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“Behind me somewhere,” he said, looking rather tired himself. It seemed whatever energy he’d harnessed before was gone. He squeezed his eyes. “D and I drive fast so we got ahead. Thatcher went home after we got my car.” He yawned after he said it, shaking his head. He laughed. “Dorian wanted to make sure I took no detours back here, I guess. And to check in. Make sure I was okay or whatever.”
Because that was the kind of stuff he did for his friends. I rubbed my arm. Wells hung his coat up at the door, and I stepped forward to ask him more about tonight. I started to, but he cringed, and that was something I definitely noticed since he was like a foot or so away from me now.
As well as the state of his shirt.
Blood red and ripped down the side. His white tee currently clung to him in a soaked crimson and was more than visible since he was no longer holding his coat over the stain. I gasped. “Oh my God, Wells. You’re like bleeding.”
Instantly, he directed a look down, and when he lifted his shirt, he merely cursed while I just about fainted. The bandage he had over his side was caked in blood, the few strips of tape around it the same.
“Damn it,” he said, wincing. He messed with the tape and revealed blood-stained abs, a deep gash in his side, and my stomach rolled. “Fuck—”
“Okay, we need to get you to a hospital.”
“No.” He waved me off, me panicking way more than he was. “It’s fine. I just need a new bandage.”
“No, what you need is stitches.” I approached, swallowing down the bile in my throat. I’d never been great with blood. I grabbed his arm. “Come on. I’ll take you.”
“No,” he growled, shifting into angry Wells again. I was starting to see more of this darker side he had. He lifted a hand. “I got this. Brielle keeps a first-aid kit around here. I just need to clean it.”
He said this, but he visibly paled while he stared at the wound. Something told me he wasn’t great with blood either, but when he walked away, I knew he was about to try and fix this himself.
I growled now, grabbing his arm. He started to pull away from me, but I made him follow me into the house. I knew where Brielle kept the first-aid kit, and gratefully for him, she kept more than bandages nearby.
“What you doing?” he asked, his eyebrow arching. We’d made it into the bathroom where I found the kit.
“Trying to fix your ass since you won’t go to a hospital.” I forced the kit into his chest. “Hold that.”
“K.” His lengthy digits braced the kit, his shirt basically ruined. Especially since it was ripped. His attention followed me around the bathroom to a junk drawer that held a needle and thread. After I got that, I made the boy follow me up to the dark prince’s room. We’d do this in mine, but Bow was in there sleeping.
“Why are we in here?” His gaze traveled when I dug into Dorian’s sock drawer. I found the lighter, and Wells’s brow jumped. “What are you doing with that shit?”
“I’m going to sew you up myself,” I said, and not looking forward to it. I really was squeamish around blood, but I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t done this before. I tossed Wells a pair of socks. “You’re going to need to bite down on that.”
“You’re fucking serious?” He eyed the socks but didn’t do anything with them. “You ever stitch someone up before?”
I gave him a look like it was obvious. “I wouldn’t be doing this if I hadn’t.”
“K,” he repeated, sitting down on Dorian’s bed when I told him. I instructed him to take off his shirt too, and he smirked. “Hold up, princess. Usually, I ask for a little dinner first.”
He waggled his eyebrows, flashing a more than prominent dimple in his right side. Since he smiled a lot, I’d caught it before. He really could look like a teddy when he wasn’t being an asshole.
I rolled my damn eyes, then proceeded to get one last item. I knew the dark prince kept a bottle of vodka in his underwear drawer, and he may or may not have used it to lick off my nipples in the past. He was fucking crazy, and I caught myself smiling a little.
Wells noticed, his grin lazy, cocky. He jutted his chin. “You sure know your way around this room, princess. You and D playing house or what?”
My eyes lifted again. Yes, I knew where his vodka was and his spare lighter. We’d both used the latter to smoke weed in the past. I didn’t think we were playing house, though. I’d just been in here a lot.
I shoved the bottle into Wells’s chest too. He gripped it, telling me I was bossy when I repeated he needed to take off his shirt so we could do this. Eventually, he did, and his wound looked so much worse when he completely took off the bandage. Actually, he bled so bad that we moved to Dorian’s bathroom. I didn’t want to get blood all over the place.
“What the hell happened?” I had to use several towels to get all the blood off, the wound seeping from his rib cage.
Wells’s smirk was just as cocky as his grin. He lounged against the sink with his long legs stamped out, his eyes closing when his head touched the mirror. “Mmm. Don’t stop. That feels nice when you touch me like that.” To show me, he grabbed the hand rubbing blood off his abs, and I just about socked him in them. He chuckled. “I’m just joking. D would kill me. Fuck.”
I would kill him, and clearly, he was being this way to avoid the question, flirting. Whereas Ares and Dorian just got mean when they didn’t want to talk about shit, Wells seemed to like to flirt.
I didn’t know how Thatcher was since I didn’t spend a lot of time with him, but Wells and Thatcher seemed to be as joined at the hip as Ares and Dorian.
“If you don’t want me to help you, fine,” I said, literally covered in the boy’s blood. I raised and dropped my hands. “Because I won’t if you don’t stop that shit and tell me what happened tonight.”
