Page 38 of Romancing the Reaper

I can’t stop. Every time I try to sit back down, the rage inside of me boils up from the constant simmer and threatens to boil over entirely.

After an hour or two, the walls start to feel like they are closing in around me.

The front door beeps. I practically sprint to the door and press my ear against it, searching for any sound that might indicate what’s happening.

He better be coming right the fuck back in here to explain himself. If the first words out of his lying, traitor’s mouth aren’t an apology then I don’t think I’m going to be able to take this. I can’t do this with a man like him. He better tell me that he reconsidered and that Jeremy is just fine.

No matter what he says, he best be ready for me to unleash my wrath upon him like the fires of hell itself.

Heavy footsteps move at an irregular pace down the hallway. I hear something crashing in the hallway and then another door bangs open.

It sounds like Kieran’s bulky frame hits the wall for a moment, and then he shambles the rest of the way to this door. Only it doesn’t open. Not at first. I’m just about to start kicking it with everything that I have left inside of me when it finally beeps open.

Fury boils inside of me, aimed like an arrow at the man in the doorway - but the sight of him is like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head.

I don’t think that I’ve ever seen that much blood on a single person before.

My stomach churns, but mercifully I don’t have to run for my bucket.

Kieran staggers in, blood dripping on the floor as it slides down his arm. Something is wrong with his shoulder. His shirt has holes and tears in it, but the worst of his injuries seems to be focused mainly on his left leg, where he’s oozing blood from two different places.

My stomach drops as he moves heavily to the only chair in the room and practically collapses onto it. He leaves the door to the room open.

This is my chance to run. I could leave him in here and slam the fucking door shut on him just like he did to me. That would be poetic. But, something about the look on his face doesn’t sit right with me.

He’s in pain. He’s suffering. I wouldn’t wantanyoneto sit there suffering, but something about this feels… worse.

Despite my best efforts, my anger falters.

Is Jeremy still alive? Did he do this to him? He couldn’t have… right? Jeremy wouldn’t have picked up a gun… so something went wrong. My hands feel numb as I watch him tear what’s left of his shirt off of his chest with his good hand.

He grimaces as he pulls open the bottle of vodka from his pocket, and I regain sensation just moments before he’s about to pour the vodka on the wounds.

“Are those… gunshots?”

“No, fairy kisses,” he replies in a flat voice. I hate how condescending it sounds, but I did ask a dumb question.

“You really look like shit.”

“You should see the other guy.” he mutters. I can tell from how softly he’s speaking that he must be in a great deal of pain.

“If you weren’t bleeding, I would hit you right now.”

“Oh? How considerate you’ve become. I should get shot more often,” Kieran whispers again. Blood trickles down over the side of his face from a gash on his forehead above his eyebrow. I never thought that I would miss the confident demeanor that bordered on arrogance. I don’t like this. He can’t help himself. How is he supposed to get those bullets out?

Frowning, I hold my hand out for the bottle of vodka, snapping my fingers impatiently.

Kieran raises an eyebrow at me.

“Do you want my help or not?!” I grouse. He holds out the bottle to me finally, but even that simple movement seems difficult.

He must be a lot worse off than he’s letting on to be struggling so openly like this. He grabs a cloth and holds it out to me. He’s being surprisingly still, even as I pour the vodka into the open wound.

“You have to get the bullet out.” He mutters. “Forceps, in the bathroom on top of the medicine cabinet.”

I can keep helping him, or I can take the chance to run. If he wasn’t actively bleeding, I would. Maybe the pain will make him pass out while I patch him up and then I can leave. I don’t have to stay after that. Yet, I’m already grabbing the forceps and coming back into the room.

“I don’t know what to do…” I confess. I’m sure that Cristiano would know how to do something like this. Hell, any of his men would likely know how to do this sort of thing easily.

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