Page 10 of Ripple Effect, Vol. 4

“Absolutely not.” I wait for him to close the toilet seat and sit down.

“Good. Wipe it down with the betadine. Then I want you to douse the tweezers in alcohol and pass the flame over it a few times. The bullet might not come out easy. Just keep at it.”

“Isn’t this going to hurt?”

“Like a bitch.”

“You’re not making me feel better.”

“Neither are you, just standing there. Get to it.”

Swallowing the sudden tickle in my throat, I nab the bottle labeled betadine and wet the gauze. My fingers pass over the lump where I can feel an unnatural solid beneath, and I have to breathe through my nose. Jesus Christ. Digging into holes on people’s bodies isn’t my thing, but considering he took the bullet on my behalf, I suck it up with another pass over the bulge.

I pour alcohol onto the tweezers and pass them over the flame a few times as he instructed. With a deep breath, I stare down at the grisly looking wound and slowly insert the tweezers. The moist, meaty sound crimps my lip.

He shifts slightly, and when I grab hold of the bullet, he lets out a quiet groan.

“C’mon,” I whisper, pulling it, but it’s caught up inside the edges of the wound. Tugging stretches his skin out where the bullet pokes through beneath.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, but doesn’t tell me to stop.

I wish he would. I wish he’d tell me to leave it in and abandon this.

Acid climbs my throat, and I hold my forearm to my mouth.

Suck it up, Dylan. He’s in pain because of you. This bullet is yours.

Thoughts of Randy or Rook firing at him screw my lips into a snarl. Fuck them.

I set my fingers around the wound and grip the bullet tight. “I’m going to pull this bastard out. Hang on.”

Twisting the tweezers inside the wound causes him to flinch and grunt, but I keep tugging until the dark gray of the bullet peeks through the hole and slides out into my awaiting palm beneath.

I stare down at it, wondering how such a small piece of metal could do so much damage. After irrigating the wound with the saline, I nab the gauze and pack it, then tape the final dressing over top.

“All done. I think. But if you develop infection, you’re not going to sue me, are you?”

“For everything you’ve got.”

“That won’t be much. You’d be better off killing me. At least you’d save yourself twenty grand.” I cringe at the comment the moment it leaves my lips. How foolish to expect him to pay me now, after he’s saved my life. “I didn’t mean—”

“What did I tell you about the didn’t means, Bandit?” He lifts his massive arm up into the air and pats at the gauze. “Maybe tomorrow I’ll have you stitch it.”

“I don’t think so. You need to talk to Emily or something about helping you with that.”

“Emily wouldn’t have touched that bullet for me. She sure as hell wouldn’t stitch up a hole in my back. You’re a tough chick.”

“Look, I know it doesn’t mean anything to you. I get that you don’t like the hero stuff. But I really do appreciate what you did.” I run my finger along his perfectly trimmed hairline and bend forward to kiss the back of his neck. I can’t help it. It’s the first time I’ve attempted affection since his accusation.

He doesn’t react at all. Doesn’t even look at me, and I’m at a complete loss for how to crack this man. There are times I feel I’ve touched his soul, only to find I’ve not even breached his skin.

His lack of reaction to me is nothing short of embarrassing—rejection of the worst kind, because I’ve tacked it on to a pathetic gesture of thanks.

“Forget it.” I step past him and feel a hard grip of my arm that spins me right the hell around. Twisting my wrist is a fruitless effort in his steel grip, and in spite of my resistance, he pulls me back into him, until I fall awkwardly straddling his lap. I slide back on his legs, and he yanks me forward by my wrists, until I’m fully aware of what must be one hell of a painful bulge between us. “This isn’t easy for me, you know? Showing my gratitude. I’m not used to this shit. And you make it … impossible!”

“I don’t need your fucking gratitude, Dylan. It was a job, okay?”

“I’m just a job to you?” I can’t even believe I’m talking aloud, saying this shit like something straight out of an angsty teen movie, but he’s got me so pissed I can’t help myself. The words continue to fall in all their cringe-worthy glory. “That’s it? You didn’t give a shit, right? You’d have let those bastards use and abuse me right there? Rook wanted to fuck me with a pair of pliers. Did you know that?” The tic of his eye and the clench of his jaw tell me I’ve hit a nerve, and still my mouth won’t quit. “Is that what gets you off, Ripley? Are you such a sadistic bastard, so goddamn hell-bent on pain you’d have let that happen?”