Page 19 of Slay Bells Ring

“Turns out I didn’t drink nearly enough before bed,” Kane remarks with a sigh, still kneeling by the fire. The orange light dances across his face. “I don’t sleep if I’m not self-medicating. Not anymore. I, uh, thought I heard something, so I came out. A part of me thought it was you shuffling around, but it wasn’t.”

If ever there was a night for Kane to not self-medicate, I’m glad it was tonight. I really don’t want to think about what could’ve happened if he hadn’t heard. Hell, it was a miracle I woke up when I did, otherwise that man could’ve killed me while I was asleep. How horrible would that have been?

I swallow hard before I say, “Thank you.” Thanking my parents’ killer for saving my life wasn’t on my bingo card for this trip. Then again, this entire thing hasn’t gone how I thought it would.

Kane stays kneeling by the fireplace, not saying a word.

“What do you think he wanted?” I ask, ever-aware of the corpse not far from us.

“I don’t know. I’ll search him once this fire gets going, see if I can find anything on him that’ll give us some answers. Then I’ll drag his body outside so it doesn’t start to stink.” The way he talks about it, so off-handedly, makes my stomach churn.

Maybe I’m not cut out to be a killer after all.

It takes me a moment to ask this next question. It’s like it doesn’t want to come out. “Do you think he was working alone?”

Again, his answer is, “I don’t know. Guess we’ll find out if another comes knocking.” When I don’t say a word, he glances over his shoulder at me and adds, “That was a joke. If there’s more, they won’t knock.”

“Ha-ha.” So not funny.

Kane stands and wanders away, leaving me with the corpse for a while. I don’t know where he went off to or why, but when he reemerges it’s plain by the bottle in his hand. Half-used, it’s the same one he poured on his chest and drank from earlier, when he was cleaning the stab-wound on his chest.

Something in me snaps. “Really? You’re going to drink now? You thinknow’sa good time to get a buzz going?” I can’t hide the disdain from my voice. This guy…

He sets the bottle on the sofa bed next to me, and then he wanders into the kitchen and grabs the first aid kit, which he deposits next to me as well. I have no idea what he’s doing, and I’m even more speechless when he groans and takes off his shirt—in that sexy way only guys can: one hand on the back of the neckline, up and over the head in one smooth motion.

The problem with having boobs, or one of them, at least. We can’t be nearly as cool.

The cool, attractive way he took off his shirt is dimmed by what I immediately notice the moment he tosses the shirt onto the recliner nearby: a second wound on his chest, this one in his right pectoral, just below his shoulder. Round in shape, the injury oozes blood down hissculpted muscles, and the light of the fire makes the numerous scars on his torso stick out.

“Holy…” I trail off as Kane lumbers toward me, sitting down next to me in place of the bottle, which he snatches up. “You got shot.” I remember the gun going off, but when it happened, Kane didn’t so much as blink, so I thought… I had no idea the bullet landed anywhere close.

“Yeah,” he mutters as he quickly unscrews the lid. He takes a sip before he leans over the edge of the sofa bed and pours some on the fresh wound. He’s so off-handed about it, like it’s no biggie, that I don’t know how to respond. “He almost did your job for you.”

Making jokes at a time like this. What’s wrong with him?

Kane rolls his right shoulder, then whispers a hard, “Fucking hell. Do me a favor and look on my back. Do you see an exit wound?”

I lean around his body and check out his back. Now that the fire is going again, there’s plenty of light in the cabin, far enough to see that there is, unfortunately, no exit wound for the bullet. “No. What does that mean?”

“Look in the first aid kit,” he tells me as he takes another sip from the bottle. “I want to say I saw tweezers in there.”

My heart skips a beat. “Tweezers? You’re going to dig the bullet out?”

“No,you’regoing to dig the bullet out.” I’m seconds from arguing with him, but he shuts me up by saying, “I’m not as good with my left hand. You need to do it. I saved your goddamn life, Holly, so you’re going to look for tweezers. If there aren’t any, then—”

“I’mnot sticking my fingers in your… yourhole,” I whisper harshly, though I don’t know why. It’s just the two of us. The two of us and the dead guy.

Kane sends a glare my way. “You’ll stick those fingers anywhere I want them, little killer. Now find the fucking tweezers so we can get this shit over with.” The way he says it, I can tell he’s not going to let up. He’s a righty, and the wound is in his right shoulder. I could root around in his flesh easier than he could.

But… ew. I don’t want to.

I reach for the first aid kit on my other side and dig through it. Everything in it is old, yes, but most everything is also still in its original packaging, which at least means it hasn’t been used before. I find the tweezers and tear into the old, yellowed packaging, and once I have it in my hand, I freeze.

What am I doing here? Seriously, what the fuck did I think I’d do? Pop in the cabin for a quick murder, have a cup o’ tea, and leave? I should’ve known it would turn into the craziest few days of my life.

Kane grabs the tweezers from me and says, “Hands.”

Instinctively, I outstretch my hands away from the couch, and he pours some alcohol on them, and then on the tweezers. Once everything is coated in that strong, stinky stuff, he hands them back to me.

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