Page 64 of Stolen Princess

It’s all over me. Wet and dry and crusty and oh my god. I’ll never get it all off. It’s in my hair. Strands of gold are now strawberry and pink.

My vision sways, crackling at the edges. I don’t want his blood touching me.

I strip out of my bra and underwear, but they have blood on them too, and how did that happen? I have to get it off. I can’t breathe with it all over me. Or am I breathing too much? I think I’m breathing too much.

“Rhys,” I call out, frantic and frazzled.

“Another minute. I’m getting cleaned up. I’ll be right out.”

“I don’t have another minute. Either hand me a towel or don’t, but I’m coming in, and I’m naked.”

“What?” he replies as I open the door.

He didn’t lock it, thank god, and I burst through and turn on the shower. I don’t care if he sees me naked. I don’t care if he’s annoyed I came in. I don’t care if the water is cold. I have to get this blood off me.

He doesn’t say anything, but I can feel his gaze on me as I step into the shower and close the glass door. I squirt ten pumps of body wash into my hands and lather it up, scrubbing myself vigorously.

He’s moving outside the shower, but I don’t look to see what he’s doing. I don’t care. My mind is racing, and my hands are shaking, and I’m breathing so much or not enough because there are spots dancing around my eyes.

I don’t know what’s happening to me, but I can’t get the blood off. It’s worse now. The suds are pink and red, and oh god, it’s dripping from my hair onto my thighs. The water is so red, and I need the water to be clear and clean me. I gasp out a curse and pound the side of my fist into the shower wall.

Okay. I can do this. I get more soap and go after my hair, but it’s not shampoo. I meant to get shampoo and not soap.

The shower door opens, and before I know what’s happening, I’m spun around and hauled into a hard, warm chest. Tremors and sobs take hold, infuriating me. I don’t want to cry. I just want this fucking gone.

I beat my fist into his hard shoulder. “Get off me!”

“Calm down.”

“No!” I’m so fucking mad right now, I need a new word for it. Livid. Enraged. Seething. I don’t know. Nothing feels like enough. I want to set fire to the world. I want to burn everything down.

“Shh. I’ve got you, baby,” he says soothingly. “Turn around. I’ll help. I’ll get the blood out. I know what I’m doing.”

He likely does. He killed that man so quickly. So easily. Just a simple slice of his knife, and the guy died.

“I hate you so much. So fucking much.”

“I know. I’ll get the blood out. It’s okay.”

I turn around and close my eyes because even though my thoughts are chaotic and fragmented, I’m also aware of the fact that I’m naked in the shower with Rhys, who’s also naked.

I must say this aloud because he says, “I won’t take advantage of you.”

That’s good to know. I don’t trust him, but good to know.

“Panicking women aren’t exactly my kink.”

I don’t know what that means, but I assume he’s saying he’s not interested. Good stuff. Maybe. I don’t know. Is it a bad thing when a killer isn’t attracted to you? Rhys is a killer.

“I am attracted to you. If you turn around right now and look down, you’ll see that. Despite the blood. Despite the panic. Despite you hating me. I’m very, seriously attracted to you.”

My eyes pinch tight. What the fuck is wrong with me? I don’t care. I shouldn’t care. I’m covered in a dead man’s blood, and I’m wondering why the killer isn’t attracted to me. I’m sick. I don’t like what he’s done to me.

“I don’t like what I’ve done to you either.”

That hurts, and it shouldn’t hurt, but it does. Like everything else right now. “I hate you so much, Rhys.”

“That’s not how I meant it, princess. And my real name isn’t Rhys.”