Page 85 of Crossover

Grayson Lockwood was the most stubborn human in history; it was official. I could see he had zero intention of ever stopping and treating his injury.

“Okay, fine.” I tugged at my seat belt so I could shift slightly. “If you don’t care about yourself, then how about this? If you lose consciousness or become septic and die, you won’t be able to protect me.”

His lips thinned.

Jackpot.

“There’s a pharmacy coming up on the right. And a motel right next to it,” I said.

Grayson licked his teeth angrily, cocking his head like he couldn’t believe something as insignificant as a gunshot wound was about to slow him down.

Begrudgingly, he finally punched on the blinker and pulled into a pharmacy parking lot.

“Pharmacies have cameras,” he grumbled. “We need to be in and out. Quick.”

I nodded, understanding what was at stake. If those security cameras picked up our location, Daniel would close in on us, and this time, he probably wouldn’t send only one man.

49

IVY

I scanned the pharmacy shelves, my heart racing as I searched for the items needed to treat Grayson’s gunshot wound. The scent of antiseptic and the fluorescent lights only heightened my anxiety.

I swear, if he bleeds out on me, I’m going to stab myself to death with a pair of dull tweezers.

Meanwhile, my bleeding bodyguard walked around like a pit bull wearing a baseball cap, his focus darting between the security cameras and any patron that looked like they might even remotely try to hurt us. Even wounded, he radiated an aura of danger and protection.

First things first. Got to stop the bleeding. Gauze—lots and lots of gauze.

I tossed sterile gauze into my basket, with enough left over to change the dressings frequently.

He’d better not stop me from changing the dressing later, by the way.

Okay, next…antiseptic.

I pursed my lips; they only had the stinging kind, but maybe if he’d let me stop sooner, at a pharmacy closer to the shoot-out, they’d have had one that wouldn’t make his skin burn.

Tweezers went in the basket next. Might have to dig around and pull out any bullet fragments like a real-life version of the game Operation. Which brought me to my next item—painkillers.

I wish I had access to injectable numbing agents, but unfortunately for Grayson, all they had were topical creams and Advil. This was about to hurt something fierce. I shook my head and threw them in the basket.

When I finished getting all the supplies, we checked out and drove down the road to the closest motel, renting a room with the sole purpose of treating his wound.

Did he try to put up a fight again? Yep, but any threat of leaving me alone did the trick.

After scrubbing the bathroom counter with antibiotic soap, I laid down all the medical supplies.

“You got shot, trying to protect me,” I said. Half of me felt a wave of affection, the other half angry. If anyone should have a bullet, it should be me—the person who had the target on her back.

“Occupational hazard.”

I helped Grayson out of his jacket, noting the grimaces on his face anytime he had to move his arm. It was the same grimace he’d had when I’d hugged him in the forest, and I chided myself for not pushing him more on it back then.

“You should take your belt off,” I said.

“Why?” His eyebrow arched, a hint of amusement in his eyes despite the pain.

“To bite down on. I don’t have painkillers, and this is gonna hurt like a bitch.”

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