Page 91 of Sacrifice
"You're back." The relief in her voice nearly drops me.
"Told you I would be." I set the bag of intel on the table, then really look at her. "Were you sitting there with a loaded gun all night after I left?"
"Maybe." She sets it aside carefully, safety on but within reach. "You're hurt. You're bleeding again."
I look down. Yeah, blood's soaked through the bandage and shirt. Probably leaving a trail. "Worth it."
"Sit," she orders. "Let me see."
I sink into the bed, suddenly exhausted.
She peels away the ruined bandage, hissing at what she finds.
The wound's angry, stitches torn, fresh damage from the fight.
"This needs a hospital."
"No hospitals. Your mom can handle it in the morning."
"Emil—"
"It's done." I catch her hand. "The men from the hospital won't hurt anyone again."
"All of them?"
"Every last one at that motel. There might be more in Mexico or Texas, but ones who were here are dealt with."
She studies my face, sees something there.
Maybe the satisfaction I can't quite hide. "What did you do?"
"What needed doing."
"Emil..."
"He shot at you. Put you in danger. Made you afraid in your own life." I cup her face, thumb stroking her cheek. "Nobody does that and keeps breathing."
She should be horrified. Should push me away, see me for the monster I can be.
Instead, she kisses me, fierce and grateful.
"Thank you," she whispers against my mouth.
"Always. Whatever you need, however you need it."
"Right now, I need you to let me look at that arm properly. You're dripping blood on the bed."
She helps me strip off the vest and shirt, revealing the full damage.
It's not pretty—wound reopened, fresh cuts from branches, and fighting.
She cleans it carefully, using supplies from the bathroom.
"Some of these are knife wounds," she observes.
"Trees have sharp branches."
She's not buying it but doesn't push.
