Page 10 of Blake

The kitchen had pale grey shaker-style units with white marble countertops in a U-shape separating the areas in the kitchen diner. Pale grey tile on the floor was repeated in the dining area that held a round, glass table. Grabbing a glass from the cabinet above the sink, Pax filled it with water and knocked back two ibuprofens for the pain. They wouldn’t kill it but they would take the edge off so she could at least undress.

Turning back the way she came, she moved slowly up the stairs wincing in pain with every step until she reached her bedroom. This was her favourite room in the house with its pale blush walls, thick cream carpet, and her king-sized bed with a floral pink and cream comforter and six toss pillows.

Pax took a minute and sat on the edge of the bed gingerly. She needed to get cleaned up, wash the blood from her face, and assess the damage to her body. Then she had to figure out a way to stop Roz from finding out one of her girls had let someone get the drop on them.

Feeling the painkillers finally start to offer some relief, Pax moved into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. It was as she feared—her cheek was cut but not deep enough to need stitches. Her eyes were black with the left one slightly closed, the finger marks on her throat were clear as crystal. She lifted her top and there was a bruise on her abdomen, and both her ribs were a marble of black and purple.

Never in her life had Pax been more thankful for the person that invented shirt dresses. She was going to write them a personal thank you just as soon as she felt like holding a pen. Slipping the buttons through the pale green silk buttonholes she let the fabric pool at her feet before she stepped into the hot shower allowing the hot spray to hit the cuts on her face and clean the blood away. Not bothering to wash her hair because she knew lifting her arms would be more pain than she could cope with right now, she stepped out and wrapped a towel around her.

After letting her body dry naturally, she slipped on the sleep shorts and vest by pulling it up from the bottom and climbed into bed. Pax thought sleep would be impossible and she’d spend all night going over it in her head, but blessedly she slept.

Chapter Five

Blake woke early as was his way. His head was clear despite the nine pints the night before and he knew he needed to drag his ass for a run. Crawling out of bed he dressed in shorts and a t-shirt he then necked a pint of water. Dehydration was a kicker at the best of times but in this heat, and with a hangover, it was a double whammy.

Hitting the street, he ran towards the park eager to see if he would run into Pax again though he thought the odds were slim. When she was knocked back, she didn’t strike him as the type to ask twice. In fact, he half expected her to make him work for it when he said he would help her. He smiled looking forward to it.

After five miles he called it a day and went to shower and change. He was out the door by five past eight and driving towards Pax’s home. He knew where she lived, he’d made it a point to find out when they came back from Monaco. Her home was in the small village of Bartestree to the North of the city centre. It was a beautiful area and her house was on a small and exclusive estate with only five other homes. All ‘new builds’ with extensive gardens and private driveways and he wondered why she’d chosen there. He pictured her in a large apartment on the river not in a small detached house.

Parking, his smile grew as he prepared for the mental battle of wills he was about to face with Pax. If he were lucky, he would catch her still in bed all rumpled and mussed from sleep. The thought made his body respond as he banged on the door and waited for her to answer.

He looked up at what he assumed was a bedroom window and then banged again when she didn’t answer. She was definitely there—her car was in the drive and he could see her bag on the floor in the kitchen as he looked through the window.

“Come on, Pax, open up. I know you’re in there.”

He saw movement at the upstairs window and grinned. She had been in bed. He waited for her to come downstairs wondering what was taking so long and then guessing she was probably making him wait on purpose. He heard the lock turn on the other side and grinned as she pulled the door open.

The smile died on his face when he got his first glimpse of her. His gut twisted and bile fury made his blood burn and his hands shake. “What the fuck happened?”

He pushed past her careful not to jostle her as he did. Her face was a mass of purple bruises from her eyes—one of which was closed—to her nose. His eyes moved down her throat and he had to physically restrain himself from going nuclear and scaring her when he saw the bruises on her neck.

Some motherfucker had put his hands on her perfect peach skin. Had dared to hurt a woman he cared about. A lot, if his need to hunt down the man or woman who had done this and break every bone in their body was any indication. He cared about this woman who hid behind her armour of designer clothes—more than he had even realised.

The way she moved towards him, her hand wrapped around her middle as she walked gingerly past him, made him realise the damage was worse than what he could see. Bile crawled up his throat at the thought.

Blake followed her keeping a tiny bit of distance between them. “Pax.” He called her name softly as they reached her immaculate and unused kitchen if the pile of takeaway menus were anything to go by. He moved in front of her as she dropped her face, not looking at him. He lifted her chin with his forefinger. “Honey, talk to me, please. Tell me who did this.”

Her eyes met his and he saw shame, pain, and a hint of stubbornness that made him breathe a little easier. “Don’t know. Just know I was warned to keep my nose out of things that don’t concern me and that my dad couldn’t protect me this time.”

He would deal with that in a second, but he needed to know how serious her injuries were. “Did you go to the hospital?” She shook her head. “Call Roz?” Again she shook her head. “Where did this happen, Pax?”

“At the Gallery. I was just closing.”

“They left you on your own?” He felt anger bubble in his blood at the thought of her facing someone on her own.

“Yes,” she snapped. “The other girls would never have let this happen to them. It was my own fault. I should have been more vigilant.”

“Bullshit,” he roared and watched her wince. He instantly felt bad for shouting. “I’m sorry, Pax, but this is not your fault. It could happen to anyone. Fuck, it’s happened to most of us at some time or another. You don’t do dangerous jobs without taking a hit now and then.”

He moved closer. She was looking at him like she didn’t recognise him, and it frightened him. He wanted her smart mouth and witty comebacks. He wanted his Pax back—his Pax. Was she his? He didn’t know but suddenly he realised he wanted her to be.

“They only beat me,” she said.

“They? Only?” he asked confused for a second and stunned at the realisation there was more than one attacker.

“I mean they didn’t rape me or assault me sexually. This was a warning.”

Blake nodded not fully understanding but he would. He would get answers just as soon as he made sure she was okay and not bleeding internally. He rested his hand gently on her hip bone and stroked his thumb over her cheek with whisper-soft tenderness. “You gonna let me check you over or am I driving you to the hospital?”