Page 81 of Dagger

“What’s just a scratch?” Sophie demanded.

“I must have gotten caught with a stray bullet,” I mused. “Typical. Thirty years with an abuser who traffics women and mixes with dangerous MC gangs, and I never got shot. Then, after weeks in my safe place, I catch a bullet.”

Sophie’s eyes widened in shock. “You’ve beenshot?” she shrieked, handing Belle off to Kennedy, and lifting my top.

I waved her off. “It’s just a scrape. I’m fine.”

“Fine?” she muttered incredulously. “Does that look fine to you?”

I glanced down at my hip and froze.

Blood covered nearly all the right hip of my jeans. The bullet had ripped away part of the material, and my flesh gaped open gruesomely.

“Oh my Gods,” Sunny whispered, staring at the open wound. “Duchess has bloods.”

Everybody seemed to move at once.

Adele took my arm and led me over to a chair. “Sit.”

“Why didn’t you say you’d been injured?” Kennedy asked gently.

“I didn’t know,” I breathed, my tone pitchy with shock. “I knew I’d been hit. I thought it was graze. It didn’t seem to hurt that much.” I watched Sophie hurry toward a tall metal filing cabinet. She rummaged inside, pulling out what looked like a bottle of whiskey along with some bandages.

“How did it happen?” Freya murmured, crouching to inspect my wound.

I bit my lip. “The girls were too close to the gunfire. I jumped in front of Sunny.”

“Oh my God,” Layla whispered, her face paling.

“You’re gonna have to take these off,” Freya told me, taking my arm and helping me to my feet. “We need to get to the wound and clean it. It’s not serious, but I’m worried about infection.”

Unbuttoning my fly, I pulled my jeans down over my ass, wincing as the denim caught the open graze.

Sophie came bustling over, her arms full of medical supplies. “Freya, can you clean around the wound while I get these ready?” Her eyes met mine. “You need stitches, but I can’t do it until I get to the medical wing.”

“You need to see to Tex,” I reminded her. “This is a flesh wound. It’ll scar, but it’s not life-threatening. You need to prioritize the men who are badly wounded.”

“You’re like Superwoman,” Adele declared. “Not only do you step in front of my granddaughter to stop her getting shot. You then refuse treatment because it’s just a,” she did speech marks with her fingers, “flesh wound.”

Freya crouched again to clean my wound, her gaze lifting to meet mine. “Now I get what Dad sees in you.”

I winced, and not just from the pain.

“Freya,” Adele scolded.

Cara laughed.

Kennedy snorted.

A soft hand rested on my arm. I craned my neck to see Layla standing at my back.

“Thank you,” she murmured earnestly. “That bullet could have killed my girl.” Tears filled her big, grey eyes. “If you hadn’t jumped in front of her, she may not be here now.”

Adele slid an arm around Layla’s shoulders. “Don’t think like that. Sunny’s fine; that’s what you should focus on.”

Layla gave her a watery smile.

“There,” Freya announced. “You’re all cleaned up.”

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