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Beau would get a real kick out of how things had gone down—at least he would if I hadn’t put his business at risk. I wouldn’t have come here if I hadn’t thought I’d lost Trigger’s men. To be fair, I had lost them for a while. The men who’d shot at us were not the same men who’d followed me out of the bayou. I hadn’t anticipated that Trigger would send someone ahead to watch for me on the road to New Orleans.
The boy returned with the medical kit, but instead of handing it to me, he knelt by my chair and opened it while studying my arm.
“You’ve lost a lot of blood.” His voice was soft, and the color was gone from his face again.
“So let’s get it stopped.”
“Right.” He started looking through the supplies in front of him.
“Are you really planning to do this for me? Because you look like you might pass out any second.”
“You’re not going to be able to do this yourself. How are you even going to get your shirt off?”
“I’ll find a way.”
He huffed in reply.
“If you’re going to be my savior, I should at least know your name.”
A brief smile crossed his face as he looked up. “I’m Leland.”
“Okay, Leland. The first thing you need to do is cut my t-shirt away from the wound.”
When he picked up the safety shears from the medical kit, I noticed his hands were steadier than I’d expected. I supposed he was used to holding tools in high-pressure situations, seeing as he worked on hundred-thousand-dollar cars, some of which belong to mobsters and other people he wouldn’t want to disappoint.
Leland cut up the sleeve all the way to the neck. “I’ve got to pull this back now. It’s going to hurt.”
“It hurts already. Just do it.” He hesitated, so I grabbed the shirt and ripped it away from the wound. It felt like he’d ripped half the skin off my arm. “Jesus!” I bit down on my lip to keep from saying anything else.
“You don’t have to hold it in. I already think you’re pretty fucking tough.”
I liked Leland more and more every moment I was with him. I really wanted to get my hands on the boy.
When he glanced up and caught me staring, I cleared my throat and focused on the medical kit. “Hand me some alcohol.”
Leland shook his head and pressed his lips together. “Just tell me what to do.”
I wanted to fucking ravish him, but I didn’t think strip and hold your legs up was the type of instruction he wanted. Could he really bandage me up without fainting, though? “You don’t have to—”
“I’m not going to ask you to do this yourself when I’m right here. You’ve been shot. It’s the least I can do to help you.”
“Fine. Get the alcohol and pour it on the wound to clean it.”
Leland winced, obviously thinking about how bad that would hurt.
“I can take it.” He raised his brows and looked at me like he didn’t believe that for a second. “Do it.”
He shrugged, popped open the alcohol, and did as I said.
I hissed as it burned over the wound. “Fuck. Fucking shitstick. Son of a bitch.”
Leland frowned. “If you need to lie down or—”
“I don’t need to fucking lie down. I need this bullet out of me.”
“You need a doctor.”
“I’m not going back to jail,” I snarled.
“Why do you think you would? You’re the victim here.”
“If I tell the police what happened, then I’m dead whether they put me away or not. Those men are angry with me now, but if I snitch on them… I might as well shoot myself.”
“Wha—no, never mind. What should I do next?”
I talked Leland through removing the bullet, cleaning the wound again, and bandaging me up. He made it through, but he was white as a sheet by the time he was done.
“Leland, look at me.”
3
Leland
I wanted to find the strength to meet Snake’s gaze. I sure as hell didn’t want to look at the ugly wound on his arm anymore, but I couldn’t fight the churning of my stomach any longer. I scrambled away, barely making it to a trash can where I retched up everything I’d eaten that day and possibly some of my internal organs.
When I was finished, I hung over the trash can, sweaty, weak, and embarrassed as fuck.
“Are you all right, cher?”
“No, but I’m still better off than you.”
He huffed. “I’m not sure about that.”
I turned my head just enough to see him, then wished I hadn’t. The blood stains on his arm and the way his t-shirt was cut away did nothing to detract from how hot he was. In fact, they accentuated his bad-boy image.
I had no business messing around with a man like him, and now, even if I truly wanted to, I was sure I’d lost my chance. He was still hot as hell after I’d tortured him, and I was sitting here with the taste of vomit in my mouth, covered in sweat, having proved to him just how weak I was as if my scrawniness and the fact I barely looked legal wasn’t enough of a disadvantage.
