Page 43 of Shattered Skull

She didn’t belong.

It wasn’t safe for her.

But I wasn’t that lucky.

Ten minutes later, she came back inside; her hair was damp, and her shirt was sticking to her body. She stepped up to me, her face so pale her eyes looked black. With trembling fingers, she pushed a stray curl out of her face.

“I can’t believe you did that for me.”

It had been for her, but I would never admit it. Instead, I took the usual way out with a lie.

“It wasn’t for you,” I said, lying through my teeth. “It was because he cut me. No one pulls a knife on me and gets away with it.”

Her eyes went wide, and she moved closer, checking for my wound. “You were cut? Where?”

I lifted my shirt, the red slash in my side was leaking through the paper towel I had pressed to it.

“Oh my God, we need to get you to a hospital.”

I snorted. “Nope,” I said, grabbing a new towel and covering my cut.

I sat back on the couch and lit a joint, needing to relax from the drama.

“You could bleed to death.”

I chuckled. “Not likely. I’ve had worse.”

“That’s comforting.” She tugged at the towel, trying to move it away from my cut. It wasn’t terrible, but I knew it was worse than I was letting on. “At least let me see it.”

She pulled back and placed her hands on her hips, looking determined and kind of cute.

Sighing, I pulled the towel away. Warmth moved down my side, and I knew it was blood oozing. Her eyes went wide again.

“If you’re not going to go to the ER, can you at least let me clean it up and stitch it?”

I lifted a brow.

Maybe there was more to her than met the eye.

“You know how to do stitches?”

She shrugged. “I mean, I know how to sew. It can’t be too different, right?”

I snickered. “I guess not.”

“Do you guys have a needle and thread anywhere?”

“Do we look like the type of guys who do needlepoint?”

She grinned a little and shook her head. “Good point. I’ll see if Zada will run me to the store.”

Pressing the towel closer to my side, I stood and hissed when the cut pulled and stung. “No. She’s trashed. I’ll take you.”

“Um … no offense, but you’re bleeding profusely.”

I waved her words away. “Fine. You drive.”

“I don’t have a car.”