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“And wouldn’t that be a good thing?”
She shut her mouth, the shame creeping across her face. If I died, her family would be safe. But she couldn’t stop herself from wanting me to be alive, from wanting me to be safe. Her emotions were ripping apart in two very different directions. She still struggled to make sense of them.
Just as I did. I pulled my sweater over my head and dropped it on the ground. It was soaked in too much blood, so now it was ruined.
When her eyes saw the blood on my arm and the t-shirt wrapped around the wound, she covered her mouth with both hands. “Jesus…”
“I need your help again. You know what to do.”
“We need to take you to a hospital.”
“No.” I opened the cabinet and pulled out the first aid kit. It was packed with everything I needed, because this wasn’t my first time getting shot. I sat on the couch and opened the kit. I pulled the t-shirt off before I poured vodka over the wound.
It burned like a bitch.
“Bones…” Vanessa sat beside me, pain in her eyes. “We should get you to a doctor.”
“I said no.”
“I have no medical training. You’ve lost so much blood—”
“I’ve lost more before.” I handed her the tweezers. “You should be a pro at this by now.”
She gave up the argument when she knew I wouldn’t be changing my mind. She grabbed my elbow and then dug the metal into my wound. She found the small bullet after a few seconds then carefully removed it.
It hurt more than the vodka, but I didn’t show a hint of my discomfort.
She set the bullet on the table, covered in blood. “What happened?” She poured more alcohol over the wound then grabbed the needle and thread.
“I took out a few of his men, and it was going like I thought it would. But he had backup I didn’t know about. I was outnumbered, and I didn’t have enough rounds to compete. So I tossed a grenade and ran for it. I got shot before I made it to the alleyway.”
She concentrated on threading my wound closed, but she couldn’t mask her terror. “So you didn’t kill him?”
I hated admitting the truth out loud. I hated admitting I failed. “No.”
“I’m sorry…” She kept threading, getting half the wound closed in a few minutes. “What now?”
“I’ll have to keep a low profile for a while before I try again.”
Her hands stopped working. “You’re kidding me, right?”
I stared straight ahead, ignoring her pissed look. “You know I have to kill him.”
“Well, obviously, you can’t. You’re just going to get yourself killed.” She raised her voice, yelling at me as she held the needle and thread. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. I’ve never met a man more stubborn—”
I kissed her because it was the only way I could shut her up.
It worked—like always.
I pulled away and gave her an authoritative look with my eyes. “I know I am. And you’re probably right, it will get me killed. But it’s my decision. Now stitch me up, and let’s move on.”
She stared at me like she might say something, but then she thought the better of it and finished the job. “The times when my parents are the angriest at me is when I put myself in dangerous situations. I snuck out one night when I was sixteen and went driving with some friends. When my father found out…” She shook her head. “I can’t remember the last time I’d seen him that angry. There were no boys involved and we weren’t drinking and driving, but he was furious that I was out alone with a bunch of girls in the middle of the night in Florence.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because it’s every parents’ worst nightmare for their child to put themselves in danger. She did the best she could to protect you and raise you, to give you a better life than she had. And you’re doing a piss-poor job of showing your gratitude.”
Vanessa focused on her artwork during the day, doing her best to ignore me while the sun was up. She was pissed at me for a lot of reasons, but her biggest reason of all at the moment was because I’d been shot.
She could barely look at me.
But when the sun was gone and the lights were out, she was as needy and affectionate as she’d always been. She fucked me harder than I fucked her, needing all of me to reach her climax. She clawed at me, whispered promises to me while I was deep inside her. Our connection was borderline spiritual, and we moved together like we were of one mind.
We were of one mind.
But once the sun was up, she acted like she hated me again.
That was fine. I hated her too.
