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I took a breath, my eyes still glued to the wound on his thigh.
He spoke. Softer this time. “Princess, bleedin’ out all over your floor.”
“Yeah, sorry,” I whispered. I crossed to the bench under the bay window and retrieved my sewing basket. The most taxing thing I’d ever sewn was a button, but I’d picked up some tricks from Edward over the years. The man would have a scar, but at least his stitches would be straight. On my way back to the table, I opened a drawer and grabbed a couple of kitchen towels.
“Bullet still in there?” I asked, sitting in a kitchen chair.
He grunted, which I took as agreement, so I grabbed my purse and pulled the tweezers out of my makeup bag.
I doused the tweezers in vodka. “This is gonna hurt,” I said, as I dug into the wound.
The man didn’t move, but he breathed out a lowfuckas his phone buzzed.
He flipped open the phone and answered, “Talon.”
Talon? Who names their kid Talon?I wondered, as he flexed his leg, and I grasped the slug.
Talon paused to listen and then, “Biggest fucking mansion on West Gaston. Stupid mother fucker left his wife and kid here with shit security.” Talon cut his eyes to me for emphasis.
I ignored the look and held up the slug for Talon to see. At his nod, I dropped it on the table.
Talon continued, “Yeah, I can ride. I’m shot, not dead.” Talon closed his phone to end the call and then slid it into a pocket.
The worst part over, I threaded the needle and bit my lip as I sewed in twelve tiny stitches into the most muscular thigh I’d ever seen.
Knotting the thread, I looked up, “You need a bandage.”
Talon ripped a strip from the bottom of his tee and tied it around his thigh. “Bandaged.”
The roar of Harleys split the silence, and I jumped.
Talon glanced toward the back door, the door that now boasted a shattered window, and then at the blood on the floor. “I gotta go. You good to clean this up?”
“Yeah,” I muttered, looking down at my ruined suit and shoes.
Talon picked up the deformed metal from the table and dropped it into my hand. “You got my marker. You ever need anything, you show this, and I’m there.”
Then he turned for the door.
I tightened my fist around the bloody bullet and for the first time noticed the emblem on the back of Talon’s black leather vest.
“Iron Dragons?” I asked.
Talon looked over his shoulder, “My club.” Then he gestured toward the door. “And tell your man to get some security in here. Jesus.”
I frowned, “My man is currently screwing his O.R. nurse.” Then I sucked in a breath, stunned that I’d actually said it out loud.
Talon’s body froze, and his expression blanked.
He took in the house and then looked down his nose, almost on a sneer. “I know the house is the shit, princess, and the cars and the jewelry. And maybe his money is worth it. But have some fucking pride. Not sure you got a type besides rich, but you’re not bad looking. There’s probably somebody out there who wouldn’t fuck you over.”
I drew back like he’d slapped me, his words nearly as painful as finding Edward’s car in the Mulberry Inn lot. “I just ruined a four thousand dollar suit and an eight hundred dollar pair of shoes for you, and you talk to me like that?”
Talon gestured to my hand, “That bullet’s worth more than those god awful clothes you got on. Make sure you spend it smart.”
And then Talon was gone.
Much later, when the cleanup was done, I’d bagged my bloody suit and shoes, and washed the bullet in vodka, I sat at my laptop and looked up the most ruthless divorce attorney in Savannah.
