Page 46 of Claimed By the Enemy
“Shut up.” My fingers are shaking slightly as I push the fabric off his shoulders, revealing more bruises blooming across his ribs. “Just sit there and let me help you.”
Dom falls silent, watching me with those dark eyes as I examine the damage. Besides the cut on his forehead, there are scrapes on his knuckles, a forming bruise on his jaw, and what looks like the beginning of a spectacular black eye.
“Who did this to you?” I ask, touching the bruise carefully.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.”
“Why?”
Because seeing you hurt made me realize that losing you would destroy me.
“Because you’re my husband,” I say instead. “And someone just tried to kill you!”
“They weren’t trying to kill me. If they wanted me dead, I’d be dead.”
“Then what were they trying to do?”
“Send a message.”
Patrice appears in the doorway before I can ask what kind of message, her arms full of medical supplies. She sets everything down on the nightstand, then hovers uncertainly.
“Should I call a doctor?” she asks. “Or the police?”
“No,” Dom says immediately, his voice sharp. “No police.”
“Dom—” I start.
“No police, Sophie. This stays between us.”
I want to argue, want to demand that he file a report and let professionals handle whatever this is. But the look in his eyes stops me.
“Thank you, Patrice,” I say. “That’ll be all.”
She nods and withdraws, closing the door behind her with a soft click.
I wet one of the towels with warm water and begin cleaning the blood from Dom’s face, working carefully around the cut on his forehead.
He sits still, letting me work, though I can feel the tension radiating from him.
I dab antiseptic on the cut, and he hisses through his teeth.
“Sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
“Stop saying that. Nothing about this is fine.”
I clean his knuckles next, noting the way his hands are scratched and swollen. He fought back. Hard, by the looks of it.
“You got some good hits in,” I observe.
“I always do.”
“Is that supposed to be reassuring?”
“It’s supposed to be the truth.”
