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Chapter Forty

Lux

“Where are we going?” I wonder as we speed away from the downtown core, leaving behind the gruesome scene back at the penthouse.

We’re both still covered in blood and I genuinely hope we don’t get pulled over because how are we ever going to explain that?

“I have a few properties,” Rafael answers, checking his rearview mirror. “I usually live at the penthouse because of its location, but I think we both need a break from that place…forever.”

“You’re really going to sell it?”

“Maybe I’ll pass it down to Enzo as a Christmas bonus,” he jokes, turning onto a charming tree-lined side street. This part of town is older, statelier. The townhomes here look grand and charming, like something out of an old-timey detective novel.

He eases the car into a tiny parking spot in front of a large, grey townhome. I marvel at how old it must be, with its hand-carved window trimmings and antique door.

“This is it?” I ask, my voice filling with awe. “It’s beautiful!”

“I thought you might like it a little more than the penthouse,” he says, chuckling. “I don’t really think you’re much of a minimalist, industrial type of girl, are you?”

“Hell no,” I whisper, climbing out of the car and taking in the full sight of the beautiful home in front of me.

“Come on,” he pulls me up the steps and unlocks the door. The home is dark and cool when we enter, but it instantly feels cozier than the penthouse.

“First order of business,” he says, glancing down at our blood-soaked clothes. “Baths.”

“Baths?”

“We kept most of the original features in the home, so bathtubs only,” he says, shrugging. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Not at all,” I assure him.

I perch on the toilet cover as he runs my bath, stirring in some sweet-smelling Epsom salts as it fills.

I watch his careful, calm movements, wondering what it must be like to murder someone in cold blood and be so completely okay with it. The only reason I’m not sobbing right now is because I’m distracted—and I didn’t even kill the guy.

“It’s all ready for you,” he says, getting off his knees and coming over to hug me. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”

“Yes,” I force myself to laugh, swatting him away. “I’ve survived baths before.”

“No, I mean, alone,” he struggles to find the words. “Alone with your thoughts in here.”

“I’ll be fine,” I promise him, nudging him out of the room.

He pulls the door hesitantly behind himself, leaving it open just a crack. I gaze down at the huge antique tub, surrounded by hot clouds of steam. The idea of slipping into that scalding water and washing this stranger's blood off my skin sounds like heaven, so I quickly strip down.

I dip a toe in to test the temperature and slowly lower my body until I’m up to my neck. My head falls back automatically and every tight, anxious muscle relaxes.

Steam wafts around me, carrying the sweet smell of the salts. The lights are off, save for a small lamp on the counter.

Who has lamps in the bathroom? Rich people.

I try to shut my brain off, begging to follow my body’s lead, which has completely melted in the comforting water. It refuses.

The entire evening plays over and over in my mind, down to every single detail. The memories goad me into reliving it, again and again, until I break down and cry.

It starts off as soft sniffles and a few rogue tears escaping from my eyes. But soon enough, I’m ugly sobbing in the blood-tinged bathwater in a strange Victorian townhouse. Everything feels so wrong and ugly.

My sobs quickly turn into wails until my breath catches and I struggle to breathe. I panic, hyperventilating, trying to escape the bathtub. I’m going to die in here. I’ve survived so much only to die in a bathtub.

“Breathe, Lux,” Rafael’s voice guides me back to the present. “Deep, slow breaths. Come on, follow me.”

I open my eyes to Rafael’s worried face hanging above me, demonstrating meditative breathing techniques. There’s nothing for me to do but follow his lead so I breathe in deeply, holding it for a few seconds, and slowly let it out. Together, Rafael and I repeat the cycle until I’m calm enough to stop crying.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” he asks, grabbing a clean washcloth and lathering it up with lavender-scented bodywash. “Sometimes it helps to talk about it.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“That’s okay,” he says soothingly. “We don’t have to talk.”

He gently starts massaging my neck with the washcloth, and I begin to relax again. When I quietly thank him, he just smiles and leans down to kiss my tangled, bloody hair. He slowly works his way down, rinsing, soaping, and massaging.

I watch him as he works. His thick, dark hair is neatly brushed back and shining like a precious stone. His dark eyes are calm and completely focused on me. A fluffy bathrobe hides the rest of him, the sleeves falling into the water and getting soaked every time he moves his arm.

“Hey, how’d you get clean so quickly?” I ask, peeking at him with one eye.

“Secret shower,” he says guiltily. “I may have lied about that, but in my defense, I thought a bath might relax you more.”

“I was scared when you walked out,” I say after a few minutes, surprising myself. He makes a noise of acknowledgment. “So, I decided to just veg on the couch until you came back. Then we would talk. But, then the elevator…and anyway, when I heard his voice through the elevator doors, I hid in the pantry.”

“That was smart,” he commends me quietly, starting on my legs. I stretch one out of the water, trying to help.

“He found me anyway,” I say bitterly. “I even grabbed a kitchen knife, but of course…I didn’t have the guts to use it.”

“Not everyone is built for ruthless murder,” he quips lightly, taking his time to wash between my toes.

“He pulled me out of the pantry and threatened to…” I pause, struggling to finish the sentence. “Have fun with me.”

I see Rafael’s cheeks flame red, but he stays quiet, starting on my other leg. The soapy, warm massage feels so good that I barely notice that I’m spilling my traumatic memories.

“You did all the right things, Luxy,” he assures me. “Finding a weapon, locating a hiding place so quickly, staying quiet. Sometimes, even when you do everything right, the bad guy finds you.”

“I know,” I nod, pulling the tears back and willing myself to stay Zen. “I’ve never felt such anger and frustration before. And he was enjoying it! It felt like he was hunting me for sport.”

“Those kinds of men exist,” he agrees bleakly, avoiding my gaze. I know he’s referring to himself in that category, but I refuse to believe it. I can’t imagine Rafael doing what Vince did to me.

“But then we heard you breaking down the door,” I continue, resting my hands on my tiny bump. “And he dragged me there, stuck a gun in my hands, and told me to shoot you, or he’d shoot me.”

“That fucker,” Rafael whispers under his breath.

“He would have killed me either way, probably,” I say plainly, finishing my terrible tale.

“Definitely,” he agrees, sliding my leg back in the water. “Let me do your hair. Can you sit up a little?”

I do as he says, sitting up and circling my knees with my arms. He gently pours warm water down my hair while he strokes it, trying to get the knots out.

I relax under his hands, not fully believing that this is the same man who repeatedly plunged a knife into a man’s throat a few hours ago.

Seeing him in that way, the animalistic wild man they call The Wolf, terrified me. But it also made me realize that his love for me is what spurred him on. He killed a man for me. I shiver at the thought, not understanding how I feel about it.

All I know is, his gentle, light touch makes me feel more like myself than ever. He trails soft kisses over my forehead as he rinses the conditioner out and I feel like I’m finally home.

He is home. My home.

And I love him, regardless of his past.

But can I live with his future?