Page 84 of King of Malice

He shakes his head. “It’s fine. I’ve suffered worse. Why don’t you tell me what you were dreaming about?”

I freeze, my lips pressing shut. Honestly, his reaction is…weird. Who says punching me in the jaw is fine? No one. Psychopaths. “You can’t actually mean that.”

He shrugs. “You’d be surprised how many soldiers sleepwalk, sleep talk, and sleep fight. It’s when they sleep shoot their weapons that you’ve got to be really careful.”

I stare at him trying to process that one. This behavior is normal to him? I look down, realizing I’m completely naked and now up on my knees.

Shaking my head, I don’t cover myself, it’s a sign of weakness, as I push from the bed. “Know where my clothes might be?”

“In the drawers,” he points to the bureau on the far wall.

I walk over, opening a drawer, and then another, until I find an oversized sleep shirt and pull it on. Covered, I turn back to him. “Where are your clothes?”

He shrugs. “In my bag on the floor.”

“How come mine are unpacked and yours aren’t?”

“Because your stay was definite. Mine was not.” He stands up, also naked, as he crosses his arms over his chest. “What was your dream about?”

I sigh, not wanting to share the details of my past. “None of your business.”

“It is my business.”

“Why is that?” I start for the door, then, heading out to the kitchen. I could use a glass of water and he’s going to need some ice. But I’m also running from his questions. It’s way too soon to introduce him to my crazy.

“Because you’re my woman.”

I stop, turning back to him. “We’ve known each other for a few hours.” I hold back adding,That’s stupid.

“That’s irrelevant.”

“It’s not.” My arms cross as I glare. I’m not sure if it’s the dream or the fact my past feels so close to the surface. The one where no one ever stayed. No one wanted me when they realized the giant bags I carried with me, and I’m not talking about actual luggage.

For the record, I didn’t have any. I carried my shit in a black trash bag.

“When I signed up for The Hunt, I made a commitment to you. That I’d be what you needed.”

My glare turns to a look of complete confusion. “But you didn’t know me.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

I roll my eyes. This is the dumbest conversation I’ve ever had. Opening the freezer, I grab some ice from the bin, placing it in a towel before I hand it to him. “For your face.”

“Thank you.” He takes the ice, placing it on his jaw. “But rest assured, the bruise was not from you but from earlier this evening.”

“Oh,” my shoulders sag as I start searching for a glass. “That’s a relief.”

He’s quiet, like he’s considering my words, before he asks. “So, what was your dream about?”

“You’re not a quitter, I’ll give you that.”

“Nope.”

I don’t like talking about my past, and I don’t usually share much of it with anyone. Not the guys I date, not people I meet at work, or anyone I end up hanging with socially. It’s easier that way.

And I know I’m here to change some old habits, but I don’t think finding out about my fucked-up childhood is going to make him like me more. Still, I can give him a few details. “It’s nothing. My friend was attacked, and I walked in on it happening.”

“Attacked? Attacked how?” He asks, his voice taking on this menacing tone. The towel of ice hits the counter with a thump.