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“I take full responsibility for everything that’s happened, but until this point, I’ve always kept you safe and provided you with everything for a good life.”
“I never asked you to do any of those things,” I lash out.
“If it wasn’t for me, you’d be dead.”
Silence settles over the vehicle after that, and I press my lips together and swallow down all the hateful things I want to say. We drive for a long time, neither of us speaking to each other. The tension in the vehicle builds to an almost suffocating atmosphere.
Thankfully, the gas light turns on an hour later, and Lucca takes the next exit and pulls into the first hotel off the interstate, which turns out to be a rundown ma and pop place. There would be no way of knowing the place was open if it wasn’t for the blinking open sign hanging in the office window.
Lucca turns to me. “Stay in the car.”
“I don’t even have shoes. I’m not going anywhere.”
He looks down at my feet and grimaces. When he turns to climb out of the car, I notice the dark spot on the back of his shirt. Is that blood? Was he shot?
“You’re bleeding?” I ask.
Lucca half shrugs. “The fucker got a lucky shot. It’s nothing but a flesh wound. I’ll have you clean it once we get into a room.”
A flesh wound? He’s kidding, right? A flesh wound would not leave a blood spot like that. Lucca’s inside for ten minutes before he walks out of the office and approaches the car.
I climb out and wince when my bare feet touch the cold pavement. Suddenly, I realize just how exhausted I am. Lucca goes around the back of the car and opens the trunk, retrieving something before stopping beside me.
In his hand is a duffel bag. At least he came prepared. “I’ve got some clothing for both of us in here. We can pick up a couple things for you while we’re on the road tomorrow.”
I nod and wait for him to walk, but he steps closer to me. Confused, I take a step back, but he reaches out, places his hand on my hip to stop me from moving.
My skin burns where his fingers touch me, and a sensation I’ve never felt before develops in my lower belly. It’s warm and makes me shiver. My nipples harden, and a warm flush works its way up my face. Now I’m confused for other reasons, like why I’m feeling this way and why he’s touching me.
“You don’t have any shoes, so I’m going to carry you,” Lucca says.
I try to cover up the hormonal feelings I’m having by ignoring them altogether. “What about your flesh wound?” Lucca gives me a look that says, shut up. “Seriously, you don’t have to hurt yourself for me. My feet are the least of my worries. I’ve been kidnapped and shot at, and…”
I don’t get the chance to finish what I’m saying as Lucca takes it upon himself to grab me by the hips and toss me over his shoulder like I’m a rag doll. I’m not even given the opportunity to object before he is walking, carrying both me and the duffel bag. With a gunshot wound.
His actions would be admirable had he not been the cause for all the problems. When we reach the room, he places me back down on my feet and uses the keycard to unlock the room. The door creaks open, and I walk in, Lucca following behind me.
The room smells of stale cigarette smoke, but I’m happy to find two queen-sized beds and a bathroom. Lucca closes the door behind us, and I walk over to one of the beds and sit at the edge. He tosses the duffel bag onto the other bed and unzips it, pulling out a small first aid kit, as well as a pair of boxers and a T-shirt.
He wastes no time and pulls his bloody shirt off, discarding it on the floor. My eyes bulge out of my head when I see his naked torso, every single indent and sculpted muscle. My throat tightens at the image before me. I’ve never seen a man naked, not that he’s naked but half-naked. His toned body is tan, and the V leading down to his nether region makes my heartbeat pick up. If Hope were here right now… I force myself to look away and think about anything but those well-defined muscles.
“Use the alcohol pads in the kit and clean the wound for me,” he says and gives me his back. I take a moment to gather my thoughts before I move from the bed, making sure I don’t brush against him when I reach for the alcohol wipes.
Using my teeth, I rip open one and hesitate for a second when I come face to face with the wound. The antiseptic smell makes my nose wrinkle, and I breathe through my mouth as I inspect the wound.
