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Daze winces, his eyelids fluttering. “Fuck. I need to sleep.”
I’m not sure if I should let him. Though it isn’t like I have any other options. Within seconds, he starts snoring—or choking on his own blood for all I know.
All I can do is treat him with what little first-aid supplies I scrounge from his narrow bathroom. Which isn’t much. A roll of gauze and a few cotton pads are the best excuse for a bandage I can come up with. The superglue as well, considering all his wounds are deep enough to need it. When I finally finish, he’s deep asleep, slumped on the couch in a lazy posture that resembles someone taking a cat nap.
Not a guy battered and bruised with blood seeping through his fresh dressings.
“Dear God…” I tug at my cross and wrestle with another impulse to take him to a hospital. Call an ambulance.
Or just leave. He could die, and I can’t handle that again. Seeing a body. Touching it, searching for signs of life…
Ican’tdo that again.
An arrogant prick even while unconscious, Daze grunts as if to reassure me. The bastard is too stubborn to die. At least for now.
So, I sink onto the floor beside the couch and brace my back against it. My eyes drift shut as I listen to the steady cadence of his breathing. At least if he does die, there is one bright side.
At least I didn’t leave him alone.
EIGHTEEN
I wakeup to the sensation of someone running their fingers through my hair. Shock ricochets through me, and I wrench my eyes open, hope in my throat. For a second, I forget…
But the figure watching me warily isn’t my brother.
“Rise and shine, Freylie Frey,” Daze says. God, he sounds awful. He looks it too. His face is a smorgasbord of purplish bruises and dried blood. Still, he attempts what I can only assume is a smile.
“Holy crap,” I whisper, blinking back the remnants of sleep. “Are you sure about that hospital?”
“I feel peachy keen,” he says gruffly. He’s still lying flat, his head turned as far in my direction as he seems able to tolerate. Wincing, he tries to smile. “Better than that, even, considering the view.” He rakes his gaze down to my hip, but the expression lacks his usual bravado. He looks more agonized than lustful. “You have pretty green eyes, you know that? Even if you have four of them—”
“That’s it!” I haul myself upright and turn to face him. From this height, I tower over him, and the idea of it is oddly thrilling. His bulk dominates the couch leaving no ounce of space for me to occupy if I feel the urge to sit beside him. He watches me without moving as I wave my fingers in front of his face. “How many am I holding up?”
His good eye squints. “Twelve.”
I turn on my heel and scan the room for his cell phone. “I’m calling 911—”
“Relax!” He coughs, and I hear the couch cushions squeal with movement. “It was a joke.”
I flinch as his hand snags mine before I can go very far. One tug, and he easily pulls me back to the couch. Then he yanks, dragging me off balance.
I stagger and brace my hand against the back of the couch, but he doesn’t relent until I collapse on top of him.
“Stay,” he commands, patting my head like I’m a puppy. But his voice went deep again in that alarming, dizzying way that makes me question when I should be running away.
“Don’t make me beg,” he scolds when I hesitate. “It isn’t sexy. You are, though. Even with that virginal act you have going on.” He reaches out and tucks a piece of hair behind my ear, smoothing it into place. “How weird is that? You fuck a stranger more than once, and yet you still seem pure and shit. Perfect. You’re perfect—”
“You’re delirious,” I stammer, but his suddenly loose tongue gives me an opportunity. “If you want me to stay, then tell me the truth. What did Hale see?”
“Can I get a raincheck on the third degree?” he asks softly.
If he’s aiming to play on my pity, I think it’s working. His filthy, sweat-soaked shirt feels hot against my cheek, but he doesn’t smell as bad as he should. My nostrils flare as if to decipher why that might be. I’ve been with him long enough to know if he’d used cologne—he hasn’t. But his scent doesn’t exactly matter. Or so I tell myself.
“Then tell me something to make me stay,” I counter. “In all honesty, I don’t know anything about you.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” he says in a teasing tone. “You know I have a son. A bossy as hell older sister. You even learned that my old man used to run the largest MC outfit in town. That has to account for something. And that my ex had a lot of fucking baggage, Silas being the least of it all.”
“What happened back there wasn’t just some stupid fight, was it?” I ask despite his plea.
