Page 30 of Bad Men

I caught her smile through the glass. “I’ve walked home a million times. It’s fine. I just keep my head down and walk fast.”

I hated that.

There was probably nothing less I hated than the thought of her hurrying home, terrified of every shadow, every sound. I hated the thought of that luck changing, of some asshole catching sight of her and trying something. I would go in for murder and it wouldn’t be a clean murder. I would disembowel the fucker. I would rip him to pieces and spread those pieces across the fucking city.

“Nero?”

I sucked in a breath, willing the bloodlust down before I inadvertently punched a hole into the window.

“Yeah?”

She was tugging on her coat when I felt calm enough to face her. She peered at me while buttoning the light fabric up.

“You okay?”

I lifted and dropped a shoulder in response. “Fine. You ready?”

She nodded, reaching for her bag off the counter, along with her umbrella. The bag was hooked over her shoulder and she stuffed the umbrella inside it.

When she started towards me, I reached for the lock on the door.

“Oh! Wait.” Mia grabbed my hand to stop me.

The contact was an unexpected pressure around a hand that still refused to close properly. The grip of her fingers sent a fresh wave of agony slicing up my arm and a numbing sensation down my fingers. I growled without thinking and yanked away.

“Nero?” Mia was staring at me, brown eyes enormous with concern. “Did I hurt you?”

I tried to shove my hand into my pocket, but the lack of sensation in my fingertips made it difficult to find the opening without agitating the flesh further.

“No,” I bit out through clenched teeth. “Just hurt my hand the other day. It’s fine.”

But she wasn’t listening to me. She was pulling my hand to her, gingerly pushing back the sleeve of my coat.

She gasped. “Oh my God, your hand!” she cried, head jerking up to meet my eyes. “This is serious.”

“It’s fine,” I said again, trying and failing to pull away. “It’ll heal.”

Mia shook her head. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” I said out of reflex. “Hit a wall.”

She frowned, disbelief thinning her lips. “How many times? Please,” she whispered when I opened my mouth to tell her not to worry about it. “Let me take care of it.”

Not giving me a chance to tell her to forget it, she was gone, disappearing into the back. A moment later, she returned with a first aid kit. It was set on the counter alongside her purse.

“Please?” she said again when I didn’t move. “I’ll be quick. I promise.”

It wasn’t the desperation that signed my resignation. It was the tears in her eyes. Lord knew why. I told myself I was immune to the tears of women, but apparently not Mia’s. Seeing the shine in hers made something tighten in my gut.

So, I went to her. I sat when she told me to and I kept my mouth shut while she yanked open the box and began yanking creams and gauzes out.

“You a nurse now?” I teased her, needing to erase the deep lines of worry cutting around her mouth.

Her throat muscles flexed before she spoke. “My aunt is one. Honestly, I don’t know how to fix this.” Her voice caught, shattering something inside me.

“Hey,” I reached for the side of her face with my good hand, “I’m fine. It’s just a hand. I’ve had worse.”

“Worse,” she repeated so low, it was merely a movement of her lips.

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