Page 8 of Lord of Ruin

He lifted a single eyebrow, the twinkling in his eyes far too mesmerizing.

“Fine. Jenna. My name is Jenna.”

“See. That didn’t hurt so badly, did it?”

“What’s your name?”

“I think it’s better you didn’t know that. Don’t you?”

“Then I’ll just call you asshole.” I pulled a clean towel from one of the drawers, forced to reach around the man to grab the rubbing alcohol. Just being in close proximity to him make my toes curl, but the strange rush of electricity when we were only centimeters apart caught me off guard. He was watching everything I did when I opened the cap, pouring a hefty amount of liquid on the cloth.

“Whatever will work, sweetheart.”

“Please stop calling me that.” I lifted my gaze then tried my best to concentrate on his injury. Unfortunately, the bullet hadn’t been a through and through. I’d removed a bullet or two from hunting dogs while in school, but this was entirely different. “This might sting.”

“As I said, I can take it.”

As I proceeded to clean the wound, he didn’t even tense. Maybe the guy was made of Teflon or maybe he really had been shot dozens of times. As I allowed my eyes to roam his chest, I noticed healed bullet wounds. Or maybe they were knife wounds. I wasn’t certain. “What business are you in, asshole?”

“Casinos and wineries. A couple nightclubs.”

It was my turn to laugh.

“You’re surprised.” I wasn’t certain whether his question was rhetorical or genuinely curious.

“I’m certain you’re also into extortion and blackmail, and heinous acts of violence as well. Right? I can’t imagine what your hobbies are.”

“You’re very opinionated for such a beautiful woman.”

I took a deep breath as I pulled the scalpel in my hand, pouring some alcohol over the blade. I was more nervous than I’d ever been performing surgery on a furry baby. “I need to be. Living in New York, you either are tough or you become a victim.” I placed the blade against his skin yet pulled it back. “What am I saying? I am a goddamn victim after all. I don’t know if I can do this. You’re not a dog or a kitty. I’ve even worked on some wild animals given a class I took but a human? I could damage your muscle or your nerves.”

He snapped his hand around my wrist. “It’s okay. I trust you. If something happens, you’re not to blame so stop worrying. Trust in all the training you received from an Ivy League school. I’m curious why you became a veterinarian.”

Now he chose to toss that back into my face. I swallowed and shifted into the zone I forced myself to be in when I worked on furry babies. “When I was little, I used to care for squirrels if something happened. I was a fearless kid, even bringing snakes into the house. My mother was horrified but I adored all creatures. We had a dog when I was growing up, a beautiful Irish setter. One day something happened, and he got his leg caught in a hole. My parents were kind of freaking out, my baby sister bawling her eyes out. I was the calm one at eight years old. I saved him from losing his leg, or so the old veterinarian told my parents at the time. After that, I just knew what I wanted to be when I grew up and I followed through. It’s been tough, especially since my parents don’t have much money, but I did it and I’m tremendously proud of myself for working two or sometimes three jobs while keeping straight A’s.”

Why the hell I was spouting off to him about my accomplishments was silly but just another product of how nervous I was. I’d been in difficult situations before, almost mugged once but nothing like this. Nothing prepared you for facing a man who’d killed someone else. It didn’t matter what the reasons were, but I asked anyway as I tried to be gentle in searching for the bullet.

“Why did you kill that guy?”

“You mean other than he was about to put a bullet in your head?” He lowered his head, his hot breath cascading across my forehead and cheek and I was certain I’d become lightheaded all over again.

I lifted my head and the realization our lips were less than an inch apart made my mouth slide into Sahara dry. “Yeah, that.”

“Because he betrayed my family. He stole money and information, eager to provide it to one of our enemies. I couldn’t allow that to happen. I traveled a long distance to make certain he never did it again.”

“Oh.” I had no idea what to say. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s funny. I think you mean that.”

“Actually, I do.”

“Why don’t you tell me more about yourself.”

Maybe the jerk was trying to get me to relax. Fine. I’d talk. I’d always been good at that.

I continued working, jabbering on about the stupid jobs I’d had while in college, the friendships I’d developed, and even the reason I’d selected Brooklyn. As well as adding in why I had like one hundred dollars and change in my bank account. The insanity only continued when I mentioned my boyfriend of three years had dumped me. Well, that wasn’t entirely accurate since I’d gone into a diner to celebrate signing the lease with my besties, finding him locking lips with some unknown floozy. “And my goddamn landlord is a prick. He came onto me, telling me that if I slept with him, I’d get a break on my lease. Who does that shit?”

Why did I sense he was paying very close attention to everything I said?

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