Chapter 22: 15| Tainted-2

"I'm sure you can tend to your own wounds, Ms. Milano. I'll help out where you can't reach," he paused, bracing both hands on the counter behind me, closing in on me. "I'll only touch you where you need me to." He stared at me, his gaze unwavering. I hated him when he looked at me as if he could see right through me. "Fair enough," I exhaled. He took a step back to give me ample space while I grabbed some cotton and doused it in alcohol before taking the hand-held mirror I kept in the first aid kit after previous similar experiences. The first look I got at my own face almost made me cringe. The cut on my lip had stopped bleeding but left a gnarly scab, blood still ever so slowly trickled from my temple, down the side of my face, and a tiny cut on my cheek left its mark too. A tiny, annoyed huff escaped me. I can't believe I let them get my face this badly. Once I wiped the blood off, I dropped the mirror on the counter and turned to him. "Your turn." His eyes traveled up and down the length of my body once before he nodded sharply. "Sit." I closed my eyes tightly as pain shot through me when I pulled myself onto the counter but I didn't make a single noise. Tristan stepped forward without a word and placed a hand on my knee, pushing my legs open and standing between them. He grabbed a band-aid first and ripped it open as he mumbled, "Legs apart, Ms. Milano." All I could do was sit there and stare at him as he lifted his hand and pushed my hair out of the way with a single, delicate finger before gently placing the band-aid over my temple. I watched as he grabbed another band-aid, lifting it to my cheek but I caught his wrist before he taped it down. "Let that one be. It's tiny." He held my gaze and paused for all but a second before ignoring me and sticking the bandaid onto my cheek anyway. I groaned in annoyance as he grabbed some cotton and prepared it to clean my side. "You tend to be very curious about most things," he said, his voice low, "but you have yet to ask me why I'm so adamant about killing you." His eyes lifted to mine. "Are you not curious to know why? Lean back." I leaned back onto my palms, bracing myself. "I doubt you would tell me if I ask nicely," I replied, my breath getting caught in my throat as he lifted the hem of my shirt up to my ribs, all without tearing his gaze from mine. "When do you ever ask nicely, Malyshka?" he mused, his eyes dropping down to my skin. I sat as still as I could physically force myself to be but I couldn't help the small gasp that escaped me when he touched me, taking hold of the uninjured side of my waist. He briefly looked at me. "You're cold," I mumbled. He ignored me but lifted his hand, resting it on the table instead, just beside my thigh. "Would you tell me if I asked then?" I questioned, watching him as carefully as I ever had, trying to read him. He paused for a second and stared right back at me. "Listen to me very carefully, Ms. Milano. I'll only say this once." I flinched as he pressed down on my wound without warning but kept his touch light and each time he dabbed over my wound with the cotton, I felt almost nothing. "I don't need to tell you how easily I could kill you if I wanted to," he said, looking away from me and finally focusing on the wound. "But frankly, Malyshka, I think you're better off not knowing my motives." I hesitated before asking, "Why is that?" Every nerve in my body went still while every inch of me felt like it was on fire. Tristan leaned down, his lips hovering only a few inches above my skin. He looked into my eyes without ever faltering. "If you think I won't hesitate to kill you, I should warn you, you'd be incredibly wrong," he said softly before blowing over the wound slowly, taking his time with it. "I'm not biding my time because you asked me, I'm not waiting to kill you just because you don't want to die yet," he continued, standing upright. The sudden distance between us left a certain cold wave all over me. At that moment, Tristan had far too much power over me and I didn't like it. Not one fucking bit. "I'm waiting to kill you because I want to watch you struggle. I want to watch you fighting for your life." I paused in realization as he grabbed a bigger bandage and dressed the wound. "Is that why all you did tonight was watch?" I questioned more so out of genuine curiosity than anything else. "There's a difference," he retorted, "I want to watch you fighting for your life but only against me. If you think I enjoyed watching you get hurt tonight, I'm afraid you have no idea how incredibly wrong you are." He lightly ran his knuckles over the bandage and then tugged my t-shirt back down. Unexpectedly, he stepped closer and snuck an arm around my waist, pulling me upright slowly until he had me firmly pressed against himself. "I am a man of my word, Malyshka. Only I get to hunt you down." Suddenly, I was very sure that pretty little Jay and his boss would be found dead in a few days or better yet, never found again at all. "Are you this possessive over all your victims?" I questioned, lifting a brow at him. "Shouldn't you be glad if someone else gets rid of me? You won't even need to get your hands bloody." He shook his head lightly. There were just inches in between us. His arm around my waist was secure, and every inch of his body brushed against every inch of me. A little closer and we would cross a line we had never crossed before. A line we weren't allowed to cross. It wasn't unknown territory. I'd be lying if I said I never once wanted Tristan, never once wanted to feel his hands on me. We got very close to crossing that line three years ago when I was his attorney and we learned the hard way that it wasn't a fucking option. Whatever this was between Tristan and me, it felt like a fire that would burn us too. "No. The only person who's allowed to have your blood on their hands is me," he said. I hummed softly, glancing down between us, at his shirt, at his rolled-up sleeves. He was the one walking out tainted by my blood tonight, tainted by me. Tristan couldn't ruin me and he knew it. So he settled for killing me. But if Tristan was going to kill me, I would make sure I ruined him first. I would taint him for anybody else. "I think you have enough of my blood on you for one night, Mr. Harper," I told him, sliding both hands to his chest and pushing him away. "Now, if you've done enough, please show yourself out." I folded my arms across my chest, staying in place. "Do you think I've done enough for one night?" he asked, lifting a brow at me. "I think you've done more than enough, Tristan," I replied, "goodnight." . . . . . Chapter 15