I sit in this stupid f*****g tub for about an hour until I suspect each and every guy has had a chance at seeing the show. It’s not until Cobra and Killer walk through that I know my time is done.
“Get her out,” Killer whispers to Kitka. His stoney face is unreadable, but part of me thinks that he’s not terribly impressed by what’s going on.
The men clear out quick, and the girls go to look for a clean towel. While I sit waiting, Killer leans over me and coughs before speaking, “You look beat up. Did that bastard do something to you?”
Whoa. I am totally shocked by this. Kitka is too. He’s not a man of many words, and the words I’ve heard him utter haven’t been pleasant. But there’s a hint of caring in his voice.
My own trembles as I answer, “No. He didn’t do anything. This was… I fell.
