any fever it should—"

  “I know what antibiotics do.” He discards the pills in his mouth like it’s candy. She looks away for a second, his eyes on her.

  “I brought you some...” Her words fade as he groans again. It does something to her; the noises he makes. “...water." She scratches her nose. There is nothing left to do now but wait. “Well, there's, uh, water up there if you'd like some. It's good to have some fluids in your stomach especially with the antibiotics in your system."

  “I'm good.” She finally returns his stare after she pretends to appear busy with something in the medicine bag.

  “No you're not. You know you could be dying, right?"

  Tightness creeps around the corners of his eyes. A smile forms but none of it reaches beyond the slight, but very sexy dimple on his right cheek. But it’s enough to makes the unknown inside her react.

  “What’d you care?"

  “You're not used to people taking care of you, is that it?"

  His stare frosts into an unmistakable glare. “Don't like it, is all."

  “Why not?”

  He heaves out a long breath. “What's with the twenty-one questions?" She winces slightly at the bite in his voice.

  So much for letting my instincts take full reign. Why do I even bother?

  The more she sits there, the more outraged she becomes. “Fine. I'll be back in an a couple of hours to change your dressing and give you more meds.”

  He nods at her, his profile rigid and his gaze fixes to the attic wall. “Try and restrain yourself from taking my pants off, now.”

  Huffing at his immature remark she gets up, collects everything and stuffs the bag with the bloodied rag and paper towel. He struggles to lay back down, gripping his side as he rests on his back, finally letting himself breathe once he
’s pressed into the comforter. He falls asleep soon after.

  The day passes by quickly and soon it’s night time. She’s attended to Toby all day making sure he’s fed and changed regularly but she spends most of the day in the attic looking after him. She really should have spent the day packing for college or something… It’s late and she doesn’t know why she’s still up here. She should ring her parents to find out when they’ll be home.

  But she’s fixated on watching him sleep.

  His face, his features, as before, are disturbingly angelic and a bit devilish. His hair is ruffled from fevered sleep, matted and tousled, but for some reason it fits him. A stray strand lays across his sweaty forehead. Sweat is a good sign. It means the fever is going down, the pills are working. More rest, more medicine and hopefully he’ll be back to himself in no time. And more importantly, out of her life.

  Her hand separates from her straying consciousness when she smooths the small silk piece from his head. She sighs, knowing, if he was awake she wouldn’t dare be so bold. She almost laughs imaging his cold, sour response. Her fingers feather across his thick eyebrow as they fall from his face. She moves to walk away, but something warm wraps around her wrist.

  The cry clings to her throat and she turns, guilt staining her blazing cheeks. “I—I was just…” Her gaze locks with his. His cold blue eyes liquefy. He waits patiently. “I, um, well I can’t sleep so I was just… I mean I was thinking—”

  “You were watching me.” A ghost of a smirk fades to nothing.

  Her temper picks up a gear as he draws out his little game. “No… No of course not. I was just checking on you.” He lingers, not revealing an inch of what’s stirring beneath the surface. “I wasn’t trying to bother you. Go back to sleep.” She moves but he holds on to her wrist, gently but possessively. “You mind?” She jerks her arm but it doesn’t move a centimeter from his strong clasp.

  “Thank you…" His whisper is barely audible.

  She pauses. “Wh-What?"

  He glances down at their physical connection and then back at her. His voice is so naked, so textured, so deep in honesty, that Becky believes she’s hallucinating.

  She’s never heard a human sound so ghostly. It makes goose-bumps pinch all over her body, even in places she never knew existed.

  “Thank you."

  There it is again. Unmistakable this time.

  He lets go and a shaky breath escapes her trembling lips. She bites down on her teeth, irritated that she always shakes around this man.

  Both of their breaths pick up and neither rushes to say anything, neither rushes to look away. Her cheeks prickle and oddly her head begins to swim.

  “You're comfortable?” Her voice sounds foreign to her own ears. It’s sweet but thick like she has just caught a sudden case of laryngitis.

  “I'm okay.” His whisper is hoarse and knotted in sincerity, something she’s not heard from him. “I'll be okay.” He lowers his eyes to stare at her more. They’re sharp but puzzled with a message she doesn’t quite know how to interpret.

  “If you need anything…"

  He finally breaks eye contact and sighs, closing his eyes. Becky swears that that’s the first breath he’s taken since he awoke. “The floor… I remember."

  She backs away not looking at anything but him. He returns her gaze, never looking away.

  It’s like… he is taking her in. All of her in.

  “Goodnight,” she says, when the doorknob taps her spine.

  She doesn’t turn. She can’t. They’re locked into some kind of magnetic field and it’s pulling her to him.

  “Goodnight, Rebecca."

  A frisson of nervous energy passes through her when his lips utter her name.

  “Becky. Just Becky.”

  “Goodnight, Becky.”

  “Goodnight, Colt… Sweet dreams.”

  The front door bangs underneath the floor, shaking the whole house. Her eyes shoot to his and his are wide with question.

  “Parents," she says. He nods his head, understanding falling between them. “I should go.”

  Her parents are home. And he—an intruder—is here. In the same house as them. Under the same roof. There’s no chance for peace-of-mind as long as this man hides in her house.

