I do, feeling nothing but solid muscle beneath my fingertips.
“I’m going to need you to be good over at the Inn while I figure this out.”
“Okay,” I answer quietly, feeling thoroughly and utterly defeated. Where else am I going to go?
Rage opens the bottle of water for me and lifts it to my mouth. “Drink,” he orders, but not nearly as gruff as before.
He tugs at a lock of my long dark hair as I take a few sips. He pulls it taught between his fingers, shifting the piece beneath the light. The copper strands shine brightly against the darker pieces.
When his eyes meet mine, he lets the strand fall softly over my chest. “You hungry?”
I nod. I honestly don’t remember the last time I had anything to eat.
His finger pushes against the bottom of the bottle, making sure I finish it off.
We lock up his business and then continue down the sidewalk, both lost in our thoughts. The sun has already dipped behind the horizon, but he doesn’t seem to be in any hurry.
When we slide into a booth at the cutest little café, he apologizes. “There isn’t much open downtown on a Sunday night.”
“This is … this is great,” I say, my eyes taking in all of the antique cowboy memorabilia on the walls.
His gaze remains on me.
A waitress walks over and hands me a menu. “Do you want your usual?” she asks Rage.
He nods, still not taking his eyes off me.
It makes me slightly uncomfortable. My face is probably all red and splotchy from crying. “I’ll just have whatever he’s having,” I say, handing the menu back to the old woman.
They exchange a glance, and he gives her an amused nod. She turns away from us, shaking her head.
“What? Your usual isn’t something weird, is it?”
“Not unless you’re a vegetarian.”
“No.”
“Then you should be okay.”
The way his eyes seem to be glued to me makes me a little nervous, but I can’t say I want him to remove them. It feels oddly safe. Like I can look at the world around me without the worry of someone sneaking up on me. Which is weird because it’s not like he’s watching my back.
But he did save me from myself earlier today.
I settle against the seat, trying to relax. He’s probably just keeping an eye on me until they can figure out how to get rid of me. He probably thinks I’m a nut job. Which isn’t even a lie.
“Do you need to go back?” he asks, his brows pulling together.
“Back where?”
“You need more time in the cage,” he mumbles to himself.
“I don’t understand.”
“You have more shit to get out.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Your head is still spinning.”