Page 19 of Ruined

I blink them open, not realizing I had closed them. I haven’t felt this tired, not in a long time. Not since I was taken. Sure, I’ve been tired. Sleeping becomes hard when they do certain things to you. But this is different.

My body is close to giving up. And I find some sort of peace in that.

“Blake, I swear to God, stay awake.”

I almost chuckle. If I die, he will have to answer to my family and he won’t get paid. Of course, he’s freaking out. I wouldn’t get on my father’s or brother’s bad side if I were him either. But that doesn’t stop others from doing it. Most of them that is.

The car jerks to a stop, and my eyes snap open.Well, shit.I must have closed them again. The car sits in darkness, with not a single light. For a moment I think Jace has left me until he starts speaking.

“You don’t listen very well,” he hisses before the car starts moving once more.

I go to shrug, only to stop the moment pain radiates its way down to my fingers.

“I suggest not moving your shoulder or moving much in general. I’m not a doctor but I believe that it could cause more damage if you do. But I also could be talking a load of shit. I’ve stitched plenty of people up in the military. Even myself. I mean, you stabbed me, and I had to stitch that up.” Jace sighs, glancing over at me.

I roll my eyes causing him to chuckle. “Listen, I was just making sure you were still awake, and if that means I talk and tell stories about the time I was in the military, well, I guess that’s what I’m going to do. I’m also decent at annoying others. Should ask my good pal, Ryker. He thinks I’m the most annoying bug on this planet. Granted, he thinks everything is annoying, but I’m the least.”

I tune Jace out. I know he’s trying to keep me awake. He’s been nothing but kind, and for the most part, caring. Aside from the few hiccups we had, he’s spent most of the last twenty-four hours saving me.

So even if I wanted to tell him to shut up and shove a stick up his ass like most men that bother me, I don’t do anything. I pretend to listen, trying to at least nod my head to what he says.

“Blake?”

I jerk forward, and my heart races as I drag the knife from my pocket. I don’t think or look before I stab whatever is near me. The pain in my shoulder is the only thing that reminds me of what happened and to who…

My eyes snap up to Jace, pain radiating off me. I look down to where my hand is still gripping the knife… firmly in his thigh. I go to yank the blade out when Jace grabs my wrist, bringing another round of panic through my veins.

“We talked about this, but apparently, I need to stress it even more. Stop stabbing me,” Jace grits out. “I’m not going to touch you or hurt you. So, stop fucking stabbing me.” He glances up at me. “Please.”

I smile at him saying please. I never thought I would see a Viking man, a hired hitman, my bodyguard, use that word. It makes my stomach flip and my heart race in a way I don’t want it to.

“Wonderful, now we’re also going to talk about the fact that you can’t just pull a knife out, not if you want them to survive.” Holding a finger up he stops me from saying something. “Don’t pull the said weapon out. Not if you’re not prepared to start working on them to stop the bleeding. Second, we’re going to talk about how you had that on you, and you didn’t use it when the guy had his arm wrapped around yo—” Jace is cut off when someone pounds on the door.

My hand jerks the knife once more, forgetting what he had just said. I know it’s logical not to remove it. Jace would bleed out. And I would not survive without him. The sudden realization hits me. The moment I stepped outside my parents’ house, I placed my life in his hands.

“Blake,” Jace warns.

I nod my head, and remove my hand from the knife, feeling naked. Jace opens the door, stepping out. I want to crawl after him, but I don’t. I keep myself planted exactly where I’m at, fighting the need to be near him. It’s getting ridiculous, the feelings for him that are growing inside me.

I can’t see much outside, between it being dark and I’m pretty sure the windows are tinted. It grows on my nerves the longer Jace stands outside. Mind the fact my shoulder is burning, and I’m bleeding all over this poor soul’s car. Though I doubt they would ever get it back.

The passenger side door swings open, and I snap my head over, ready to claw out the eyes of whoever it is until I realize it is Jace. I release a sigh of relief.

“Come on, a friend is going to help take care of that shoulder and my leg,” he mutters while holding a hand out. Cocking my head, I bite my inner cheek. Hating that one minute I’m okay with him touching me and then the next it feels like my skin is going to melt off my bones.

“Blake, as much as I would love to be outside the car door, on my knees begging you to trust me, my leg hurts, I’m hungry, tired, and in desperate need of a shower. So this is as good as it’s going to get. Take my hand, and let me help you inside this nice woman’s house. She’s going to stitch that shoulder up.”

Jace hasn’t hurt me, but I still fear for the moment he does. And I hate that I feel that way. That I wait for the moment he snaps and hurts me. He’s been caring in his own way, and I doubt my father would place my life into someone’s hands that would hurt me again. But the memories are there, and they never stop.

Swallowing my fear, I take his hand and let him pull me out. I don’t miss the wince or the pain in his eyes as he leads me towards a small house. The outside sits in pitch darkness except for a small light next to the door. Jace leads me inside, and I’m hit with the aroma of warm, baked chocolate chip cookies perfuming the air. We step into a small living room, connected to an even smaller kitchen. The lights are dim but comfortable. The cabin is messy, but it feels homey with the place being littered with plants.

“Let me go get the medical stuff,” the woman mutters before rushing off behind the door to the left.

It crosses my mind that Jace has yet to let go of my hand and the fact I don’t mind the touch of his rough calluses against my skin. His hands may not feel soft, but this is the nicest someone has touched me and I’m not sure how to handle it.

“Who am I stitching up first?” the girl asks the moment she steps back into the room.

“Her,” Jace says with no hesitation. I frown down at his thigh, watching his light-colored jeans become soaked in his blood. Nope, I shouldn’t be the one going first. Jace is going to bleed out right here now.

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