Page 22 of Gunner

“I’ve sutured the wound.”

“I might puke all over the place.”

She points to a trashcan with a white plastic bag by the side of the bed. She hooks the IV bag to the hook she’s already got in the ceiling above the nightstand. Unless I tear this out of myself and bleed all over the pristine furnishings in here, I’m going to have to do as she says.

Slip into her bed.

Cover up my vile, filthy body, my black as sin soul, with her white sheets.

“Gunner. Now.” Her voice is hard. She’s done arguing. She looks half done with me period, dark circles under her eyes, wet spots on her clothes, arms crossed.

I sit down on the edge of the bed. It’s almost too much. I’m shaking. Badly. I try to make it stop, clenching my teeth tight and focusing on getting my shit together, but it only makes it worse. My teeth start chattering against each other.

Diletta’s warm, small hand lands on my good shoulder. She guides me, ostensibly, but her palm flattens out and smooths the smallest circles over my inked back. Thank fuck I never got anything written in Italian. In any language, actually. There’s only the bowed stone angel, wings spread wide. The club’s logo.

A few of my club brothers have the angel on their back or inked on their chest. What better way to belong to something than to etch it into your skin?

That angel might be an identical copy of the club’s logo, but I didn’t get it for them. That angel is another entity completely. If her head was tilted up, she would have had Diletta’s face. It would have freaked her out completely.

More than she already must be.

She should be.

Except… the woman who points at the bed is completely calm. She’s absolutely certain. She’s in control of herself and the situation.

“Do you need some help?” she asks, far more kindly than I deserve.

“I’m not getting in there.”

Her face hardens. “What? Why? What’s wrong?”

“That’s your bed.”

She rolls her eyes. “I know it’s my bed, but I’ll take the couch tonight. Or the chair. I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“No.”

I love the way her lips purse. She’s digging in. She wants me to stay, even though I shouldn’t be here in the first place. I’m her goddamn stalker and she’s just showered me, patched me up, and offered me her bed. That’s more kindness in an hour than I’ve received in an entire lifetime, and it hits hard. I don’t feel so numb at the center of my chest anymore.

“If you don’t get in there right now…” She points at the right side of the bed that she’s readied. “Then you’re out in the rain.”

“That’s cold, Haley Black.”

Fire erupts in the depths of her eyes at the use of her full name, illuminating the golden flecks. There are a few hazel spokes, if you look closely. They’re so vivid right now. “The coldest. That’s me.”

“Still no.”

She sighs, knowing that I know that she wouldn’t turf me out for anything. “Please. Get into bed. I need you to do that for me.”

“I’ll be the one taking the couch.”

“Okay. Couch it is. But just- hold on. Let me get it ready. Wait there, please.”

I’m unnaturally good at following orders. That’s what made me such a good soldier. I was the Don’s guard dog, his feral little pet.

I’m reaching my limits, still trembling. It’s stupid to argue, but I can’t get in that bed. I can’t foul it with the blood on my hands, the black in my veins. It’s bad enough that I’m inside this house already. That I let Diletta touch me.

Diletta’s back, carrying a blanket over one arm. “I have the couch all set up. You’ll need this. I’ll come with you to hook up the IV bag. I can put on a movie for you. Which chick flick is your favorite? I reckonThelma and Louisewould be a good choice, or maybe you’d preferThere’s Something About Mary, so you can take notes on stalking.”

---