Page 53 of Fierce Lies
Ivy turned the faucet. It sputtered, then produced a stream of rusty-looking water. "Let it run," she suggested. "Might clear up."
While she dealt with that, I turned to Jackson. "Sit down. Now. Before you fall down."
This time, he didn't argue. He lowered himself onto one of the kitchen chairs, wincing as he did. He rested the gun on the table, keeping it close at hand.
A breeze swept through the smashed kitchen window, the thunder rumbling closer this time.
I knelt beside Jackson, examining the wound on his leg without undoing the belt, helping him lift it up onto a chair to keep it elevated.
"We need to clean this," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. "And make sure the bleeding has stopped."
"And remove the tourniquet if it has. We don't need me getting tissue damage and losing my whole leg. Check the bathroom," he said through gritted teeth. "Look for supplies."
Ivy was already on it. She returned moments later with a shake of her head. "Nothing."
"Maybe in the van, can you stay with him?"
Ivy nodded as I headed back outside, not wanting to send Ivy back outside and into potential danger.
I stepped out onto the porch, glancing around uneasily as another breeze whipped by me. My silk dressing gown provided little protection from it, and my bare feet were freezing.
"You can do this. You need to help Jackson," I mumbled to myself as I headed down the porch steps and for the van.
I slowed as my gaze landed on Alfeo's body. His head was slightly turned, and I had the worst image flare into my mind of him gurgling and trying to rise.
Fuck that shit.
Thankfully, he was deader than dead, but I had to force myself to focus on the task at hand. I willed one foot in front of the other until I climbed into the van. I searched through it, counting my lucky stars when I found a first aid kit in the glovebox.
I paused, staring down at it in my hands, dried blood still staining them. The same hands that had just ended a life.
I closed my eyes, hating how my body began to tremble.
I had to do it. He was going to kill Jackson. He was going to kill us all.
I let out a shaky breath and opened my eyes, scrambling out of the van and refusing to look at Alfeo's body as I headed back inside.
I returned to Jackson and Ivy, opening the kit to find basic supplies: gauze, adhesive bandages, antiseptic, some tubes of saline, and a pair of scissors. And a small suture kit. Perfect.
"I need to take all this off and clean it," I told Jackson as I knelt before him, my cheeks heating despite the gravity of the situation. I was a little too close to his nether region right now.
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "Right. Just don't let me bleed out, Elena. I don't want to die in only my briefs. Let a man have some dignity."
"Shut up," I said, relief flooding through me at this small sign that he wasn't completely defeated.
Jackson's hands went to his belt on his leg to assist, but his fingers fumbled with the buckle. I reached out to help him, our hands brushing. Even in this moment—covered in blood,traumatized, and terrified—I felt that same electric current that had been between us from the beginning.
"I can handle the belt," he said softly.
"I know you can," I replied, not moving my hands away. "But you don't have to. You've done enough, let me take care of you."
Our eyes met, and something passed between us. Understanding and gratitude, perhaps. Or something deeper. I helped him undo his belt and slide it up his leg so I could peel the bloody dish towel away.
I carefully examined the wound. The bullet had entered and exited cleanly, leaving two ragged holes about four inches apart that thankfully seemed to have stopped bleeding.
"Is this something that needs stitches?" I asked, examining the angry red edges.
Jackson shook his head. "No, leave that to a hospital. Even after cleaning, there could still be infection or bacteria. Just clean it and dress it for now." He grimaced. "Antibiotics would be good, but that's a stretch right now."
