Standing back, I watch the scene unfold in front of me, not sure what to do. I have this terrible urge to run to Cruz and hold him. I want to help, but I also don’t want to get in the way. “Jagger, what can I do to help?”
“Go back to bed,” he growls back at me, cold and distant, not even looking my way.
I stare at him for a beat, confused. I had his dick in my mouth just a few hours ago; now he wants to go back to hating me? Maybe it wasn’t him and it was just my mind playing tricks on me.
“Get him something to drink, Ash,” he barks out at Asher as he helps make Cruz more comfortable.
Ash rushes into the kitchen and returns with a bottle of Jack Daniels. He hands the bottle to Cruz, and he takes a big swig.
Cruz rolls onto his side, his groggy eyes coming to me. “Little darlin’,” he slurs, holding out his good hand for me like he’s just realized I’m here.
Brushing past Jagger, I move to sit on the floor so I can take hold of Cruz’s hand. He might have been pissed with me when I last saw him, but he still wants me around, and I feel compelled to make him feel better in any way I can. I clutch his hand tightly. “What happened?”
“Some prick stabbed me,” he mumbles. “It’s fucking annoying.”
Fuck. I glance back at Jagger to see if it’s true, but his bitter expression gives me nothing to go on. He averts his gaze, grabbing Asher by the arm. He pulls him into the kitchen with him, the two of them talking so hushed I can’t make out anything they are saying.
I grip Cruz’s hand tighter. “You’re going to be okay,” I tell him, even though I have no clue if he is or not. From the way he’s lying, I can’t even tell where exactly he’s been stabbed or how bad it is.
A knock echoes through the silent apartment, and Jagger moves quickly through to answer it.
A man comes into the room with a bag, looking half asleep as he runs a hand through his hair. I have to assume this is the Ricky they were talking about that was coming to help. “Been fighting again, Cruz?” He laughs light-heartedly.
“Not this time, Doc,” Cruz slurs as he tries to sit up higher.
“Then I don’t want to know.” The doctor glances my way, probably wondering who the girl is kneeling at Cruz’s side with her fingersintertwined with his. He gives me a soft, friendly smile, then he gives his full attention back to Cruz. “Show me how bad it is.”
Jagger steps in, undoing the makeshift bandage Cruz has wrapped around his arm. It’s then I realize it must be parts of Jagger’s T-shirt, because he’s just in his emblem jacket, snippets of his bare chest popping through.
Cruz lifts his shirt, and instant nausea washes over me. There is so much blood. Between the two deep gashes, one on his arm, the other on his chest, blood seeps out everywhere.
“I’m going to need some towels and fresh water. You lot need to clear the space,” the doctor says with more urgency in his voice.
“My girl stays,” Cruz slurs, his eyes locking with me. His girl? Man, I hope it’s the blood loss talking. I look to Asher for help. I can’t stay here while Ricky stitches him up. I’m squeamish with blood and can already feel the color draining from my face.
Ricky looks me over, and I know he sees my panic. He leans in closer to Cruz. “You’re losing blood quickly. I need to stitch you up. We can’t have any distractions. Doctor’s orders.” Ricky injects something into his arm, and I feel even woozier.
“Hmm,” Cruz murmurs, his eyes closing as his hand loosens its grip on mine.
“It’s okay, Cruz, I will be back as soon as the doctor fixes you up,” I say, slipping out of his hold. He looks like he might have passed out, and it’s probably for the best.
On wobbly legs, I get to my feet and slink back into the kitchen with Asher, gripping the kitchen counter for support, still close to Cruz but far enough I can’t see what is going on. Sweat coats my brow, and I gag but manage to stop the bile from rising.
Jagger rushes past me with a pile of towels, knocking me on his way through.
Asher’s hand comes to my back. “You okay, little princess?”
My head shakes as I grip the counter tighter, trying to suck in a full breath. I feel weird, my head spinny. I want to talk, but I can’t form a sentence.
“Not good with blood?” Asher chuckles.
I shake my head again, feeling the life drain from my face. The next thing I know, I’m in Asher’s arms.
“Hey, you’re okay,” he says kindly, holding me close to his body before he pulls out a chair and props me up in it, his hand still on me for extra support.
I stare back at him, feeling majorly washed out. What just happened?
He pours me a glass of water. “Such a princess, faints at the sight of a little blood.” He laughs light-heartedly, smiling at me.
