Page 57 of Savage Prince

“Coward,” she mutters. Then a steely resolve settles across her features, and she reaches for the first-aid kit once more. “Take your shirt off.” She pulls out a needle and a spool of thread from her purse, the kind for sewing not surgery.

“Absolutely not.” I eye her, my gut churning.

“We don’t have butterfly bandages or wound closure strips in here and a regular band-aid just isn’t going to cut it at this point. Just cleaning it isn’t going to be enough. And sure, there’s a risk of infection if you do this, but for now, it’s the best option.”

“You’re really serious about this?”

“Your choice, either you give my sewing skills a chance or we go to the ER right now.”

I grit out a curse as I eye the needle she has pinched between her fingertips. If we can buy ourselves twenty-four hours, I can see Elena once the pressure is off. “You can sew?”

“I’m an inspiring fashion designer, Antonio, of course I can sew.” She shrugs. “And as you know, Bella is a doctor. We used to practice our stitching together back in college. It’s notthatdifferent.”

I nearly choke on a laugh. Am I really going to allow this woman to stitch up my wound with a sewing needle and cotton thread? It’s better than dragging Elena into this with arsonists on the loose.

“Fine, just do it.” I untuck my shirt, the movement ripping at my torn skin, and a hiss escapes.

“Let me help.” She crouches in front of me, fitting herself between my thighs and begins to unfasten the buttons down my shirt. My hand jerks up, wrapping around her wrist. For an insane moment, I don’t want her to see the scars on my back. No one has. Though I’ve had them painstakingly covered witha beautiful canvas, if you look close enough, the ugly truth is hidden just below the inked surface.

“What?” Her eyes meet mine, and I’m scared shitless that she’s going to see the vulnerability that I've tried so hard to mask for all these years.

Though the physical scars are new, the mental ones have been there for a decade.

“Just be careful,” I murmur.

Her head dips. My pulse escalates at her proximity, at her hands brushing my skin as she works her way down. Her bottom lip is trapped beneath her teeth and fuck, if I wasn’t in so much pain, this would be divine torture.

Once she’s gotten the last button undone, she slips her hand beneath my shirt and slowly draws the sleeve down. It’s sticky, dirty and bloodied and the sight of those slender fingers coated in my blood, does something to me. There’s a slight tremble in her touch, or maybe I’m the one shaking. My heart pounds faster, in time with the pulsating of the festering wound, which is not a good sign.

The shirt falls to the floor, and I lift my wild gaze to meet hers. The bright blue of her eyes has darkened, pupils blown out with… desire? She can’t possibly be enjoying this as much as I am, can she?

“Now, lie down,” she whispers, a breathy edge to her tone that wasn’t there a moment ago.

I stretch out across the seat, the leather sticky with my blood. If she makes me turn around, she’ll see the landscape of destroyed skin across my back. “The wound at my back should be fine with the bandage,” I blurt quickly. “It’s the one at my chest that won’t stop bleeding.”

She nods, keeping her head down. I watch her intently as she pours alcohol on the cotton swab and gently dabs at the area around the wound, removing the encrusted blood.

“You should have let me do this an hour ago,” she murmurs.

“And miss seeing the worry in your eye?”

She snorts on a laugh, nearly swatting at my chest before catching herself. “I’m concerned you’ll die on me before getting us out of this mess.”

“You’re a clever girl,tesoro. I have no doubt you could make it back to Milano on your own.” And there it is. In the chaos of the fire, I didn’t have time to say it or even process her motivations. But the truth hits me harder than the bullet through my chest.

She stayed for me. Saved my life. Why?

Serena doesn’t respond to my unspoken question, only keeps her head down, gaze focused on the blood still coating my chest. I have no doubt she’s understood my insinuation, but she’s chosen to ignore me. Maybe it’s what’s best for both of us right now.

Once she’s satisfied that the wound is clean, she reaches for the needle. I tense for a second, imagining the feel of the sharp tip piercing my flesh.

“I’m not going to lie, it’s going to hurt like hell.”

“I certainly hope your cousin has a better bedside manner than you.”

The corners of her lips quirk, nearly a smile but not quite. “Bella is better than me in every way.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

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