Page 21 of Panther's Magpie
Stalking up to her, I turn her to face me. That’s when I see the red mark on her face already starting to bruise.
“What happened?”
Tears are stained on her face as she shakes her head. “I need a first aid kit.”
Of course she does. I glance into her car and see all the blood. How much has she lost?
Grabbing her arm gently, I lead her inside. Instead of going down the hall to the bathroom, I take her into my office. I move her to the edge of my desk before I pick her up and sit her on the edge. When she doesn’t move, I grab my kit from the cabinet. Then I get to work tending to her wounds.
“There’s glass in your hand. It’s embedded pretty deep. This is going to hurt. You’re going to need stitches,” I tell her.
“Do you have someone here who can do it?” she asks.
“Not without leaving a scar.”
She sighs. “I don’t care about scars. I just don’t want to die. Not before we get Aspen back.”
I don’t like her tone of voice.
“You’re not dying no matter what. Don’t talk like that,” I bark at her.
She startles, looking down at me. She doesn’t say anything as I grab the tweezers to pull the glass out of her hand. She winces and whines a little but doesn’t speak a word.
“What happened?” I ask her as I finish up the first task.
“Asher was there. He said that Aspen is safe and he is doing what he can to protect her. They are planning the way to use her best to hurt you.”
Her words make me angry, but I try to rein them in. She doesn’t deserve my anger. They do.
I use some alcohol on her hand, hating the way she lets out a pained noise through her gritted teeth. She’s doing so well, though. She put on a tough face and is letting me do what I need to in order to get this done.
“Here.” I pull out two small bottles of whiskey. “Drink these.”
“I don’t like whiskey,” she tells me.
“Tough shit. I’m about to stick a needle through your skin multiple times, so drink them.”
She freezes a moment before she attempts to open one of the bottles with her free hand. I snatch it from her, opening it and handing it back. Then I open the second as I watch her down the first, shaking her head like she might throw up. She takes several deep breaths as her eyes water.
I hand her the second one, watching as she mentally works up to taking it. When she does, a little misses her mouth. I wipe the dribble from her mouth before I suck it into my own.
“Good girl,” I tell her.
Her eyes flash at the words. I think little Maggie has a praise kink. I wonder if she even knows about it.
Shaking my head, I focus back on her hand.
“This is going to hurt like hell, so do whatever you have to. Scream. Hit me. Whatever, but keep this hand still. Understand?”
“Yes,” she says through her teary eyes.
“Good.”
Then I set to work. The first stitch has her stifling her first scream with her other hand. The second has the tears flowing freely. By the third, her nails dig into my shoulder with her free hand.
It stings, but I don’t mind it. I like that she is lashing out at me while in pain. As if making me hurt will help ease her own. Once I’m done, she practically sags in relief.
I stand, wrapping my arms around her, offering her the only comfort I can.
