Her cynicism wounded me. It hurt even more that she was right. “Duci.”
“It’s fine,” she lied.
I turned to face her. “Do you want to take Plan B or STI tests?”
Her gaze softened. “He didn’t rape me, Stan. None of them did.”
Victor continued tending to her until he’d done as much as he could—it was mostly bruising—severe—which he couldn’t exactly fix.
Still, I tuned in when he advised aftercare and the best way to handle her concussion, because I figured she’d be a nightmare patient and I’d have to wade in, and then he was gone.
And we were alone.
“House calls and five-hundred-thousand dollar X-ray detectors??” she sputtered.
“Hospitals aren’t always an option for us.” I walked over to her. “Can I cup your cheek?”
“Are you going to ask me if we can hold hands?”
“Were you kidnapped earlier today?”
She wet her lips then hissed as it tugged on a cut. “If it’s affectionate and not sex-driven, you can touch me, Stan.”
Satisfied with the concession, I did as I’d said—let my thumb smooth over her jaw. “You can hit me, you know?”
“I wanted to punch you earlier.”
“You did? When?”
“When you were stating the obvious.” Her eyes closed and the tiniest pucker slashed her brow. “I don’t want to anymore.”
“You should. It’s the least I deserve.”
“Hardly.”
“My enemies abducted you,” I bit off.
Her shaking fingers tapped my chin in reprimand. “You got to me in time. You fed the fire in me. I can’t hit the man who saved me.”
I stared at her, aghast. But seeing that she meant it, that she expected so little of me, I pleaded, “With everyone else in my life, I’ve always shown up too late. But for you, I will never be late.Capisci?” Her gentle nod had me continuing, “You’ve no idea what I want to do to that man, Kitty.”
“Does it involve more than breaking his spine?”
I hesitated. “You mad at me about that?”
“Unsurprisingly, no.”
“I don’t know. I think that comes as a shock. Two days ago, you saw a man die?—”
“He was someone dancing in a nightclub! He didn’t deserve to bleed out on a dance floor because Miguel Martinez got up on the wrong side of the bed that morning.”
“But Dante does?”
She pulled a face. “I refuse to discuss philosophy with you right now.”
Which meant yes.
“Fine, but we agree that I can torture Dante?”
