Darkest Sins (Perfectly Imperfect #9)

He lifts his chin.

“That’s not what I meant. I need you to . . .” I place my palm on his other cheek, gently angling his head to the side. “Like that.”

The tip of my thumb is grazing the corner of his lips, and his breath is fanning across the back of my hand. The silence in the room is so absolute, I’m pretty sure he can hear my heart beating like a damn metronome set to its highest tempo.

“This looks like a clean, sharp cut, almost surgical,” I say and reach for the box with Steri-Strips.

Applying these requires both hands, unfortunately, because I really like feeling his skin.

Keeping my eyes locked on his, I move my hand away from his cheek, “accidentally” brushing his lips with my fingers. “With all the experience you’re providing me, I should consider changing my major to nursing.”

A barely there smirk forms on his face. “I’m happy to be of use.”

“Was it another homeless man?”

“Yes, the same guy as before.”

“I didn’t know there were transient people hanging out around here.”

“Well, you never know what’s hiding in the dark corners.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” I stick the second strip over the cut. “You seem to frequent those quite often. I’ve noticed you lurking in the shadows, you know.”

It’s been a month since our last meeting on my roof. At first, I thought he was gone, and I wouldn’t be seeing him anymore. But then, every once in a while, there was that prickling sensation again, usually when I was out with my friends. So, I started paying more attention to everything around me. And, it was always just a glimpse, a movement in the shadows or the glint of watchful eyes in the dark. I never actually saw his face, but I knew he was there.

“How did you manage to slip inside my friend’s birthday party?” I ask as I set another Steri-Strip in place. “It was by invitation only.”

“Through a window in the coat room.”

My hands go still. “Jaya’s party was on the third floor of a private club.”

“Building’s downspouts were rather solid,” he deadpans. “And their security is a fucking joke.”

Once I’ve attached the last strip, I let my eyes drift down and then up his body. He’s well over six feet tall and heavily muscled.

“Were the drainpipes made of steel?” I ask when I meet his gaze again.

“Mm-hmm.” He keeps his eyes glued to mine as he reaches for my hand. Even before I feel his touch, my heart is beating out of my chest because I know what’s coming. My wrist feels so small and fragile in his huge hand, and it seems he notices that also because his hold is as gentle as if he’s handling a delicate glass figurine.

“Thank you.” His voice is rough, and he feathers his lips over my fingertips.

“I thought you didn’t thank people.”

“Never had the reason to. Until recently.”

“Don’t you thank your friends when they help you?”

“I don’t have friends, cub.”

“Everyone has friends.”

“I had one. Kind of. He was my colleague, but he left.”

“Did you thank him when he did something nice for you?”

He lowers my hand but keeps holding on to my wrist, and his eyes become distant as if he’s lost in his memories, searching for a particular one. “He almost blew me up, along with another unit member. The trigger in the bomb he’d made malfunctioned,but he managed to fix it in time. I punched him in the face and broke his nose.”

“That doesn’t sound like a ‘thank you’ to me.”