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“Levi’s fine,” Dominic said calmly. “Is he awake?”

“When I left him, yeah.” Ben chuckled weakly, the noise trailing into a pained grunt. “I left him on the couch. He’s got his head in a bowl in case he pukes.”

Levi had woken up twice on the way back to the cabin. He’d been freaked out both times, as anyone would be if they emerged from unconsciousness to find themselves slung over someone’s shoulder while they ran. Both times, he had struggled to look up, then noticed the blood streaming into Ben’s shirt and passed out again. He woke up again when Ben dropped him on the couch and went to update Dominic. He’d slurred something about stitches, and when Ben had told him he was heading for the radio, not the first aid kit, Levi had yelled at him until Ben closed the laundry room door.

“But he’s okay,” Ben repeated. “Tell Austin he’s okay.”

“I will,” Dominic said. He sounded distracted, like he wasn’t facing the receiver. Ben imagined him typing furiously into his phone, coming up with a mental list of everything he had to do once Ben signed off. Ben should let him do that. Ben should get his fucking shoulder stitched up. But he couldn’t stop imagining that red dot hovering over Levi’s forehead. It made him sick with worry and guilt. Then, because he was unable to let himself feel any negative emotion other than anger, as his stupid therapist said, he turned all of that into pure, comfortable rage.

“What the fuck are they doing?” Ben growled, thumping the wooden table on top of the blood splatter. “First they send an untrained guy with a knife and now they have a sniper?”

“This is good,” Dominic said, still sounding distracted. “It means they’re disorganized. There were rumors they were looking into a mercenary for hire⁠—”

“Why the fuck didn’t I hear about that?”

“They were unconfirmed,” Dominic said before Ben had finished talking. “I think we can safely say we can confirm those rumors now.”

Ben focused on the pain to stop himself from cursing Dominic out. “I need to secure the area.”

“You need to attend to the hole in your arm,” Dominic said. “I’ll send people to secure the area and search for intel about our sniper. It will take them a few hours to get there. Patch yourself up. Don’t let Levi out of your sight.”

Ben pictured Levi staring into the fireplace, so he didn’t have to look at Ben’s injured arm. His leg twinged under the table, and his arm sent a flare of agony in response. Ben gritted his teeth and held the receiver up to his mouth. “Dom. Sort this shit out.”

“We will. Take care of Levi. Delta out.”

Ben wiped blood off the receiver, then gave the bloodstained table an appraising look. He was starting to feel woozy. He wiped the rest of the blood up with his shirt, then eased himself up and stumbled toward the hallway.

He opened the door and came to a halt as he came face to face with Levi. Levi was hugging the first aid kit, and he was so pale that Ben worried he’d somehow missed a wound when he checked Levi over earlier.

Levi’s gaze darted to Ben’s bloody shirt. He didn’t pass out. He didn’t even shudder. He forcibly peeled his eyes from Ben’s wound and lifted his chin defiantly. “Take your shirt off.”

Ben didn’t move. He was ninety percent sure Levi wasn’t hitting on him. Levi did some pretty stupid shit, but he clearly wasn’t in a cockteasing mood like he had been back in the woods.

“Ben,” Levi said, his voice growing steadier with each word. “Take your fucking shirt off. Wait, let’s do that in the bathroom. You can put your shirt in the bath.”

With that, Levi stomped down the hall. Ben watched him go, incredulous. Was Levi really suggesting he help Ben with his gunshot wound?

Levi turned, looking livid when he spotted Ben still in the laundry room doorway. “Is the blood loss affecting your hearing? Move! I don’t want to draw this out any longer than we need to.”

“What the hell are you drawing out?” Ben asked. “I know you’re not stitching me up.”

“Think again, motherfucker,” Levi said. He clearly wanted to sound badass, and he might have, if his voice didn’t crack. He held up a string of surgical thread that had a needle dangling from it. Apparently, Ben had been too distracted to notice.

“Already got the needle threaded,” Levi continued. “Hurry up.”

He shouldered his way into the bathroom. Ben stared into the empty hallway for a while longer, trying to decide if he wanted to laugh. Then he plodded down the hallway and into the bathroom, where Levi was setting up the first aid kit on the sink.

“Great,” Levi said, his voice still wobbling. “Sit down on the bath… thing. The lip! Lip of the bathtub, sit on it. And take your shirt off.”

Ben fumbled at his shirt buttons, his fingers slick with blood and sweat. After two attempts Levi groaned and sank to his knees on the bathroom tiles.

“Never mind, move.” Levi only hesitated for a moment. Then he started to undo the rest of Ben’s flannel shirt. He was operating mostly on feel, since he couldn’t look directly at the bloodstained fabric.

Ben blamed the blood loss on the powerful urge to sink his hand into Levi’s thick hair. He gripped the edge of the tub instead, watching Levi tremble as he undid the last buttons.

“I hope you’re not planning on looking away while you stitch me up,” Ben said as he gingerly eased his shirt off, one shoulder at a time.

“Fuck off,” Levi snapped.