Homeless

Chapter 4

"Great!" Claire said, clapping her hands once. "Come on, Cecile! Let's go check on the boys. I think they'll burn the house down if I leave them alone any longer."

Nathaniel and I stood up and walked Claire and her daughter to the door. It clicked shut. The sound echoed in my ears. I glanced at Nathaniel. I was alone with a man after all these months. My body stiffened, and my heart raced in my throat. I took a subtle step away from him.

"Um... Where are my clothes? The ones I was wearing yesterday?"

Nathaniel's keen eyes seemed to see more than what he let on. He ushered me to follow him. I did so from a safe distance. Even with my knife, I wasn't sure I could take him down. He was too big, his body corded with muscles. But having my knife would at least put my mind at ease.

He led me down another hallway next to the kitchen to a small laundry room. My clothes were neatly stacked on top of a counter. He stopped at the door, waving me inside. I shook my head, keeping my distance.

There was no way in hell I would put myself with him in a small space with no way out.

He arched a brow but said nothing. Walking inside, he retrieved the clothes and handed them to me. I kept my gaze firmly on his when I took them, and tried feeling for the knife discreetly.

"Looking for this?" he asked, taking my knife out of his jean's pocket. He flicked it open. My breathing stopped.

"There's blood on it," he said, staring right at me.

My hands tightened on the clothes. I raised my chin. "Yes."

"I didn't take in a murderer, did I?" he asked even as he closed the knife and handed it to me.

Furrowing my brows at his inconsistencies, I slowly reached for the knife, afraid he would take it back at the last second. When he didn't make a move to pull his hand away, I snatched it. I instantly felt better.

"If you think I'm a murderer, why give me my knife back?" I asked, flicking the knife open and close in quick movements, my eyes never leaving Nathaniel's.

"I never said you were." He shrugged, leaning against the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest. His biceps bulged. He could break me like a toothpick if he wanted. But so far, he hadn't made any hostile moves. He hadn't even tried coming close to me.

With a sigh, I closed the knife and tucked into the elastic band at the back of my pants. "Look, I can get out of here-"

"Whoa!" he straightened, holding his hands up. "Where did that come from? We were just chatting."

I bit the inside of my cheek. I wasn't in the mood for mind games. I had had enough of them to last me a lifetime.

"The blood is from the two guys who attacked me yesterday."

"Hmm," he said, sounding impressed. He moved forward, and I stepped back to let him lead the way back to the living room.

He did so, giving me his back very readily. I frowned after him. I had just admitted to injuring two men, I may have even killed them for all he knew. Was he stupid? Careless? Or was he just too confident that I couldn't hurt him.

"Why are you helping me?" I blurted out when we reached the open space.

He moved to the table and started piling up empty plates. "We told you. We couldn't take you to the hospital, so..."

I shook my head. "Exactly. Why would you even consider allowing me inside your house? You don't know me. I could be a thief, a murderer, the story I told you about my bruises could be a lie. Maybe Mark isn't even my brother. How can you be so sure you're not making a mistake? As far as I know of the world, normal people don't just take in strays."