  She leaves the attic quietly, closing the door without any sound breaking the tensing air.

  The attic, her hiding place, now shelters a man who has turned her world upside down.

  * * *

  HE CLOSES HIS EYES the minute she turns and his head falls back to the pillow behind him.

  Everything hurts; swallowing is no exception. His body feels robbed of any strength. His muscles, his bones, his skin—every piece of him is buried under six-feet of concrete. He can’t even move his hands to rub his aching eyes.

  ‘Goodnight, Colt… sweet dreams...’

  Colt holds on to the intoxicating sound and relaxes as it washes over him. Seconds—minutes—skip by as he drifts on a cloud of nothingness. Part of him wants to fight the invading darkness but he can’t. It’s too strong, like an undertow of unconsciousness grabbing at his ankles and pulling him under. He’s powerless to struggle but the voice follows along with him as his companion. He listens for it and it carries along with him, bathing him in peace through the impending unknown.

  There are a million-and-one situations running through his head. He has no time to wait for his body to heal, but he has little choice, and fighting his recovery will only delay his job in the long run. But none of that is what holds his attention in this moment.

  His sole concentration is on the walking conundrum that’s taking care of him.

  He roughly wipes a hand over his face, looking back at the door and thinking about what’s behind it.

  His apparent angel.

  “Fuck."

  He catches the slight creak of floorboards.

  She hasn’t left... She’s still right outside the door.

  Moments later, as though a mouse has been caught, he hears descending footfalls, listening for them intently and when they finally drift into nothingness Colt uses his left hand—his good hand—and smacks the wall with an open fist.

  He fucking hates complications.

  * * *

  BECKY WANTS TO DIE from embarrassment.

  He must have heard me… And now he’s going to think I’ve got a crush on him… But… he wouldn’t be wrong if he does, would he? This is insane. I’ve finally lost it... if I ever had it in the first place... How can I have a crush on someone who broke into my home? A criminal, for goodness sakes.

  Descending the stairs she steels herself. She can’t give anything away to her parents.

  “Rebecca. You’re still awake, Pumpkin,” her father calls out.

  “I was waiting—”

  The doorbell cuts her off.

  Her father looks to her mother first and then the door. Who would be calling this late? It’s nearly midnight. And why are her parents hesitating?

  It’s probably just a neighbor who needs a pot of sugar. Judy is always coming over for something.

  “I’ll get it then,” Becky says, heading for the front door.

  “No!” her mother yells in a fierce whisper.

  But it’s too late. The door opens slightly in her hands.

  “What’s wrong with you both?” Becky whispers. “It could be important.” The door opens halfway revealing their uninvited guest.

  She doesn’t recognize the face that greets her. A middle-aged man, who looks to be in a very expensive suit underneath a long black coat, takes off his black hat and grins like the Cheshire Cat.

  This isn’t Judy… or anyone’s neighbor to be more precise. He definitely does not come from this small town.

  “Hello, sweetheart, sorry to disturb you so late but I’m here to see Mr. Appleton. Is he in?” His voice is silky smooth and his presence is thick with charm. She notices a black limousine parked outside their house.

  “Um, yes, he’s just here... Who may I say
is here to see him?”

  He strokes the edge of his thick black moustache, his grin widening even further.

  “Mr. Kulich. I’m his boss.”

  Chapter Nine

  THOU SHALL NOT LIE.

  She doesn’t know why but her gut instinct is screaming to tell Mr. Kulich a harmless white lie; to commit a deadly sin.

  This doesn’t feel right at all. Why on earth would Daddy’s boss need to visit so late at night and at our home of all places? Surely work matters are conducted at... well, work.

  “Um, actually he’s not—” Before she can utter her lie, her father comes to the door to welcome the mysterious man himself. Her dad pushes her behind him, but she doesn’t miss the color drain from her father’s face.

  “Mr. Kulich. I-I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “Yes, I know. Can I come in?”

  “Of course.” Her father steps back. “Please, come in.” Mr. Kulich enters their humble home, his shiny black shoes clicking on the floor as he takes a seat on the sofa in the living-room. She notices her parents who never take their eyes off of him as they take a seat opposite. Standing by the phone table Becky finds it very strange how her mother hasn’t even checked on Toby yet, like she’s being hypnotized by Mr. Kulich to stay put.

  “I would have prepared some food if I had known you were visiting," her father says. “Rebecca, go and get Mr. Kulich—”

  “Please, there’s no need. I won’t be staying long.” Mr. Kulich’s voice trails smoothly through the air, cutting the nervous tension she can sense. She has a strong feeling her father had been trying to remove her from the room. Away from some kind of danger.

  “I just wanted to see how you are doing. The burglary. I heard they did a number on your office. You all right?"

  “I'm fine, Mr. Kulich. It’s very thoughtful of you to show so much concern. But it isn’t necessary to come all the way to my house just—"

  “What makes you think you're the reason I'm here in Wentworth Creek,” Mr. Kulich cuts through.

  “I assumed—"

  “Never assume, Mr. Appleton.” Mr. Kulich interrupts for a second time. “That's a dangerous game you should never play."