Page 35 of Afraid to Hope

He waggled his fingers at her. “With me. Quietly.” Bane flipped off the light and strode back out, moving past her silently, slowing his pace when he came to the stairs. Then he motioned her in front of him and up to the second floor. “Stay there, or in your bedroom,” he whispered.

Her head popped through the neck of the sweatshirt. “I don’t understand,” she said, slipping her arms into the sleeves. Although very tall, she was slender. The sweatshirt hung on her, covering the pajamas he ached to strip from her body.

Bane kept his voice slow as he explained quickly. “We might have a problem. Whoever it is knows you and I live here. There are very few that would address us by our married surnames. I’m being cautious. That’s what I do.”

“That’s what I do too.”

“I know. Stay here.” He kissed her forehead quickly, then stepped onto the stairs and spoke over his shoulder, his voice low. “If I call you down, come. As you are. You look convincing, like we were in the middle of something.” He smirked. “Mm. You look good in my clothes. Go on.”

She glared at him.

The pummeling started up anew, although not with the same gusto.

“I’m coming!” Bane yelled. “Bastard,” he said under his breath.

From upstairs, Natasha watched him check his back before slipping into thesetwan.Thankfully she was staying put so he could focus on the person at the door.

“Who’s there?”

“It is Rafiq Nasir. I am sorry about the lateness.” The man’s voice sounded weak. “I need help.”

Caution was called for. The appearance of the man on the other side of the door could be a ploy. “ID,” demanded Bane through the door. “In the mail slot.”

An ID came through and dropped to the floor. Blood splattered on the tile around it.

Bane squatted and scrutinized the ID. It was Rafiq’s. He stood and reached back, pulling his Glock from his waistband. Natasha crept behind him.

“I told you to stay upstairs,” he said gruffly without looking at her. “Since you didn’t listen to me, stay back. Try staying out of the way. I can’t see through this fucking door.” Bane released the safety, stepped to the side, and slid the long dead bolt back, cracking the door open, bracing and ready to fire. His quick purview showed that Rafiq was alone and that blood leaked down his right arm and hand.

“Inside, man.” Bane ushered him through the door, then locked it. He looked up to see Natasha watching him from the lowest steps, her eyes large and intense. “Nat, I need your help.” To Rafiq, he said, “Lean on me.”

Bane flooded the kitchen with light. He helped Rafiq, who was sweating profusely and breathing fast and shallow, into a chair. “What happened?”

Natasha had followed silently behind them in the dim light, dodging the blood splattering to the floor. Once they were in the kitchen, she put a pot with water on the stove to boil, filled a large ceramic bowl with cool water, and pulled out clean towels and kitchen cloths, a few of which she dropped into the bowl.

Rafiq was deathly pale. He held his right arm against his chest, face contorted in pain as the white dress shirt he wore turned deep red.

She approached cautiously with the bowl. “Rafiq, I’m going to clean you off.”

“Yes, thank you, Natasha,” he slurred before collapsing to the side.

Bane caught him before he hit the floor, cradling Rafiq’s head as he lowered him to the tile. “Fuck. He’s bleeding like a stuck pig. I need to get a better look.” He glanced up at Natasha. “Scissors? Gotta get this shirt off.”

So much blood. Natasha was wide-eyed. She opened drawers hastily. “No scissors.”

Bane frowned, shaking his head. “No. Get my first aid case. It’s in our guest bath, bottom of the cabinet. And my knife, under my pillow. Hurry.”

Sandalwood and spice hit Natasha as she bolted into Bane’s room. She reached under the pillow closest to her and searched, her body responding with heat as she envisioned him in bed in all his splendor.

Natasha shook her head. “Not now,” she whispered.

Her hands closed around metal. She moved into the attached bath—“our guest bathroom,” he had said as if it were fact—to retrieve his first aid case out of the cabinet and theriad’s first aid kit under the vanity. She ran back to Bane with her arms full.

If possible, Rafiq had become even paler during the minutes she was absent. She placed everything on the table and opened both the case and kit, finding sterile packets of gloves—large enough to cover Bane’s very large hands, as well as some that would fit her. She unsealed the extra-large packet and handed it to him, then grabbed a packet of mediums and slipped them over her hands. She did the same with several envelopes of sterile gauze bandages.

“Rafiq?” Bane called loudly as he slipped on the gloves.

Rafiq didn’t respond.

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