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“I’ll deal with it.”
“Kilter, man, the girl is sick, and I’m not talking just physically, emotionally. It’s bad. I taste it, man.”
“You think I don’t know that.”
“How are you going to deal with it?” Jesus Christ, the guy didn’t know how to shut up. “The only person you’ve looked after is yourself.”
Not true. There’d been a time when I looked after my family, my clan. “Yeah, well, for good reason. I’d be stupid to trust anyone. Did that. Don’t make the same mistake twice.”
Quill was too politically correct to bring up old trust issues. Shit, all the Scars knew I didn’t trust a single one of them. Torture spoke volumes, and I knew it all too well. Never again would I put faith in anyone—period.
The doors of the plane shut, and the pilot announced takeoff.
Quill nodded to my wound. “Bandage your shoulder before you bleed to death. I’d offer my services, but you’re a shithead and would refuse it anyway.”
I shrugged. Yeah, I would. I didn’t like anyone touching me.
Quill put his feet up on the seat across from him, put his head back, closed his eyes, and said, “Think I might spend a few days in T.O. See how this plays out.” Asshole. “Might be worth taking shit from Waleron just to watch him lay into you.”
I ignored him, eyes on Rayne as the plane taxied down the runway. I couldn’t see her face, but saw her chest rise and fall evenly beneath the blanket.
As soon as we were in the air, I unclipped my seatbelt and walked to the back of the plane, grabbed the first aid kit, and proceeded to wrap my shoulder. It was a minor wound—bullet went straight through, hitting nothing vital. Still, it hurt like hell and took me a while to wrap it one handed.
Quill was right. I’d never looked after anyone but myself. I was morally selfish. But I went back to that compound. For her. I’d convinced myself it was because I wanted to kill her husband, and I did. But I’d gone back for her. Killing her husband had been a bonus.
I shoved the rest of the bandage material in the box, put it away, and then walked down the aisle to Rayne. The blanket had slipped to her chest and I noticed goose bumps on her neck. I pulled the blanket up and my knuckles grazed the curve of her jaw.
My heart skipped a beat. What the hell was that?
She was sick, abused, and here I was feeling… something. What was wrong with me? She was a skeleton. I hated women like that. I liked something to grab, a healthy body I could feel beneath me as I drove into her. A real woman, not a stick with a pulse. Didn’t even know why I was thinking about touching her at all.
But as I walked back to my seat, I realized it hadn’t been a sexual attraction I’d felt. It was something else entirely.
I fuckin’ cared.
Jesus.
My eyes shot to Quill who was looking at me, full-out grinning.
I grunted, slammed the window covering down, sat, and then leaned back and closed my eyes.
