Page 25 of Liar & Champion
“Nix? Nix?” I rubbed his shoulder, but he didn’t move. Was he dead? No. People didn’t die that quickly in real life. I had to fix this, to fix him.
I grabbed his keys and ran to his house, adrenaline flooding my system. It was almost as empty as the last time I’d been there, and in the bedroom were the unpacked boxes and the first aid kit.
I went through it hurriedly. With my medical history, I knew my way around all the equipment. I got out everything I’d need and packed a quick duffel bag for him, and then went back out to the truck. There wasn’t too much blood. He should recoversoon enough. Logically, I knew that, but my champion was still slumped over the steering wheel looking pale and waxy.
I exhaled a long breath and examined his wound while he stayed passed out on the steering wheel, and then I did quick stitches, because he was right, there was no bullet in there. After I stitched him, I went to my house and got all the stuff I’d need for my medical care, put it in my own box, packed the trunk of my Camaro with it and everything else I’d grabbed, including my favorite board, the last one my dad had given me. I left my aunt a quick note and grabbed my keys.
I drove the Camaro two doors down and then had the awesome task of moving him into my backseat. The man weighed a ton, but parked right next to him, I was able to maneuver him into the passenger’s seat. Before we left, I stabbed his leg with a needle, making sure that he had a nice comfortable rest before I pulled out, put the foot on the gas and drove the heck out of Dodge.
Chapter Nine
CHAMPION
Iwoke up to Kitten singing, ‘Twistin’ the Night Away’ along with the radio. That’s what she’d been singing on the porch the first time I’d seen her, and now we were… Where were we?
I carefully opened my eyes and turned my head to see Kitten with her hair in a messy bun using chopsticks to hold it up, wearing a white tank-top that showed her yellow bra straps while she sang and car-danced like no one was watching. I was smiling before I registered the pain in my arm. It didn’t feel too bad, actually.
I put my hand on her knee and she jumped, swerved and then recovered, patting my hand absently while she gripped the steering wheel.
“Sorry I startled you,” I said, my voice gravelly and my whole body loose and heavy. I felt fine, really, really good, in spite of the bullet wound.
“You shouldn’t be awake for hours,” she said, glancing at me from behind her sunglasses. No, those were my sunglasses on her cute nose.
“I shouldn’t?”
“No. After I gave you stitches, I gave you a lot of morphine.”
Wow. She made it sound so natural and looked so cheerful about it. “Ah. I wondered why I felt so good. Are you making a drug addict out of me?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
She beamed a stunning smile at me that eclipsed the bright sun shining through the windshield as we drove down an endless highway. “Absolutely not. My aunt’s a doctor so the good drugs are still at the house. I just got something to help you deal with the first part. Don’t you think the first few days of an injury are the most painful? I tossed your phone, you know, in case someone’s tracking it. I hope you don’t mind. I would have asked you, but you were unconscious. I’m just glad you passed out in front of your house instead of on the road. That was lucky.”
I ran a hand through my hair. “All right. Let’s back up. You gave me stitches?”
“Sure. I have a friend who was in medical school, and he was going to do the stitches on me when I was rock climbing and slashed my knee open, but he thought I should learn how to do it myself, so he taught me. It’s not hard, unless there’s twitching and screaming. You were out so it was easy as pie.”
“Thanks to your morphine.”
“You were already passed out. You are heavy. It almost killed me dragging you into the car.”
“And your hips? Any more dislocation relapses?”
She beamed at me sunnily. “No, sir. I was really careful, like I was weight lifting.”
“You do weight lifting?”
“Not now, but I did for a little while. You know, for fun and just to learn the correct technique for whenever I had to haul around unconscious men who are twice my weight. Seriously, you’re dense.”
I rubbed my eyes. “I’m feeling dense. You tossed my phone?”
“Right. I figured if mine was compromised, yours might be too. You have to be paranoid when you’re dealing with psychopaths.”
I squinted at her. She was so beautiful in my glasses. “Those sunglasses were on my floor next to my mattress.”
“I packed a few things for you. My bag was already packed. I always like to be ready to go in case an adventure comes calling.”
“You’ve had a lot of adventures?” Or run-ins with stalkers.
“Sure. Last summer I sailed around the Mediterranean for months. I have a few rich friends I mooch off of.”
