“No.”
“Is the current problem… fixed now?” She pinches the cut edges of my skin together and gently slides the needle in.
“Yes.”
“In a permanent sort of ‘never coming back’ way?” My wife makes another small, careful stitch.
“Yes.”
Her hands are warm, soothing on my skin and I close my eyes. I can feel the tugging and pulling of the needle and thread, but I wasn’t lying, it’s nothing compared to the knife slashing down my ribcage.
The Doyle Mafia called us in as their allies to deal with a group - the Kelly Mob - in Belfast that’s getting too big to ignore. They deal in the worst of the street drugs, along with prostitution,and murder for hire. They’ve pushed into Doyle territory, deaths from drug overdoses skyrocketed in the last few months, despite all their efforts to stop it. It was only a matter of time before these methed-up fucks went after our business interests. We went in and wiped them out.
Every one of them.
“Good. I’m going to clean this again and there’s antibiotics in the kit. You should probably start a ten-day course because god only knows where that knife and its owner have been.” She’s remarkably calm about this, taping the gauze to my stitches and carefully wrapping my chest with a bandage. “Did you get any of their blood in your wound?”
“I don’t think so.” I struggle to my feet. “I’m taking a shower.”
Afton slides her arm around my waist. “I’ll help you up the stairs.”
Again, Icando this myself, but having her warm little body next to mine is no hardship, especially since she flinched away from me the last time I’d touched her. I don’t notice what she has in her other hand until we’re in the master bath.
“Plastic wrap,” she says, holding it up. “It’s my brother's favorite life hack to keep his bandages dry.”
I hold my arms up and groan silently, feeling her rub against my chest as she wraps the plastic over the bandage. She smells sweet, like vanilla and lavender.
“Do you need help getting in the shower?” Her big blue eyes staring up at me, looking so concerned, is sweet and oddly gratifying, though I’ve done nothing to earn it.
Kicking off my boots and dropping my pants, I shake my head with a devilish smile. “I’m always happy to have company.” Hergaze travels down and she flushes when she sees my stonner. “He has a mind of his own, darling. You are a bonnie thing in this little top.” Touching the silk camisole she’s wearing, I’m ready to slip it off her shoulders, but she steps back.
“I’ll put it under your pillow,” she says sourly. “You can use it for your special alone time.”
The urge to spank her perfect ass is back, but the hot water feels incredible and I lean against the shower wall, trying to get my strength back.
When I make it into my bedroom, she’s already pulled the covers back and fluffed my pillows. “Here’s your antibiotics,” she offers me a glass of water and three pills. “I found a painkiller in the kit, too. If you don’t have any more people to kill today, you might want to take it.”
“You have a bossy side when you’re playing doctor,” I say, swallowing the pills and getting into bed. “Sit with me for a moment.”
She hesitates, then finally pulls up a chair, just out of reach.
“Did Talon give you a daily update?”
Scowling, she says, “I’m not sure saying, ‘Hey, Mr. MacTavish isn’t dead yet’ is considered an update, but yes.”
“We weren’t in a place where I could call you, or I would have checked in with you myself.” I understand that women like that. My mother used to drive that point home a lot when I’d disappear for days. Afton shrugs, trying to look indifferent.
“Okay. Well…” she pops up, obviously eager to leave, “I’m going to let you get some rest. There’s nothing better than a nice hot shower and clean sheets, right?”
“Well…” I drawl, “my personal nurse isn’t so bad either, even if she won’t give me a sponge bath.”
“You’re feeling better,” she says heartlessly. “Goodnight.”
***
Stonner - Scottish slang for erection.
Bonnie - Scottish slang for beautiful.
