Infernal: Bite The Bullet by Jess Raven, Paula Black Page A

hammering pulse and my eyes shot to
his.
    “Thank you, Neva.”
    Whether it was the sincerity in his voice or the
way my name rolled off his tongue in that foreign accent, my insides fluttered.
“You’re welcome,” I stammered.
    “Mind if I use your bathroom to clean-up?” His
eyes searched my face, like he was looking for something. Regret maybe? I
couldn’t muster any.
    I shook my head and severed the contact between
us. My heart was beating too fast and too hard for him not to feel it in my
pulse. “Of course not. Go ahead. The towels are clean.”
    He ditched the throw and pushed to his feet with a
grunt.
    Part of me wished he hadn’t left me there alone,
but that didn’t mean I wasn’t watching his ass as he walked away, and I slumped
back when he was out of sight, scrubbing a hand down my face.
    The shower came on and I stared at the blank TV
screen, with only my own reflection staring back at me. I didn’t look so
shocked. My expression was softer, mussed from pleasure. I let that relaxation
sink into me while I had the chance, before he came back, and I had to start
asking questions.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
     
    Konstantyn returned wearing nothing but one of my
towels, and running another over his short, damp hair. He looked good wet,
droplets catching in the shadow of his beard growth and trickling down the
chiselled planes of his chest to disappear beneath the towel. Now I knew what
lay beneath, the sight fried most of my brain cells. The ones that survived
were worried about the spots of crimson spreading across the damp gauze.
    I dropped my eyes when he flopped beside me. I
didn’t know what to say, and he didn’t volunteer any small talk, the awkward,
stretching silence broken only by the swirling of his clothes in the washer.
    Where to begin? I had so many questions.
    My stomach gurgled and with his quiet laughter,
the tension drifted away.
    His green-flecked eyes skipped over to me, and he
broke the silence.
    “Your brother is Daniel Raines,” he said. “You
share the same last name?”
    I nodded.
    “The Friar called you Miss Bailey.”
    The guy didn’t miss a trick. “It was an invented
name, for the club.”  
    “Ah.” He nodded. “Neva Raines?” A teasing grin
lifted the corners of his full mouth. “Is that a stage name?”
    “No, that’s my real name,” I said, like I was
apologising for the sheer dumbness of my moniker.
    “It suits you.” He sounded sincere.
    I shrugged again and dragged a cushion into my
lap, playing with the tassels. “The woman who birthed me has a sick sense of
humour.” I frowned, remembering. “Neva again, she’d joke. Whether she meant
never doing drugs again, or never getting knocked up by a random stranger,
either way, she fell off the wagon.”
    He looked at me, questioning my meaning.
    “Five years after she had me, my half-brother
Daniel came along, also fatherless. He was born premature, and fitting from
heroin withdrawal.” I felt my eyelid start to twitch, and I stared down at the
cushion until the pattern of the fabric was a blur. “Start as you mean to
continue, I guess. Growing up was a real party of failed rehab, debt-collectors
and bouncing between our mother and foster homes. But Daniel and I always had
each other. We stuck together, you know? He was a fat little kid.” I smiled,
remembering. “A comfort eater, and he got bullied relentlessly for it. I used
to pick him up after school and bring him with me to my dance classes, just to
keep him safe. That’s how he got started. The kid had natural talent, and he
gave everything he had to dancing. Pretty soon, the weight turned to muscle. He
was so young …”
    There I went again, running my mouth when I got
nervous. I was spilling my life story to this man I hardly knew, and if I
stayed on this line of conversation, he was liable to get a show of waterworks.
    I cleared my throat and shoved my hair from my
face, pushing it up into a high ponytail and switching the subject as fast as