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“You’re my angel,” Lance croaks, his body weakening and the shirt I’m pressing against the bullet hole does nothing but soak even more. The fluid looks black in the darkness.
“Giuliana? Lance?” Seth’s voice comes from the shadows, and a new wave of tears trickles from my eyes. Relief engulfs me for the moment, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Yes, here!”
When I see Seth walk up to us with an older man following, my body tenses. He must notice it in the dim light with the flashlights they’ve offered. “This is a friend; he’s a doctor,” Seth tells me, giving me a smile that calms me somewhat. “How long has he been out?” He gestures with his chin, and I realize Lance has closed his eyes.
“Oh god, no, just a few seconds.”
“I’ll take it from here,” the older man declares, and he, along with Seth, work on the man I love. Shutting my eyes, I turn away, not wanting to see them cut into his body. Seeing the blood has already made me woozy, and this isn’t helping at all.
Time passes, and Lance’s groans and grunts of pain are like a goddamn soundtrack to my nightmares. Once he’s finally been stitched up, I glance at Seth who’s watching me intently.
“He’s going to be okay. He’s a stubborn fucker,” he offers with a smile.
“F-f-fuck you,” Lance bites back, jesting him with a husky tone. I know they’re close, and I’m happy he has someone who’s been there for him —a confidant.
“We need to get you to the house. I’ll call clean up,” Seth says, but Lance grabs his arm, then shakes his head.
“No. Arthur can’t know where we are. Not yet.” There’s an unspoken look between the two men, and Seth nods eventually.
“Come, let’s go.” Seth and the doctor help Lance into the backseat of the SUV they arrived in, and soon, I’m beside him, holding onto him as if he’s my lifeline and not the other way around.
A loud thud startles me, and I realize Seth has taken all our belongings from the bike and put them in the trunk. Not long after, we’re leaving the destruction behind and heading west. At least, that’s where I think we’re going.
* * *
It’s been twenty-four hours, and Lance has been asleep all this time. I’ve watched him cringe in agony, and he’s called out to me more times than I can count. The silence in the room is unbearable, and I want to turn some music on, but I also don’t want to wake him.
He’s asleep at the moment, his long dark lashes fluttering over his cheeks. I take in his ches
t, torso, arms — the parts of him that aren’t bandaged. Ink adorns most of his smooth, tanned skin. A lion fills his right bicep, and I wonder if he got that after I left because I don’t remember it.
When my gaze trails back up to his handsome, rugged face, I’m met with dark eyes. I can’t help but smile. “Hey, you.” I lean in, pressing my lips to his forehead.
“Hey, baby girl,” he groans. “How long have I been out?”
“Mm, a day. How are you feeling? Can I get you something?” I question, watching him painfully scoot up on the bed. I want to reach for him, but one thing I learned about Lance is that he’s independent. If I offer my assistance, he’ll only say no thank you and tell me to do something other than help him.
“I need to go to your father,” he tells me. “I’m not letting you go, and now that his deal with the Cartel is about to rain more shit down on him, he’s not going to be happy.”
“Are you really worried about my dad?” I sound incredulous, and I know he hears it because his dark eyes meet mine. “I mean . . .”
“Come here,” he growls, crooking his finger to call me closer. “I want you on me.” His words turn dark, dangerous, and when I move over him, I straddle his thighs. His hands grip my ass painfully, causing me to whimper. “This is what I need,” he tells me with a smirk.
Lance controls my movements. Pulling me closer, then tugging me back, so I’m rubbing myself over his thickness. “Lance.” His name is a plea, a whimper, and he only responds with a satisfied grunt.
“I want you, baby girl,” he confesses, looking into my eyes. There are no lies between us, no more hiding who we are or what we want. This is it. I’m about to have sex for the first time, and to say I’m nervous is an understatement.
“You’re hurt.”
“Fuck that. I’ve been worse,” he growls. Scooting off the bed, he lifts me with far too much effort. I may be short, but his stitches must be threatening to pull loose.
“Lance, you’re not—”
He moves as fast as he can, laying me down on the mattress. The softness is a stark contrast to the man before me. He’s hard in every way. My sweater finds the floor, and I notice the wince on his face when he shoves his boxer briefs to the carpet.
“I want this, Lance. I want you to take it,” I confess easily.
