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I wince.
His eyes are almost apologetic as he confirms my suspicions. “We have alcohol, if you want a shot before I do it. Or painkillers.”
I snort. I may be delirious, but I’m not stupid enough to take any liquor or pills from them. “No. Just fucking do it.”
He gives me a lopsided grin while Dylan sighs somewhere in the background.
“That’s my girl. I knew you could take a little pain.”
A shiver races down my spine at his words.
I keep my eyes focused on the ceiling, refusing to look at either of them. Instead, I bring my attention to their scents—spice and earth melding together in an aroma that brings me comfort.
But as soon as they patch me up, I need to find a way out of here. I don’t have time to feel grateful for what they’re doing.
There’s no room for compassion.
“I’ll check on Brock while you take care of her,” Dylan says, the couch dipping with the change in weight. I sense Killian taking his place and hear the rustle of supplies. There’s a metallicclink, and he hands me his belt.
“For you to bite down on,” he says at my panicked expression.
Oh, God.
This is really going to hurt.
“Ready?” He asks me, his voice low.
I concentrate on his scent and close my eyes, holding the belt close to my mouth.
No.
“I guess so.”
My teeth sink into the leather at the first touch of tweezers.
