ALBERT POV
Steam curled thick in the small motel bathroom, plastering against the ceiling and dripping down the mirror in hot rivulets. The water pounded over my shoulders, down my spine, carrying away the mud, the stink of rogues, the metallic tang of their blood that clung to my skin. Normally, a shower meant calm. A chance to rinse everything out of my head. But not tonight.
Not with her a few feet away, sitting in that bathtub, her wet hair clinging to her shoulders, her eyes darting anywhere but me.
I was giving her my back. Not out of modesty—I didn’t have a modest bone in my body—but out of mercy. Because if she saw what this situation was doing to me, if she caught one glimpse of the thick, hard truth pressing against my stomach, she’d bolt again.
Hell, I almost scared myself.
