Devil You Know(66)

The look on his face spells resignation, and disappointment when he turns to face me.

“Babe, I have to go out.” Malice snatches his jeans off the floor, and tugs them on. “I’ll be back tonight—hopefully.”

“Is everything okay?” Whatever the conversation was about, it sounded pretty bad.

“Yeah. Everything will be fine. I need to head into work.” He throws a dark T-shirt over his torso.

I turn my head, and check out the LCD display of the alarm clock. “Now? Who needs a butcher at this time of the day?” It’s near-on dinnertime.

The way he sighs and rubs a hand over his head isn’t something I can misinterpret.

“I didn’t think you were a butcher,” I mutter.

He sighs. “I promise, I’ll tell you everything. But now, I need to go.”

“Whatever.” I look out the window to see Rocco chasing a butterfly across the lawn. The happy sight is so clichéd, and the juxtaposition to how I feel has me laughing. A butterfly, of all things.

“What’s so funny?” he asks.

“Nothing. I’ll see you when you get home.”

I stay looking out the window, at the sun on the leaves, at the flowers swaying in the breeze. I don’t need to look around to know he’s there; I can feel him watch me.

After a time, the click of the front door echoes through the silent house. My shoulders loosen, and I consider having a shower. Fuck it all—I’ve seen a tub in his bathroom. Maybe I’ll have a nice, long soak.

Malice’s sheet trails behind me as I walk down the hall, and let Rocco in the French doors. He follows me around, his nails clicking on the hardwood floor while I check all the doors, and windows. Satisfied a ninja couldn’t sneak in without me noticing, I head for his bathroom.

The water laps at my ankles as the tub fills. I sit on the edge, looking around the sterile, white space for anything that gives me a clue on what kind of guy he actually is. Aftershave sits on the vanity, beside it a small bottle of moisturizer.

So, he likes to keep his skin soft? Big deal.

Great. His bathroom is as cleverly concealed as he is. Rocco slumps against the side of the tub, and looks up at me with his large, shiny eyes. I smile, and rough his ears. He always knows when I need company. He’s always there for me—unlike anyone else I know . . .

I stay in the bath until I turn into a prune and the water causes my flesh to chill. I’m not one hundred percent certain on how much time has passed, but I’m positive it has to be hours. The water drains, the gurgle echoing through the quiet house as I wander through to my room. Only a clean pair of sleep shorts resides in my drawers, and I make a note to coax Malice into taking me shopping for the basics. I can’t live on the minimal amount of clothing I have forever. All my clean tops are in the load of washing I hung out on the porch this morning, and now that darkness has fallen, they’re most likely damp again.

How did I slip from a well-oiled, housekeeping machine into this woman that doesn’t remember to get her washing in?

Resigned, I head over to Malice’s room and pull a clean T-Shirt from his drawers. I’m sure he won’t mind me borrowing it considering I’ve done it before, and its not as though he’s here to ask, is it? The cotton hangs to my mid-thigh, and the sleeves sit baggy on my arms. I tuck one side into my shorts and head for the kitchen.

Rocco sleeps happily in front of the sofa, and I take the time to look him over. He’s adjusted so well, and I wonder if perhaps getting him wasn’t so bad after all? Sure, it meant I had to endure that horrific night, thinking he would die, but again, he was the reason Malice came over.

Initially.

My head hurts to think about it, to try and decipher the mixed signals Malice has sent me since I left Dylan. Utilizing my best skill of shutting down and operating on basic functions, I head to the kitchen to make a coffee. My eyes are vacant, and I stare at nothing when the sound of tires on the drive signals he’s home.

I walk through to the living room, and place my hot drink on the table. Rocco picks his head up, and grumbles at the door as the lock rattles. My nerves peak, given that Rocco has never done that before now. What can he sense? It was Malice that came home, wasn’t it?

Ty enters first, and blocks my initial view of Malice. He holds a hand up to me, stopping me in my tracks, and guides Malice to the sofa. “Take a seat, bro.”

Malice sits with his back to me, only the tops of his shoulders, and messy hair showing. What the hell happened?

Bronx enters next, and heads straight for me. “Jane, sweets. Can you please make us a hot drink?”

“I’d like a beer,” Malice calls out.