Rivals

Chapter 25

"Open Wounds: Part Two"

Silence provokes in the air. There's a familiar hardness settling across Rio's jaw - but something different blazes behind his dark brown irises.

His gaze holds unfamiliar caution on mine. In my short blue dress across from the kitchen island that parts us, I watch Rio lift his hands to deliberately begin unbuttoning his shirt.

The vivid concern that sufficed just seconds ago still lingers in my gut.

Back at the Bar during our subtle encounter, a venomous flame blazed across Rio's eyes as he confirmed grave rivalry. But now - now it's different.

The thinly veiled hostility he held against me earlier stood before he knocked me down and protected me amongst the deadly gunshots that permeated the building.

Now, I know I can't hold anything pernicious against him. Because what he did was dangerous. Reckless. But selfless.

How could I stand against that?

The kitchen floor's tan tile is cold beneath my bare feet. I don't breathe a word.

Rio turns around - he lets his black button down shirt fall to the tiled floor.

Rio's tan back is now revealed while he stands still; the back of his tall figure facing me. I see the familiar set of ink across either of his arms as they remain relaxed at his sides.

Mindlessly, I hold my breath. The silence still penetrates the space between our distinct frames.

And then I see it. The vague cuts on the lower left side of his toned back.

Something shifts in my stomach.

He did get hurt protecting me.

My pink lips remotely part.

I softly take in a breath.

And I then walk over towards the gang leader's direction.

Stopping just inches behind his tall and shirtless frame - I quietly release a breath.

It seems as though his low breaths and mine are the only sound to hang loose in the cool air of my house.

And in my dark blue dress still, I slowly reach out a hand. My finger nears the skin where slightly bleeding cuts plaster.

"A couple bullets must have scraped your skin." I start quietly, examining the wounds with a studious and furrowed gaze - mentally noting with relief that he wasn't shot.

Then as my fingertip just barely brushes against his back, near the wounds, Rio's broad shoulders immensely tense at my gentle and cautious touch.

From it, my hand jerks back instinctively.

Rio is tense.

Hesitant.

But then, I hear Rio take in a low breath through his nose as I stand on my bare feet - inches behind him.