06: Kitten

ROXANNE POV

Slowly, I turned to face him, my back pressed firmly against the wood. He loomed over me, tall and broad-shouldered, his presence both intimidating and impossible to ignore.

"I—I’m sorry." I stammered.

"I asked you a question." He murmured, his voice low and commanding.

"She’s...she’s in the kitchen. Eating Pancakes." I blurted out, the words tumbling over each other.

His eyes narrowed, studying me like he was peeling back every layer to uncover the truth.

I stood frozen under his scrutiny, feeling small but unwilling to look away.

"What’s your name?" He finally asked, his voice quieter.

"Roxanne." I breathed, barely audible.

His gaze didn’t falter, moving over my face like he was memorizing every detail.

After what felt like forever, he stepped back. The gun in his hand, no longer pointed it at me.

How did he even find—I watched as he eased himself back onto the bed.

The gun rested loosely in his grip now, though his wariness lingered. Relief coursed through me as I turned to the cabinet. My hands moved deliberately, retrieving the bottle of pain pills.

I could feel his gaze burning into me, sharp and calculating, as though he expected me to make a sudden move.

I handed him the bottle cautiously, my breath hitching as his eyes flicked between the label and my face.

He sniffed the bottle like he didn’t trust what I’d given him, then downed two pills with a swig of water after noticing the sealed water for a moment.

The tension in his face softened slightly, though the wince he gave when his hand grazed his bandaged chest betrayed the pain he was still feeling.

His posture seemed less threatening—wary, but no longer on the edge of attack.

It didn’t make me feel any safer, but it was something.

"I’m sorry I hit you with my car. It was an accident..." I blurted, the words spilling out before I could stop them.

My nerves had me on autopilot, apologizing without hesitation.

"I, uh…I also got the bullet removed from your arm and had a doctor check on you." I added, glancing at the bandages wrapped around his chest.

"The doctor said nothing’s broken, but you’ve got a few bruised ribs. Blood loss too. You’ll be in pain for a few weeks, maybe a month." I tried to steady my voice, but the weight of his intense gaze made it difficult.

His brow lifted slightly, like he was trying to piece everything together.

"You hit me with your bloody car?" He repeated. His dark eyes narrowed and I instinctively stepped back, my stomach tightening.

"It was an accident!" I rushed to explain.

"You came out of nowhere at a green light...Please don’t press charges. I don’t have much money and I had to quit my job." I admitted, my voice faltering.

"But if your condition gets worse, I’ll...I'll figure something out to cover your medical bills. I promise." The words tumbled from me, each one more desperate than the last.

He leaned back slightly, his eyes never leaving mine as he dragged a hand through his messy black hair. The casual motion left it ruffled, effortlessly adding to his disheveled appearance.

"And how, exactly, do you plan to pay my medical bills if you’re out of work?" His voice carried a mix of sarcasm and genuine curiosity, though the faint smirk tugging at his lips annoyed me.

I pressed my lips together, as I realized how ridiculous I sounded.

"I’ll get another job." I muttered, nodding to convince myself than him.

He exhaled heavily, his gaze roaming the room, taking in every detail as if sizing me up.

"How old are you?" He asked abruptly, nudging my favorite stuffed animal off the bed like it was nothing.

I blinked at the bear on the floor, irritation flaring in my chest.

"That’s none of your damn business." I shot back, scooping it up and placing it firmly back on the bed.

He scoffed, as his gaze lingered on me, dissecting me like I was a puzzle he didn't care to solve but couldn't help studying.

"You’re what…twenty?" He guessed, his tone laced with faint amusement. "You’ve got that look—young, naïve, still trying to figure out where you fit in the world."

My jaw tightened at the casual, almost dismissive way he assessed me, like he had me all figured out in seconds.

"Right," I snapped, arms crossing over my chest. "And I’m guessing you’re—what?"

"Thirty? Thirty-five? Huh?" My tone was sharp, though I couldn’t ignore the obvious age gap between us. He looked late twenties, maybe older, while I was barely nineteen.

He chuckled, a low sound that caught me off guard. "I’m twenty-nine, kitten."

Kitten?

The nickname rolled off his tongue effortlessly, sending an involuntary jolt through me, though his mocking grin quickly turned it into annoyance.

"Don't call me that." I muttered flatly, grabbing onto anything that felt like composure.

He leaned back slightly, his lips twisting into a faint smirk as if my defiance amused him more than anything else.

Without waiting for more of his teasing, I turned toward the sofa, where his clothes sat tucked inside a bag.

"Here’s your stuff. I’ll check on Angelina." I murmured, placing the bag on the bed before turning on my heel and stepping out of the room.

The door clicked shut behind me and I sagged against it, letting out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

My pulse was still racing, my thoughts a mess of unease and second-guessing.

Pressing my palms against the door, I forced myself to push away the tension.

Focus.

Running a hand through my hair, I straightened up and headed back to the kitchen.

"Angelina, are you doing okay?" I asked softly as I approached.

She was still perched on the stool, her little legs swinging back and forth as she nursed a glass of milk.

At the sound of my voice, she looked up, her face breaking into a wide grin.

"Yeah!" She chirped, her voice bright and cheerful. Relief washed over me and I managed a smile.

"Good." I replied gently, leaning against the counter to watch her for a moment.

Kitten, seriously though?