The Cunning

89

It was fifteen minutes before Jase returned to the bedroom, a half-full brandy bottle in his hand. Madison had changed into the t-shirt he'd been wearing, discreetly inhaling the scent of his aftershave from the hem. An unlit cigarette sat between his teeth. Only when he was laying back down beside her, lighting it, did Madison notice the specks of blood over his bare torso.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Yeah, why?"

She gestured to his upper half. "You're covered in claret." Jase looked down at himself, wiping the now dry blood with his hand.

"It isn't mine. Tony had his ego bruised and started getting lemon with the wrong guy. This is splashback from their fight." Madison rolled off the bed. "Where are you going?"

"To get a cloth," she replied.

She took a flannel from the bathroom and dampened it, wiping away the splatters on Jase's torso.

"What?" she asked, feeling his eyes on her.

He tilted his head, blowing smoke to the side. "Nothing." She didn't push.

His body was solid under the cloth, with the muscles close to his skin, adorned with tattoos. A gruesome image of Jase covered in stab wounds and bullet holes flashed up in her mind. "I've never had anyone clean blood off me before," he said, freeing her from her overactive imagination. She tossed the cloth on his nightstand.

"Does getting into fights not scare you?" she asked, rolling back to his side. The heat radiated off his body.

"Not really. I get more of a kick out of it than anything." Madison breathed a small laugh but it wasn't a surprise. The job would be impossible for anyone that actively avoided or shied away from conflict.

"That's so messed up."

Jase took another drag on his cigarette. "You're really going to sit there and tell me you didn't get an adrenalin rush when you headbutted Tony? Or Charlie?" Madison remained silent. "That's what I thought," he finished quietly, leaving the cigarette in the ashtray to burn out.

"But mine was about survival," Madison said defnsively, though she couldn't deny how powerful it made her feel. There was something about getting the upper hand over a man twice her size that left her feeling almost invincible.

"Isn't it about survival every time you get into a fight? To an extent?" Again, he silenced her. "That's one of the things I like about you, Madison. That fight, your will to survive."

"Even when I tried to suffocate you?"

He laughed as she reached across him, picking up the bottle of brandy. She took two large mouthfuls and prayed she didn't gag as it burned down her throat and drowned those bastard butterflies.

"Even when you tried to suffocate me. I like that you give me a run for my money, you know I do." She took another mouthful of the brandy, shuddering and handing him the bottle. "Does it scare you?" he asked, taking a swig for himself.

"Does what scare me?"

"The fighting?" She shook her head. "Do I scare you?" he questioned. At this, Madison smirked.

"No Jase, you don't scare me."

He mirrored her expression, his eyes drifted over her body again.

"Maybe I should," he said.

"And why's that?" Madison questioned. With the combination of alcohol and weed in her system, she was a cocktail of unpredictability even to herself. Jase took a final gulp of the brandy and returned it to the chest of drawers.