My family’s vulnerable right now. The council is ineffective and I’m still not raised into the boss position. Which means I’m working at half strength at best.
Blood soaks through my shirt and drops down into my shoes.
The cut's at an awkward angle. I doubt I can sew it myself, but a trip to the hospital means questions I don't want to answer.
First, patch myself up. And then I'll have to find that Yusuf fucker and have a nice, polite conversation about proper knife safety.
One step at a time.
KIRA
Gem's still asleep when I get home from my diner shift. I think about waking her up, but she's still got some time. At least one of us should get decent rest.
I sit in the kitchen and stare into the distance, thinking about that conversation with Stellan. I run over the details again and again. The look on his face. The smirks and laughs. I don’t know why I can’t get him out of my head. He’s just some bastard trying to ruin my life.
There’s a sudden knock at my door.
I sit up straight in surprise. Nobody ever comes here this early. But maybe Tabby’s having trouble with the baby or Mina needs help. I hurry over and pull it open.
Only to find Stellan standing there, a bundled-up shirt shoved against his ribs. My mouth falls open as I stare at him. His chest is bare under his jacket. There are intricate tattoos all over his skin and thick slabs of muscle ripple down his torso. I’ve never seen someone so cut and fit in my entire life. He’s physical perfection.
Except for the blood-drenched shirt.
“How are you with a needle?” he asks.
“Stellan, what are you doing?”
“Need a hand.”
“Why are you here? You can’t be here right now.” My eyes flip from the bloody shirt back to his grimacing face. “Are you hurt?”
“Can’t do a hospital. Frankie’s busy. Don’t trust anyone else.”
“No, no way. You need a doctor.”
“I have everything. You just need to stitch.”
“Stellan!” I’m about to tell him to get the hell out of here when Mrs. Walker’s door opens. She pokes her head out, white hair in curlers.
“Is that Stellan?” she asks, squinting. The old bat’s blind as hell without her glasses. “Mr. Stellan, I wanted to thank you?—”
“Another time, Mrs. Walker!” I call out sweetly, grab Stellan by the arm, and drag him inside.
He grunts softly in pain as the door closes.
We’re close together in my tiny foyer. I’m intensely aware of his size. He smells like blood, sweat, and a slight deodorant cologne. It’s a good smell, and I breathe it in.
“Please,” he says. And for once, he sounds completely earnest.
What a mess. What an absolute nightmare.
“You have to be quiet,” I hiss, leading him to the bathroom. This is a massive mistake. “Gem can’t see you.”
“I won’t make a peep,” he says, low and soft. “Just clean me up.”
I bite my lip to keep myself from groaning.
Once he’s sitting on the closed toilet seat, I lock the door and turn on the shower. “Show me.”
