Page 20 of The Wages of Sin

He tilted his head toward the bathroom. “You’ll find everything you need in the gray box in the cupboard.”

I shot up, raced into the bathroom, and threw open the cupboard doors. There on the middle shelf, next to a pile of perfectly folded white towels and washcloths, was a gray tackle box. I grabbed it, along with a handful of linens.

I couldn’t have been in there for more than a few seconds, but by the time I returned, he’d already managed to peel his shirt off. Underneath it was what looked to be a blood-soaked dishtowel held in place by several strips of duct tape wrapped around his waist.

Suddenly, I was grateful that I’d already seen him fully naked since the last thing I needed now was to be distracted by the sight of his near-perfect body. Especially given what I had to ask next.

“You’ll need to remove your pants as well,” I told him.

He didn’t hesitate and immediately started unhooking his leather belt. “Boxers, too?”

I shook my head and started spreading the towels out behind him on the bed. “They should be fine. Just tug them down a little before you lie down.”

While he did what I asked, I opened the tackle box.

Damn.

I blinked, taking in the contents. The thing was better stocked than the Emergency Room I’d interned in. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so surprised, given the sheer amount of scars on his body. Clearly, this kit had seen a lot of use over the years.

“This is a pretty impressive impromptu pressure bandage,” I said, attempting to break the tense silence hanging over the room. “I’m guessing this isn’t your first attempt at one.”

He didn’t reply as I pulled on a pair of latex gloves and took out the bandage scissors. Honestly, I didn’t expect him to.

Not that I’d expected any of this.

I tried not to think of how quickly my day had turned into a strange one. One second, I’d been all ready to scrub kitchen tiles, and the next, I was snipping duct tape off a man’s rock-hard abs and peeling back a blood-soaked rag.

Just like old times, I thought to myself.

It was nice to know all the skills I’d honed working twelve-hour shifts in emergency medicine hadn’t gone anywhere—especially now that I was able to get a good look at the four-inch laceration running across his lower abdomen.

“All right,” I said. “The good news is the wound looks superficial, but I’m going to have to clean it before I can be sure.” I looked up from the cut and into his eyes. “What’s your pain level right now?”

“I’m fine,” he said, repeating what he’d told me right after I’d walked in.

I wasn’t sure I believed him—especially since he’d also described a gaping abdominal laceration as “nothing”—but I’d have to take his word for it.

“Okay, unfortunately, that might change. This next part is going to sting,” I told him honestly, pulling saline solution out of the box.

He surprised me by giving a bitter little laugh. “I know.”

Right. This was far from his first rodeo. “I’ll be as quick as possible,” I promised.

His belly tensed, and he sucked in a quick breath as I irrigated the cut. Blood-tinged water ran over taut, beige skin and onto the towels underneath him on the bed. Fortunately, I was good to my word, and it took less than a minute to clean the area.

“Done! Now I can give you something for the pain before I stitch you up,” I told him as I filled one of the syringes with anesthetic. “You know, most people don’t have bottles of lidocaine in their first aid kits.”

“I’m not most people.”

“Yeah, that’s quickly becoming very clear,” I said.

“Neither are you.”

Now, it was my turn not to acknowledge his words. It didn’t matter how desperately I wanted to know what he meant by that. There was no way in hell I was going to ask.

Instead, I let the awkwardness hang in between us as I delivered four small injections, numbing the area around the wound. Then, I plucked a C-shaped needle and suture pack from the kit.

“Okay, I’m going to start closing this up,” I finally said. “You might feel some pressure and tugging, but if you feel any pain, let me know.”

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