Thumper by Marie James

Chapter 29

Cara

I use the back of my forearm to wipe sweat from my brow, reminding myself that the heat in the room is for his benefit, not mine. If someone were giving me a bed bath, I’d appreciate not freezing while it happened.

I try to keep my focus on the task at hand, reminding myself over and over that as a nurse’s aide, I’ve done this a million times. Literally, every day at work, I give bed baths. I didn’t have a problem then and I shouldn’t have a problem now. Javier is just like every other patient, other than the fact that he’s heavily medicated and asleep. That actually works in my favor because I can do this without awkward conversation and eye contact.

But none of the old men look like Javier.

“Focus on the injuries,” I mutter as I lower his heavy arm, making sure not to bump his cast. “Modesty is key.”

I place a towel back over that arm and stare down at him. Both arms are done, and I managed to do it with only shedding a few tears. Kincaid wasn’t joking when he said Javier is covered in stitches. His arms look like he was tossed into a food blender and left to be pulverized.

“Ointment first,” I say uncovering his arm again so I can apply the salve to his injuries.

I know I’m just avoiding having to pull the sheet away from his chest. I remember what he looked like without a shirt on and was reminded when I had to roll him over to get towels under him for this bed bath. He’s got as many cuts as he does muscles, so it’s no wonder he’s in so much pain. I know they pull and hurt no matter how little he moves, and that’s why I’m trying to be as gentle as I possibly can.

Applying the ointment goes way too quickly, but I’m committed to the task of getting him clean. He either refused or wasn’t able to take a shower at the hospital, and that leaves me questioning the staff working there because he showed up still splattered with blood. I don’t want his wounds to get infected, and that’s the only reason I’m even doing this.

Tears well again when I pull the sheet down to reveal his chest. More cuts, more bruising. I trace the darkest one with the tip of one finger before I can stop myself. I sniffle, the sound making him jolt slightly, but then he settles once again. I go right back into my task, washing his chest and sides gently with soap before using clean water to rinse the soap away. After toweling the area dry, I apply the ointment and cover him back up.

Next are his legs, and the things are massive, much heavier than the arms. I clean, rinse, and dry them as best I can, applying ointment to the couple of injuries I find there. He doesn’t have many on his calves, but his thighs have stripes of stitches like his arms do.

I almost convince myself that the bath is over when I carry the basins back to the bathroom, but I know I’m making this personal when it’s nothing more than medical help that’s necessary. Maybe I should’ve asked one of the guys to come in and help me, but I know it will be just as awkward with another person in here watching me wash this man’s junk—I mean genital area.

I fill the basins half full, one with soap and one with clean water to rinse and grab another towel to dry him, then carry the basins back out one by one. Chickening out, I run back into the bathroom and grab one more towel. I don’t know who does laundry around here, but they’re probably going to hate me after this.

I place the extra towel over his middle. Pulling the one from his stomach up and the ones covering his legs down.

“Maintain his dignity,” I mutter as I make sure the towel covering his middle doesn’t slip.

If I were at work, I’d be more hands on than this. You really need to see what you’re doing to make sure you get everything clean, but I just can’t. This man isn’t comatose and he sure as hell hasn’t given me permission to do this.

I take a step back. Is this considered a violation? I’ve touched him way more than he ever touched me.

I swallow, pausing for another minute before recommitting.

“Just one little area left, and you’ll be done.”

I put on a clean pair of gloves, praying that he doesn’t have any cuts in the covered area because I don’t plan to look to verify. After squeezing the soapy wash rag, I lift the cover of the towel enough to slide my hand between it and his body, and I clean, my eyes clamping closed as I work, making sure to get the entire area.

“Shit,” I hiss when I feel him start to grow against my wrist.

“It happens, Cara. Just hurry.”

Why the hell am I talking to myself?

I’ve heard even men in comas get erections when stimulated, so I shouldn’t be bothered.

Once the washing is done, I toss the rag back in the soapy water and grab the one to rinse him with. When I slip my hand under to wipe away the soap, I keep my eyes on his face rather than the bulge growing under the towel.

His lips part, and then his fucking eyes open. I’m frozen with my hand clasping a damp towel that’s pressed against his scrotum.

“It’s a bed bath.” He gives me a little nod of understanding, then I notice that his eyes don’t look tired. If anything, they are brighter than they’ve been since he showed up here. “How long have you been awake?”

His throat works on a swallow. “Since you washed my face.”

“I started on your face.”

His lips twitch like he wants to smile. “Your hand is still on my nuts.”

“Oh, God!” I jerk my hand back, pulling the towel away with it. His entire penis is exposed… and fully erect from the looks of it. “Shit! I’m so sorry!”

I rush to cover him back up, ignoring the husky laugh that rumbles out of his throat.

“I just—you were covered in blood, and you have so many wounds. I was worried about infection.” He looks up at me. “I’m a nurse’s aide. I’ve literally been trained to do this. I wasn’t trying to take advantage. I’m—”

“Cara, it’s fine. I enjoyed it.”

“Did you just wink at me?”

“I tried. Did it not translate?”

“Not really,” I say, dropping the rinsing rag back into the basin. “The swelling in your face is still pretty bad.”

“What now?” he asks when I grab the rag out of the soapy basin.

“Only one area left to clean.”

“You washed everything but my—No, Cara. No way. I can admit that I thoroughly enjoyed everything you’ve done for me so far, but I draw the line at you washing my ass.”

