She reaches for his waistband, and that's it. I'm done.
"Alright, show's over," I growl, stepping between them. "D needs rest, not a strip tease."
Dr. Volkov straightens, her perfect eyebrows arching. "I assure you, Ms. Davis, this is standard procedure."
"Yeah? Well, your 'procedure' looks a lot like foreplay from where I'm standing."
Erik's choking back laughter behind me, the bastard.
Dr. Volkov's smile is all teeth. "Perhaps you'd prefer to handle Mr. Orlov's care yourself?"
"Maybe I would," I shoot back.
We're locked in a stare-down, the air crackling with tension. D groans from the bed, breaking the spell.
"Ladies, please," Erik interjects, still chuckling. "Let's play nice. Doctor, maybe we could give our friends a moment?"
Dr. Volkov nods, all professional courtesy now. "Of course. I'll be back to check on you in an hour, Mr. Orlov."
She sashays out, Erik trailing behind her like a horny teenager. The door clicks shut, leaving me alone with D.
I turn to find him watching me, a hint of amusement in his pain-clouded eyes.
"What?" I snap.
Good to see me? Fucking hell. My stomach does a weird flip that I promptly ignore.
I scrub a hand over my face, suddenly bone-tired. "Yeah, well. Someone's gotta keep these silicone-enhanced vultures off your dick while you're out cold."
His hand finds mine, rough and warm. "My hero," he mumbles, already drifting off again.
What the hell is my problem?
I jerk my hand away from D's, my skin burning where we touched. Fuck. What's wrong with me? I pace the room, fists clenching and unclenching.
My eyes snap back to D. He's out cold, chest barely moving. I freeze, really seeing him for the first time in days. Shit. His face is gaunt, cheekbones sharper than usual. The bandages Dr. Silicone wrapped around his torso look like they're strangling him.
I step closer, fingers ghosting over a fresh scar on his collarbone. My throat closes up. Stupid, reckless bastard.
"Screw it," I mutter, reaching for the bandages. If Botox Barbie can do it, so can I.
I start unwrapping, trying not to wake him. Each new mark I uncover makes my blood boil hotter. Bullet hole. Knife gash. Cigarette burns. Jesus fuck.
D stirs, eyes cracking open. "Wren?" His voice is sandpaper rough.
"No, it's the tooth fairy. Who else would be getting you half-naked, dumbass?" I snark, ignoring the way my heart races.
He grunts, calloused fingers brushing my cheek. "You hurt? ThatSukahit you pretty hard..."
My heart does a weird flip-flop thing in my chest. Blood rushes to my face, and I feel like I'm burning up. What the fuck is wrong with me? Calm down, you idiot. It's just D being... D.
I jerk back, his fingers grazing my split lip as I move. "Seriously? You're a human pincushion and you're worried about me?"
Fuck. My voice comes out all breathy and weird.
His eyes, glassy with pain, search my face. "M'sorry," he slurs. "Dragged you into this mess. You and John..."
"Oh, can it," I growl, but there's no bite to it. My fingers trace the edge of a bandage on his ribs. "Like we weren't already neck-deep in shit creek. John and I are trouble magnets, remember?"
