VICIOUS

74.

''Your whole face is covered in blood.'' 

That's the first thing Brandon says to me when I walk up to him to get him out of here. It's a simple statement, and it's too obvious to actually say out loud.

Yeah, no shit Sherlock. I can feel it.

I roll my eyes. He has to be happy that I even came here to save his fucking ass. 

''Oh, yeah, I hadn't noticed,'' I say annoyed. ''Get up, we have to get away from here.'' 

"What about your weapons?" With his head, he nods in the direction of where my dagger and gun lie. "They might be important for another time."

Hesitating for a second, I realize he's right. I sigh, turn around and walk away to grab the weapons.

Of course I hope there won't be another fight like this. It's a waste of time and the only good thing we got out of this, is getting rid off Dean. But Brandon's right. With a life and a job like this, you never know if there'll be a next time. The chance is always there.

But that's the thing with working for a gang: eventually it becomes your life and it won't be just your job. You realize that safety isn't always guaranteed and that more fights - and therefore more death - are lurking.

Sylvia and Rose don't pay any attention to me when I walk their way. They stand close to the egde of the roof, looking down, trying to find a glimpse of their dead father and husband. Without wanting to draw any attention to me, I quickly gather all of my weapons and walk back to Brandon. It stays silent between us and I grab his arm, pulling him up. He gets back on his feet and we quickly walk away, heading towards the stairwell. 

_________________________________________

It takes the two of us a few minutes before we arrive into the penthouse. Both tired, we walk into the living room. Cautiously, I look around the room where everything seems to be normal. I leave Brandon standing in the middle of the room, while I quickly close the curtains and shut the door, locking it. Nobody will be able to come in now, which is obviously better for our safety.

I let out a big sigh, walking back to Brandon to cut through the rope around his wrists.

"You have to clean your whole face," Brandon says when I stand in front of him, taking out a knife. "It's covered in bruises, cuts.. I even think you're going to have a black eye, if I'm being honest." I can feel his gaze on me, studying my face, looking at every flaw, wound and scar.

"Let me free your hands first," I say, turning him around. With a knife, I quickly cut through the rope. Once his hands are free again, he turns around to look at me.

"Fucking hell.." He whispers when he examines my face. Bringing his face closer to mine, he narrows his eyes, gently touching my skin to take an even better look at everything.

"It's okay," I softly say. "I just have to clean it, I think it'll heal then." I make the gesture to walk towards the bathroom, but Brandon stops me.

"Let me help you," He says. "I can see it better than you can and I want to do something in return." His fingers trace my cheek, then along my jawline. I hesitate for a moment.

"And I won't accept 'no' as an answer," He insists. Then he grabs my hand, dragging me into his bathroom.

Under the sink stands a cabinet. Apparently there's a first aid kit in it, and Brandon takes it out. He places it on the large sink, opening the box and taking a quick look at the contents inside.

"Really, I can do this myself," I protest, knowing that I don't need any help from him. He shakes his head.

"Just let me help you," He says. "See it as an apology for what just happened, okay?" He takes out a bottle of alcohol and a few cotton pads.

I'm not in the mood to argue, so I decide to just leave it and ask questions about what happened to him.

"How did they take you with them?" I ask him, curious to his side of the story.

He shrugs and puts some alcohol on a cotton pad. "I was on my way to my office, standing in one of the elevators. Dean suddenly came in. I didn't think much of him and just greeted him like I usually do. We stood next to each other, when he suddenly put a cloth with chloroform on my face, blocking my nose and mouth. I couldn't inhale any fresh air, so that's when I went unconscious for a good fifteen minutes."

In the meantime, he started cleaning my face, getting rid of the blood. It stings a bit. His fingers are holding the side of my jaw, holding my head still.

"Apparently, they took me with them to the top of the stairwell. In the small hallway there, Dean left me with Sylvia and her daughter Rose," Brandon continues. His eyes are narrowed and he's fully concentrated on helping me. "When I woke up, I heard you. Once Sylvia saw that I had opened my eyes, she dragged me to the roof. You know the rest."

I nod. "I'm sorry that happened to you," I say. "Do you know why they took you with them?"

He sighs. "Because you are here."

It's a short, but clear explanation.

"That whole family is crazy," He states. "You don't hear them about the future of Oblivion, but once you start talking about Taylor Humentro.. Then they're all ears." He scoffs, as if he finds it ridiculous.

However, I have to agree with him on that part. It is ridiculous. They spend more time talking and thinking about me than their own gang. You'd think your work, your men, your fortune and your family would be more important than some random girl.

"It feels weird that people are so obsessed with killing me," I blurt out. "But at least we already got rid off Dean." He nods in agreement and a silence follows.

Brandon's done cleaning the wounds a few minutes later. Lucky for me, nothing had to be stitched.

"Can I be honest with you for a second?" He asks me. Our eyes meet.

"Yeah, sure," I say.

"You looked badass on that roof," He smiles. "Let's hope they know their place now. And I also hope that they finally saw that they shouldn't fuck with you." He laughs at his own words. "That sounded weird, sorry."

I look into the mirror and don't respond to him. I have a black eye, several cuts and a lot of bruises on my face. I can feel an oncoming headache and sigh.

"Thanks for the help," I thank Brandon. "Let me take a quick look at the cut on your face. You don't want to get it infected."

Just like he did a few minutes ago, I put some alcohol on a cotton pad. The roles are reversed now: he's hurt and I'm taking care of him.

I gently wipe with it over the cut, my left hand holding the side of his jaw. I can feel that he's looking at me, his dark eyes following every movement I make.

"It's just a nasty cut, but nothing bad," I say, my eyes fixated on the cut. "Don't touch it too much, so it can heal. Maybe it'll scar, but I'm not sure about that."

I let go off him and throw the used cotton pads away. He doesn't say anything, all he does is look at me, while I clean up the mess we made.

The moment I turn my head his way, our eyes meet for a second. But I try to stay busy, so I ignore his looks and take off my jacket. As I check my arms for any bruises, I feel a pair of hands around my waist, turning me around.

"What are you d-"

He cuts me off by pressing his lips against mine. Without any hesitation, I kiss him back, sliding my hands up his neck and back.

Damn.

He's really changing my feelings towards him, and I can't even stop it.