I roll my lips between my teeth to keep from smiling, wondering just when I was able to look at this man and not fear him with every inch of my being.

Maybe it was when I woke that first time and saw his arm stretched in my direction or maybe it was the thirty minutes we spent watching each other without speaking. No matter when it happened, I’m kind of grateful that it did.

“I wasn’t able to get your back either. I’m not strong enough to roll you over, hold you there, and wash at the same time. And I’m sorry about that.” I tilt my head in the direction of his crotch without actually turning my focus to it.

“Are you apologizing because I got a hard-on?”

“I didn’t intend to stimulate your penis. I just—”

“Penis?”

“Or your scrotum. But it happens when—”

“Scrotum? Oh God, and here I was fantasizing that you—” He snaps his jaw closed. “Sorry. I wasn’t—I shouldn’t have said—can we just drop it? I appreciate your concern for getting me clean.”

“I wanted you to be comfortable.”

“I don’t deserve your comfort, but I appreciate it.”

“You comforted me.”

“When? When I held you captive? Had you locked in a cage for days?”

“You gave me socks.”

“Socks?” He huffs like they didn’t matter.

“You made sure I ate without forcing me. You gave me beef—”

“That was the only human decency I showed you, Cara.”

“You didn’t have—”

“I owned you. I don’t deserve any grace from you.”

“You never hurt me.”

“I hurt you plenty. I may have never laid my hands on you in anger or malice, but I hurt you plenty.”

I can’t really deny what he’s saying because he did play a role in something that will haunt me for a long time.

“Lauren showed everyone the video. The one that streamed in the basement that first night.”

He drops his eyes to the towel covering his chest. His shame is clear.

“I know you didn’t rape her, that she wanted… that you both like it rough.”

“Fuck,” he grunts. “There is so much to unpack in that statement. I hate that you saw me like that.”

“Which time? Because I first thought you were a rapist within a couple minutes of being pulled off the back of that truck.”

“Both times,” he mutters. “When you witnessed it the first time, and again when Lauren showed you the video.”

Is he upset because of what I thought or the fact that I saw him having sex with another woman? It’s a similar question to what Mia asked when I was trying to wrap my head around being legitimately attracted to a man that held me captive rather than chalking it up to Stockholm syndrome.

“I know you’re not a monster. I started to figure that out in El Salvador, long before I knew you were an FBI agent. I wasn’t raped.”

His eyes meet mine. “But Megan was.”

I can see on his face just how tortured he is over it.

“And you killed him. Angel never once tried to hurt us.”

“Angel was a good guy.”

“FBI?”

“Not exactly, but he was there with good intentions. Well, as good of intentions as any mercenary has, I guess. He died, and that’s on me. Wait—” He leans in a little closer. “Miguel said he killed all of you.”

I shake my head. “No one died but Megan, and I don’t know what happened to that first girl.”

“Megan survived. She was sent away before she could keep starving herself. Lisa, the first girl, she went home as well. We were in the process of moving all of you.”

“The guy picked us up not long after you were taken from the house. We didn’t encounter another problem after that.”

He nods, looking a little grateful that there weren’t more complications.

“Lauren didn’t come back with you guys,” I remind him just in case he doesn’t remember.

“Lauren has a job to do and leaving South America was never part of her plan.”

“She’s going back under, knowing how dangerous it is?”

He shrugs, the movement making his cheeks flinch. “She’s been undercover for years.”

“You’re answering every question.”

“I’ll answer any one you can come up with.”

“Was my sister ever in danger?”

“Not from me. Not from the cartel. Now that shitty cult she’s wrapped up in isn’t ideal.”

“Kincaid says he’ll help get her out.”

“He’s a good man. They all are.”

“All the women around here keep telling me that Cerberus men don’t discuss business with them.”

“We’re not discussing a Cerberus matter.”

He gives me a pointed look that tells me he wouldn’t break those confidences.

“Samuelson made you think coming here was a real job.”

He frowns. “Seems some people are talking more than you let on.”

“Believe me, I was asked to leave the room before they really went in depth on anything.”

“Are you done helping me?” I drop my eyes to the wash rag I’ve been gripping during this entire conversation.

“Yes, sorry. Let me clean this stuff up.”

I work on emptying and rinsing the basins and piling up the towels to go to the laundry, but then I remember I haven’t pulled the towels off his body.

“Crap! You must be freezing.”

“Not a bit,” he says with a slow smile. “My body temp is pretty elevated right now.”

“Fever?” I reach for his head, but then the towel moves again, and it’s clear what he’s talking about. “You need clothes.”

“You’ll have to help me.”

“I know, but you’ll have to keep your eyes closed. This is awkward enough.”

His eyes flutter closed, and he keeps them that way until I’ve managed to pull his sweats up over his hips. The issue he was having under the sheet is no longer a problem due to the pain, so I give him a few more pain pills and offer him the bottle of water.

His eyes dart from my face to the bathroom door behind me.

“Urinate or defecate?”

“What?” He scrunches his nose.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m an aide, remember? Urinate or defecate?”

“God, would you stop using those words. Defecate? Gross, that’s worse than when you said scrotum. I just have to pee.”

“Good,” I say relieved as I reach for the urine collection bottle beside the bed. “Here you go.”

His jaw is still hanging open when I scoop up the dirty towels and carry them out of the room.