Page 93 of Marked

Oh, well. Hospitals were out. For all I knew, Rick might have paid some of his pack mates to be on the lookout for Cameron or something. And if he’d gone to screw with her mom or brother, I wanted to be there as soon as possible to fuck up that pretty-boy face.

At the next intersection, I took a right and headed to Cameron’s neighborhood. Twenty minutes later, I barged in through Cameron’s apartment.

Her mother, who’d been sitting on the couch watching TV, leaped up in surprise, giving a little cry of surprise.

“Mija? Oh, God, what’s happened to you?” she cried, rushing toward us.

If I was honest, it lookedmuchworse than it really was. The blood had smeared Cameron’s arm in the fight, and it had oozed out more on the ride. At the moment, it looked like her arm had been shoved into a belt sander.

“Mom, I’m fine. We’ll explain later. Can you do something for us?” Cameron said, hissing in pain as her mother yanked her arm toward the sink.

Her mother’s tone changed as she inspected the wound, becoming more clinical and professional.

“Incised laceration. Looks like a sharp knife. Shallow but fairly long. Around seven centimeters. Let’s get a better look.” She turned and shouted down the hall. “Gael, grab my first aid kit!”

Mrs. Torres cranked the faucet and shoved Cameron’s arm under the stream of water.

“Holy fuck, that burns,” Cameron hissed.

“Language,mija. Sayshitinstead next time.”

Cameron snorted as her mother cleaned the wound with soap, rubbing it gently to wash away the residual blood and possibilities of infection. Gael came bounding out of his room, eyes wide with surprise. He skidded to a halt when he spotted Cameron and me in the kitchen. Both of us were bloody, dirty, and slightly beat up.

“Whoa, what happened to you guys?” he asked in an awed whisper.

“Worry about yourself, Gael,” Sophia barked. “My first-aid kit?”

“Crap, sorry! I’ll be right back.”

The boy sprinted away and returned five seconds later with a big orange bag. He set it on the counter in front of his mother.

Within moments, Sophia had the wound cleaned, dried, and sterilized. She pulled a few butterfly bandages from the bag and put them over the cut. The woman’s hands moved like butterflies themselves—graceful, fast, and fleeting. I’d seen a lot of medics and nurses work, and I had to admit, Sophia was damn good at what she did. Cameron had every right to be proud of her mom.

“Okay,” Sophia said as she finished taping the gauze that would protect the butterfly bandages. “Are you going to tell me what the hell happened?” Sophia placed her hand gently on the wound. “Who hurt my sweet girl?”

“In a minute, Mom. Check on Nate first,” Cameron said.

For a moment, I didn’t know what she was talking about, but as the adrenaline faded, I noticed a sharp ache in my side. The pain became more intense as I thought about it.

“Ugh,” I grunted, pressing a hand to my side.

“Did you guys get in a fight?” Gael asked, edging his way into the kitchen to see better. “You look like you were in a fight.”

“Boy!” Sophia growled. “Out of my kitchen.”

He looked more disappointed than chastised as he backed out of the room. Sophia slid a chair over and eased me into it.

“What do we have?” she asked as she peeled my jacket off. “Stab wound? I don’t see any blood.”

“He got kicked in the side,” Cameron said, giving me an apologetic look. “Hard.”

“I’m fine,” I said through gritted teeth. “Check Cameron first. I don’t know if she has other injuries.”

“Hush,” Sophia said.

I glanced at Cameron for support, but she looked pleased that her mother hadn’t taken my advice. Defeated, I leaned over to give Sophia easier access to my side. Whatever she saw must have been rough as she and Cameron both hissed in sympathy.

“Oh, man,” Gael said from the entry hall. “There’s a shoe print on your side, bro.”

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