Page 60 of The Devil

“How are you not?” I ask.

She shrugs a shoulder.

The man returns with the whiskey and a glass but I take the bottle from him and swallow three gulps before lying down.

“Better,” I say. Amal fumbles with my belt. “Sweetheart, now’s not the time.”

“Shut up and lay back. Jesus. Why did you toss your gun away? You should have killed him,” she says.

Her eyes fill with tears at the sight of the mess. “It looks worse than it is,” I tell her, trying to reassure her as she cuts away my jeans. Once they’re off, she starts on my boxers, but I capture her hand to stop her. “Too close.” I peel the boxers down a little, just enough to expose the wound fully.

It’s bad, but it could have been worse. If I hadn’t shifted my weight when I had, things would be very different right now.

“You idiot,” she says, wiping tears with the backs of her hands. “You could have died.”

“Shh, honey.” I reach up to touch her face. “I didn’t die. I’m right here. Hand me the suturing kit. We’ll need to disinfect it first. I need you to do that part. I’ll walk you through.”

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Jet?”

“Look at me. You think this is the first time someone’s tried to kill me?”

Her eyes widen but she knows this because last time, it was her father. Amal stands up straighter, taking a deep breath in. “I’ll go wash my hands.” She hurries into the bathroom and returns a moment later carrying a damp towel. She gently cleans around the wound, and I drink another swig of whiskey.

She reaches for the holster and takes the gun out.

I place my hand over hers. “What are you going to do, put me out of my misery?”

“This isn’t a joke. If they come back⁠—”

“First of all, you’re not going to have blood on your hands. Ever,” I tell her, sliding the gun from her and setting it back down. “Second, they won’t come back. Not tonight.”

“How do you know?”

“I know. Let’s get this done.”

“If they do, I will kill them.”

“Fine,” I agree only because I know for a fact IVI men will not be showing up at the door tonight. They’ll wait. They have time. They’ll want to think through my punishment for having killed their soldiers. For having nearly exposed them yet again.

But now isn’t the time to think about that. I focus on Amal as she tears open one of the disinfecting cloths and meets my eyes.

“This is going to hurt I think.”

“Oh, I know it is. Do it anyway. It’ll hurt less than an infection.”

She looks at the wound, then back at me, swallows, and sits on the edge of the bed. Taking a deep breath in, she wipes gently at first, then presses the pad to my skin.

I grit my teeth, biting back a groan of pain, and when she goes to pull her hand away, I capture her wrist to keep it there.

“It’s okay,” I say when she tries to pull back. “Look at me, Amal. Eyes on me.”

She nods and I see what it’s taking for her to hold back her tears. “This is my fault,” she says. “You almost got killed trying to protect me when this is all my fault.”

I grip her chin in my hand, the other still around her wrist. I make her look at me. “I will never let anyone hurt you. That was my vow the day I married you. I plan on keeping it.”

Her eyes search mine. Confusion, fear and exhaustion all mingle in the softest, most beautiful shade of blue I’ve ever seen. I’ve never thought about eyes being windows into the soul. Just thought what a bunch of bull. Now though, looking into her eyes, I get it.

An unfamiliar sensation bubbles up inside my gut, making its way to my chest. That sensation, strange as it is, is about the only thing that doesn’t hurt right now.