Page 462 of Rage

Jaz takes a deep breath, his dark eyes searching mine. "I know this is difficult, but we need to consider your health. After what happened... it would be wise to test for sexually transmitted diseases."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, dragging me back to that night on the beach. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the memories away.

"And..." Jaz hesitates, his usual confidence faltering. "We should also check for... pregnancy."

A hysterical laugh bubbles up in my throat, but I swallow it down. "I have an IUD," I manage to say, my voice steadier than I feel.

Relief flashes across Jaz's face, quickly replaced by concern. "That's good, but we should still test for other things. STDs, infections... just to be safe."

I nod, grateful for his matter-of-fact approach. "Okay," I whisper.

Jaz reaches for my hand, his touch feather-light. "I can draw the blood myself," he offers. "You won't have to go to a clinic or explain anything to strangers."

Curiosity pricks at me. "You know how to do that?"

A shadow passes over his face. "I have... experience in many areas. Not all of it pleasant."

I don't press for details. We all have our demons, and Jaz has been nothing but respectful of my boundaries. I owe him the same courtesy.

"Alright," I agree. "Let's do it."

Jaz nods, squeezing my hand before standing. He moves with fluid grace, gathering supplies from a nearby cabinet. I watch him work, marveling at the contrast between his imposing physique and the delicate way he handles the medical equipment.

As he prepares my arm, swabbing the crook of my elbow with alcohol, Jaz clears his throat. "Bee," he begins, his voice hesitant. "I hope you don't mind me asking, but... if you didn't have the IUD, what would you have done?"

The question hangs between us, heavy with implication. I meet his gaze, unflinching. "I'm just glad it's my body and my choice," I say simply. "That I have the free will to take care of that." My words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning.

Jaz nods, a flicker of understanding passing through his dark eyes. "I respect that," he says softly, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down my spine. "Your body, your choice. Always."

He turns his attention back to my arm, his fingers tracing the delicate network of veins beneath my skin. The touch is clinical, but there's an underlying tenderness that makes my breath catch in my throat. I watch as he selects a needle, the metal glinting in the soft light of the room.

"This might pinch a little," Jaz warns, his eyes meeting mine. "Ready?"

I nod, steeling myself for the pain. But when the needle slides in, it's with such practiced precision that I barely feel it. Jaz works quickly and efficiently, filling several vials with myblood. The crimson liquid seems to glow in the dim light, a stark reminder of my vitality--and my vulnerability.

As he withdraws the needle, Jaz presses a cotton ball to the small puncture. His thumb rubs gentle circles on my skin, the motion soothing and intimate. "You did great," he murmurs, his praise warming something deep inside me.

I watch as he labels the vials, his handwriting a scrawl of barely legible letters. "How long until we know?" I ask, hating the tremor in my voice.

Jaz pauses, considering my question. "I have connections," he says carefully. "People who can run these tests quickly and discreetly. We should have results in a day or two."

The word 'connections' piques my curiosity, but I don't press. There's so much about Jaz that remains a mystery, layers of complexity I've only begun to scratch the surface of. Instead, I focus on the immediacy of the moment, on the strange comfort of his presence.

"Thank you," I whisper, the words feeling inadequate for all he's done.

Jaz's eyes soften, the hard edges of his face smoothing into something almost vulnerable. "You don't need to thank me, little Bee," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "I told you, I'm here to help."

A lump forms in my throat, threatening to choke me with the weight of my gratitude and fear. I reach out, my fingers brushing against the intricate tattoos on Jaz's forearm. He goes still at the contact, his muscles tensing beneath my touch.

"Why?" I ask, the question that's been burning inside me finally spilling out. "Why are you doing all this for me?"

Jaz is quiet for a long moment, his eyes fixed on where my hand rests on his arm. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and intense. "Because I've been where you are," he says. "Lost. Broken. Thirsting for vengeance.”

The room seems to shrink around us, the air thick with tension and unspoken truths. Outside, a gentle rain begins to fall, its patter against the window a soothing counterpoint to the storm brewing within these walls.

I swallow hard, gathering my courage. "Did you... did you get it?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. "The vengeance you wanted?"

A small smile plays at the corners of Jaz's mouth, a dangerous curve that sends a shiver down my spine. It's not a smile of joy or mirth, but something darker, more primal. His eyes flicker with a memory and for a moment, I see a glimpse of the man he must have been—raw, wounded, driven by an all-consuming need for retribution.

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