Page 48 of Stilettos & Whiskey
Mom started cursing in Farsi.
A blinding rage rolled over me and I jumped to my feet. “That bastard is going to tell me everything I want to know. Like where Roger is hiding.”
“Don’t worry. Dad, has it handled.” Lucas grabbed my wrist. “Now sit down and let me check you over. It won’t take long to replace the stitches. I have some anesthesia spray for your lip and forehead. You won’t feel a thing.”
I touched my forehead, and my fingers came away bloody. Shit! That explained the headache. Lucas sprayed my forehead and mouth and everything went numb. My eyes widened when he held the needle up.
“Sit. Stay,” Lucas commanded.
I gave him the one-fingered salute.
Jacob wrapped an arm around me. “No biting or kicking.”
“Not funny.”
The needle penetrated my skin, and I hissed like a cat.
Three more pricks and Lucas declared, “All done and you didn’t feel a thing.”
I glared at him. “Liar.”
“Are you hurting anywhere else?” Lucas’s hands moved over my body.
“Ouch! That hurts,” I groused when his hands probed my ribs.
Lucas made a face. “Quit being such a baby.”
“This from the man who moaned continuously about dying when all he had was the common cold,” I shot back.
Lucas retorted, “It was the flu.”
Mom rolled her eyes. “Everyone back. The air tanker is making its drop.”
“About time. That fire is getting awfully close.”
Twelve thousand gallons of water fell from the sky, snuffing out the fire.
Using the edge of my blood-splattered T-shirt, I wiped the water out of my eyes. That was one way to cool down.
Dad dragged a beat all to hell and soaking wet suspect into the cave. His worried gaze surveyed Mom from head to toe. “Report.”
“The wound is a through and through. Mom’s vitals are good, and the bleeding is under control,” Lucas replied.
I studied the suspect. He was in his late thirties, his breathing was labored, his movements stiff, and painful. Bandages were wrapped around his cuffed hands. His hate-filled eyes locked on Mom. “You should be dead.”
“I’m hard to kill,” Mom answered.
I gave him my Debbie Sunshine smile. “And your shooting days are over.”
“Bitch!” He spat. “Soon you will know your place. Every man in our family will fuck you till you bleed. Then and only then will Roger’s honor be restored.”
Lucas dropped him with one punch. “Your family has no honor.”
“And they’re all friggin’ nuts. Did he have any ID on him?” I asked.
Logan and Devon carried Brent into the cave. His color was bad, and he was struggling to breathe.
Devon handed Dad a backpack. “His name is Martin Evans. He’s a guard at the state prison.”
