Page 6 of Wanted By a King

“A scratch?!” she squeaks. “That’s not a scratch. That’s a gaping hole.”

I chuckle, even though I’m quickly losing every ounce of energy I have.

“Grab that bottle of Jack too.” I gesture my head to the bench, and Zoe’s gaze follows, seeing the nearly full bottle.

She doesn’t waste any time, getting everything needed and placing it on the table before hovering around awkwardly as I rummage through the kit and get out the supplies needed.

“I think I ruined your tattoo,” she states, her eyes darting to the open wound in my shoulder, and I shrug.

“There’s nothing like a bullet wound to scar up a man’s skin and make him look even fucking scarier.”

“Is this a joke to you?” she whispers, and I notice her eyes looking glassy. “I shot you. With an actual gun and a bullet, which is lodged under your skin. We should have gone to a hospital. Not a stupid cabin in the middle of nowhere…” She trails off, her gaze dropping to my bloodied shirt on the floor. “Unless… unless you really did bring me here to kill me. No one would hear my screams up here.”

Her whisper is shaky, her emotions starting to unravel, and she takes a nervous step backward.

“Don’t even think about it, Princess.” I growl, taking a quick swig from the open Jack bottle. The burn is good. Welcome. I’m going to need more of that to get this fucking bullet out. “If I were going to kill you, you’d already be dead. I didn’t bring you here to hurt you. Quite the opposite. So stop sulking and get your fine ass over here and help take this fucking bullet out that you so kindly put in.”

She eyes me for a few long beats, obviously fighting a war inside her head as to what to do. Should she run? Should she help me? Should she kill me?

Lucky for her, she steps forward and takes stock of the items I have laid out on the table.

“I’ll walk you through it.” I offer and she sighs.

“You do this often?”

“It’s a hazard of the trade.” I smirk, and slowly, so slowly, she returns it with a small smile of her own.

Lowering herself to the end of the bench seat, Zoe sits with one knee under her as she inspects the gash with a cringe, and I notice a trail of sweat form across her forehead.

“Breathe, Princess. We’ll do it together.”

She nods, her gaze locking with mine, but she doesn’t speak.

“First you need to sterilize the wound. Can you do that?”

She nods, her hands shaking as she picks up the irrigation solution and twists the plastic tube open. Inhaling a deep breath, she doesn’t spare my face another glance as she leans in closer, and quickly squirts the solution onto the wound.

Well, some of it gets the wound. A helluva lot of it ends up on my chest and the back of the seat.

“Maybe I should do it.”

She shakes her head in protest, her gaze darting to mine before she sees the smirk I’m wearing, and as if that helps to ground her, she starts to relax, and her hands stop shaking.

With more resolve this time, she picks up another irrigation tube and repeats the process, this time slower, and with a steady hand, she uses gauze to help clean around the outsides.

“Do I need to sterilize the tools as well?” she asks, pointing at the tabletop, and I nod, pointing to the small bottle of sterilizing alcohol, and the sealed packet with the large surgical tweezers in it.

“It can’t hurt. After you’ve sterilized it, you can give it to me. I’ll do it.”

Her mouth drops open, and I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to hold back my laugh.

“But you can’t do that. How will you see what you’re doing? There’s no mirror out here.”

“Princess, I don’t need a fucking mirror.” I scold as exhaustion grips me tighter. “I’ve done this more times than I can count so it’ll be easier if I do it.”

Ignoring me, Zoe finishes sterilizing the tweezers and shakes her head. “No.”

“No?” I ask, my brows shooting high.

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