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I licked my lips. “This isn’t your dorm room. This isn’t your building. Why did you barge in?”
Max sighed. “Waiting for a friend.”
I eyed him carefully. “To do what?”
But, when he didn’t say anything, I looked around the room. I saw the textbooks strewn everywhere. Medical textbooks. I saw the half-open dresser drawer in the corner, with scrubs poking out.
“You came to see a med student,” I said.
Max nodded, but didn’t say anything.
“You need a doctor.”
His eyes whipped to mine. “I need to get out of here. I only came here to make sure Benj was all right.”
I nodded. “Then come with me.”
I turned my back, but didn’t hear him following me. So I turned around.
“You coming, or what?” I asked.
Hannah took my hand. “You know what you’re doing?”
No. I had no clue what I was doing. But Max needed to be cleaned up. And, if possible, he needed to be convinced to get medical intervention. None of which would take place in the middle of a party.
“Yeah, I know what I’m doing,” I said.
I cast one more look back at Max before I nodded my head. Part of me didn’t think he’d follow me, so when he did, I felt relief. We left the party with him hovering over me, and I heard soft growls falling from his lips. As if he were staking a claim on his territory and warding off enemies of the night. The sound did something to me. The smell of his cologne and sweat mixed together made my fingertips tingle. And as we made our way into my dorm bedroom, I searched around for the first aid kit Dad had made me pack before sitting Max down in the chair at my desk.
“You really do need a doctor. This thing on your shoulder looks bad,” I said.
“No hospitals for me.”
“And why not?”
He shrugged, then groaned again. “Don’t want attention from the police.”
I ripped open an alcohol wipe. “Fair enough. Hope you’re not averse to pain.”
I slid the wipe over the gash on his shoulder and he grunted. Multiple times. I slipped his leather jacket off to clean more of the wound and rolled up the sleeve of his shirt. And there, emblazoned in red and black, were the words ‘Red Thorn
s.’ It wrapped around his bicep with a vine of thorns-sort of design dotted with small, red roses throughout. It was an intricate tattoo. One I let my fingers slide over. I lost track of cleaning up his wound as I studied the beautiful color and design against his skin.
“Is that the name of your crew?” I asked.
Max cleared his throat. “Yep.”
“The Red Thorns.”
“Uh huh.”
“Interesting.”
“Dangerous.”
I nodded. “Figured as much by how beat up you look.”
I went back to cleaning the indentation in his shoulder.
