I’ve never seen hair like that. It shines like gold in the weak sun, framing soft and desirable features but she’s too far away for me to see her eyes. She’s not wearing any shoes and she’s dressed practically in rags; a flimsy white cotton dress that follows her body like a zealous admirer. My fingers twitch, from the need to slowly peel her out of that dress and put myself into her body as its new admirer.
She must be little Adelaide Bowen. Beauregard’s baby sister. She’s a little busy bee, never taking a breather or a break as if the responsibility of this whole farm is solely on her. It makes me want to yank Beauregard out of his bed or wherever he is and kick his ass for letting her work this hard.
It bothers me to hear her soft grunts when she’s lifting things too heavy for her, and she’s struggling so much that a fine sheen pops up on her buttery soft skin. Her mouth turns red from the furious bites she gives it and I want to put mine over hers and teach her to be gentle with those lips.
I forget why I’m here for when the girl disappears into the barn and I feel a cut in my chest. The sight of her has spoiled me; same as when I for the first time was gifted a weapon and didn’t want to do anything but to learn how to use it. I want to learn how to use her too. Learn what makes her tick and what a girl like her needs. Glancing up at the house, I ignore my duty for now and step into the barn, making sure I stay hidden behind stacks of hay.
The smell tickles my nose, forcing me to hold my breath because I don’t want the girl to see me. Incorruptibility seems to follow her like a cloud wherever she goes and there’s something so quiet about her, that I struggle to make myself less abrasive. As akarlin the Nordic Mafia I usually don’t have to worry about how I come across but then I’ve never been in the presence of someone like her.
For some reason she makes me self-aware, as if I need to make sure my weapons are well concealed under my clothes, my tattoos non visible and I pull the sleeves down. For her I’d like to be something else, something she can lean on without worrying she’ll get blood spatters on her perfect cheek. I watch her milk her cows and there’s so much wholesomeness in this scene that I feel like the wrong witness.
And she’s young, probably ten or slightly more years younger than me.
I rub a hand down my face, struggling to breathe and keeping my hands to myself. She’s the most inviting thing I’ve ever seen, from her subtle presence to that faint scent of daffodils from her perfume or soap or whatever it is. Dragging a deep inhale, she stops milking and suddenly she clasps her hands and starts asking her brother for someone to protect her and take vengeance.
Why is she asking...? I frown. Is Beauregard dead? Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
For how long, how long has she been here all on her own? I almost sway as my head spins with fury. How the hell could he just leave her? I don’t give a shit about his death. It’s not an excuse. He should have made sure she’s taken care of, always...
My thoughts break when I pay closer attention to what she’s saying. She’s saying she needs a man, someone to take care of her and I fill with a territorial desire to be the one she needs. In my chest my heart gives a flutter when she suddenly turns around. Her eyes go big with fear and she demands I show myself.
Wanting her attention on me, I step out and I hold down a groan when her cornflower eyes meet mine. She’s panting hard, her gaze transfixed on my face and when she reaches out, I take a couple of steps closer and go down on my hunches until we’re almost at eye level.
I nod, wanting her to touch me and her trembling fingers trace my features in respect and wonder and I shudder on the inside at her worship.
“What areyou?” she whispers, between blushing lips.
I’m a mobster. And now I’m heravenger.
My cold skin burns under her touch, my eyes struggling to stay open but I want to keep watching her. I’ve never been touched with this much tenderness and I’ve never allowed anyone to touch me this way either. It makes the hair on my nape stand and my muscles brim under my clothes, a pit of desire flaming in my gut from the need to yank her to me, shove her down on the hay and press into her little body and let her feel its power.
Tracing her fingers across my cheekbone, she whispers as if dazed, “Beau sure works fast...,” she licks her lips, “though you aint exactly what I asked for.” She sighs, breathing, “Oh well, beggars can’t be choosers...”
My brows curve over my eyes. I’m exactly what she asked for. She asked for someone to protect her and now here I am. Nobody can do it better than me and nobody other than me is allowed to do it. If there was, he wouldn’t live for long.
“You sure are handsome,” she murmurs and her face flushes as if she’s usually not this forward. “But I asked for someone cruel and vicious.”
Yeah, that’s me. You got him.
“And you aint like that,” she says softly.
Letting out a dreamy sigh, she suddenly twitches before looking at me like she just snapped out of her trance and she gasps. “I’m sorry. You probably thinking I’m talking in riddles.” She tugs at the hem of her dress and it’s as if she finally realized I’m a stranger. “Who are you anyway?”
Rising, I look down at her and she tilts her head to be able to look up at me. The sight of her like this makes me think of carnal things and my throat snares when I rasp, “Revenge Fenrir. Rev for short.”
Her lips part when she licks them. “You a drifter, Rev? That why you here? To ask for a warm meal and a comfy bed to spend the night?”
I nod but inwardly I’m surprised at how fast she drewthatconclusion. Words lay on the tip of my tongue and I struggle between the urge to tell her who I am, tell her how much power I have and that she never needs to be afraid now that she has me, and the urge to keep my true identity hidden. I remember what she said. She said she doesn’t want to see any violence and I amviolence.
In the end I choose the latter, deciding to not let her come in contact with that part of me. And I’d be lying if I said I don’t find her simplicity appealing. She took one look at me, saw my face and decided that I’m a good man.
I like her brazen trust but I’m not a good man and I don’t want to be. A good man wouldn’t know how to protect her the way I do.