Page 65 of The Devil's Deal

“Why’d you come in here?” He lifts the gun inadvertently as he speaks.

“I heard a loud noise. I thought it was my father.”

He snickers. “Your father wouldn’t dare show his face here.”

He leans forward, placing the gun on the nightstand.

“Fuck!” he growls, landing a palm on his shoulder.

I tilt my head to the side. “Are you hurt?”

A groan is his only answer.

“Did you get shot?” My eyes widen as my heart slams into my throat.

“Let me see!” I hurry toward him, kneeling to a sitting position as I grab his wrist.

“I’m fine.” His eyes delve into mine, and there’s pain within them.

“You’re not,” I say in a low tone, afraid he’ll stop looking at me if I speak any louder.

I tug on his hoodie. “Take it off.”

“What the fuck can you do?” he questions.

“Depending on the severity, I can remove the bullet, clean it, wrap it. Do you have a doctor?”

Not the first time I’ve done it, I want to say. When my father got shot a few years back, Raquel walked me through what to do in case I ever needed to.

He smirks. “I have someone if I need it.”

“Great. But since they’re not here, you’ve got me. So stop being all macho and shit and take that damn thing off so I can see the wound.”

He rises to his feet, and so do I.

“Damn, princess,” he chuckles, all sure of himself. “If you wanted to see me naked that badly, all you had to do was ask.”

“Not interested,” I grumble. “And what did I tell you about that word?”

He laughs, taking off the hoodie and throwing it on the floor by my feet. There’s a white shirt, now stained with too much blood, wrapped around his arm.

“Why didn’t anyone take you to the doctor?”

He snickers with a groan. “They would’ve if they knew.”

I shake my head at his stubbornness.

He sits back down on the edge of the bed. “It’s just a graze. I’ll live.”

“You’re an idiot. This isn’t the movies. You know how dangerous a gunshot wound on the arm can be if you hit a damn artery?”

“Are you a doctor too now?”

“No, but my cousin is. I know some shit.”

He sighs deeply. “I didn’t hemorrhage out. Still breathing. So I think my arteries are good, baby. Don’t worry.” The last few words are said facetiously.

“I’m not worried.”

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