Page 13 of Redeeming Violet (Red Team #3)

Violet

Zane got us settled in the basement, which consisted of going through a ridiculous amount of security checkpoints and calling to talk to Garrett.

Which was not a fun conversation. He had confirmed Zane’s suspicions, the man I killed was not a government agent.

I suppose me killing the man in my apartment was justified considering he’d broken in, but it was difficult to hear his name and learn he had a family.

Somehow, when I believed he was a nameless MSS agent, it was easier to process.

Now I was left with an uneasy guilt of taking a life.

Zane and Jaxon had both tried to console me; however, their well-meaning words did nothing to assuage the rock in my stomach.

Zane said his goodbyes, leaving me alone with Jaxon for the first time since we’d met.

Now I had a different kind of uneasy feeling.

Not that it had escaped my notice before, but alone in the basement bedroom sitting on a bed while he rummaged through a backpack it hit me just how good looking he was .

“How old are you?” I asked.

Jaxon looked over his shoulder and answered, “Thirty-five.”

He went back to his bag and turned to face me holding a USAF t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. “Do you have something to sleep in?”

His question caught me off guard and my mind wandered to him undressing.

I wondered if his muscles were really as big as they looked under his tight black tee.

Did he have ridges lining his abdomen like I’d seen in movies?

Would he let me touch them if he did? The few men I’d been with were not what one would call physically fit, they were intellectuals.

While they weren’t pudgy, they certainly didn’t have the hardness Jaxon had.

Nor did they make me want to rip their shirts off and…

Jaxon cleared his throat, bringing my eyes up from his chest to the smirk on his handsome face.

What did I care if I’d been caught? In a few days, I’d be locked away somewhere to spend the rest of my lonely life behind bars.

The realization made me brave. I had nothing to lose.

This would be my last chance to have sex, to see if it was as great as I’d read it was in romance novels with a sexy well-built soldier.

Surely it had to be better than it’d been in the past. He looked like he had the experience and if he didn’t, seeing his body up close would be good enough for me.

I thought about lying and telling him I slept nude, but as brave as I thought I was I couldn’t be that brazen.

I was still me, a little shy and self-conscious when it came to sex.

And while the idea of ripping his clothes off and begging him to take me to bed sounded like a good idea in my head, I’d never actually do it.

So instead I told him I did. He allowed me to shower first in the small utilitarian bathroom, sadly alone.

The hot water did wonders, washing the last two days away.

Before I’d left the room, Jaxon had removed the bandage he’d fashioned around my bicep and told me to clean it well and he’d redress it when I was done.

Now that it was clean, and I wasn’t so scared, I inspected my arm and he was right, I was lucky, and it was just a graze.

The area around the cut, what Jaxon had called a powder burn, looked worse than the gash the bullet had left.

I stood in the shower long after I was clean, contemplating how my life had come to this.

I’d spent the last six months in limbo, a mental torture I couldn’t escape.

I didn’t regret trying to help those agents, but now instead, mourning the loss of my freedom, I was pissed.

Angrier than I’d ever been in my whole life.

I hated Timothy Clark. I hated Manuel Ortega and whatever plan he’d devised.

I hated the universe for taking my birth parents, my twin, and my adopted parents.

I was a two-time orphan. I had nothing. I hated that I felt sorry for myself.

I hated what my life had become, everyone and everything.

Fuck Manuel Ortega. I hoped he got locked in the cell next to me and he could rot right alongside me.

Fuck. The. World.

“Hey.” The shower curtain was pulled back and I jumped, hitting my elbow on the water controls. “Come here. You’re okay.”

“What? Why?” I belatedly remembered I was naked and tried to cover my girly bits, but I slipped again and reached out to grab Jaxon’s arm before I fell.

Jaxon steadied me with one arm and turned off the water with the other. Once I had my balance, he reached and pulled a towel from the bar on the wall and wrapped it around me.

“What are you doing?” I asked again.

“Come on.” He guided me out of the shower stall and grabbed a smaller hand towel, using it to squeeze the water out of my dripping hair. “I should’ve known better. I’m sorry.”

I still didn’t understand what he was talking about.

He dried my legs and my arms, careful not to touch the gash on my bicep.

The towel went to my shoulders and he slowly moved the cloth against my skin, soaking up the water but never breaking eye contact.

His eyes were full of concern and sympathy.

“Stop looking at me like that,” I sobbed. “I don’t want your pity.”

He didn’t say anything when he walked me into the bedroom, stopping to grab his USAF shirt.

He pulled it over my head, placed my arms through the openings, and smoothed it down my torso before pulling the wet towel from under it.

His shirt was too big and stopped mid-thigh.

I was mostly covered but still felt extremely exposed.

He reached into my bag and grabbed a pair of panties, knelt in front of me, and tapped one ankle.

I picked up my foot and he repeated the process with the other foot, pulling my panties up and settling them on my hips.

I should’ve been mortified Jaxon had dressed me, but I wasn’t.

There was nothing sexual about the act. There was no hunger in his gaze; it was blank.

Nothing. Just like the rest of my life, empty.

It wasn’t until Jaxon had pulled the covers back, helped me into bed, and climbed in behind me that he spoke.

“The last thing I feel for you is pity, Violet.”