It’s the kind of lucidity that brings back a little bit of my humanity, even if it's just a sliver that got lost somewhere in the rubble I piled up when my life fell apart five years ago.
How did she do that?
I drop my hand from her and step back, letting her suck in the breaths I deprived her of. I know she wants to reach up and touch the reddened skin decorating her neck that will surely bruise, but she doesn’t. She pushes to stand, wiping at her wet cheeks with the back of her hand.
She gestures to the table, shuffling to leave the space between me and the table empty. “Sit. I need to take a look at your shoulder.”
I glance down, noticing the deep red color that’s staining through my white dress shirt. At least the bleeding has slowed. The downside to her clearing my head is that the pain is a bitch. I was shot when the bullets first started flying. Luckily, I was only hit once before Carter shielded my body with his, sending us both crashing to the ground.
Carter was in the helicopter with me, but I don’t know where he is now. Worrying about his condition has me moving toward the door. He said he was fine, and he is physically. However, I know deep down there’s a goddamn war raging in his head for letting me get shot at all. Carter barely spoke on the flight home, his knee bouncing up and down violently with his arms folded over his chest. His body language conveyed how furious he was with himself.
I’m glad it was me, and he needs to know that. If he had shielded me sooner when the bullets first started ripping through the air, the one in my shoulder would’ve been lodged in his back, and I don’t even want to consider what that reality could’ve looked like.
“Where are you going?” Her genuine concern makes me pause.
“I need to find Carter.”
“An empire can’t rebuild without its king.” I turn to look at her hesitantly. When I don’t answer, she answers the questions bombarding me, “So… The Irish mob, huh?”
A corner of my mouth curves, feeling foreign against the fury dissipating. “Have you made some friends while I’ve been gone?”
If she’s free to roam the estate now, I’m not the only one who will recognize how gorgeous she is. That is why tomorrow, my men will know she’s off-limits, or else actions will be taken.
But only because I’m still suspicious of her.
Not because my dick is already wanting to stake a claim.
I might just kill anyone who touches her.
“I met your father.” Her response distresses me. “I’m assuming you were talking about him when you said that my life isn’t only in your hands.” She waves a hand over me. “Take off your shirt.”
I do as she says, too tired to fight her, though I’m worried about my best friend and about what words she and my father exchanged while I was gone. Fire shoots up my arm, and I grit my teeth, struggling to undo the first few buttons. I’ve been through worse. It’s not the first time I’ve been shot—I have five scars to prove it. But, mixed with the exhaustion and being blindsided, my muscles ache.
After Kate pulls out some gauze, bandages, and other medical supplies from the cabinet over the sink, she turns, watching me struggle.
She blows out a breath and gestures her head to motion to the table again. I drop my hands, leaving my shirt partway open to reveal the tattoos gliding over my skin, and sit down, the paper crinkling below my weight.
Moving to stand between my legs, I’m hooked to the way her delicate fingers pop open each button. When she finishes the last one, her hands gently move under the fabric, her hands grazing my shoulders as she gently pushes it off to let me wiggle out of the shirt. Her eyes flit over the mapping of ink over my abdomen and chest before magnetizing back to mine. She’s already seen my arms, but somehow it feels like she’s memorizing every stroke and line that’s decorating my skin.
And not just ink.
All of me.
She’s undressing me to fix a damn bullet wound in my shoulder. Yet the way she’s touching me, it's like she’s undressing more than just my body and trying to dissect my head and read the scars that penetrate my skin.
It’s been days since I’ve seen her, but with one heated interaction, she’s cracked my barriers, and I can’t help but want to do what she stupidly asked. Claim her mouth with mine and taste every inch of her, even if she’s the sweetest poison that was meant to annihilate me.
She’s a distraction I can’t indulge in.
Her fingers dancing over my skin makes my cock twitch.
Before I’m possessed to shove Kate to her knees and force her to make my dick feel better with her hot mouth instead, I snatch her wrist, drawing a quick breath from her lungs. “I’ve got shit to do, darling. Hurry this up before I rip the bullet out myself and settle for a band-aid.”
She presses her lips in a line at my command, leaning to pick up some supplies off the counter while I can’t help but lean toward that twinge of belief in my gut that tells me maybe Kate isn’t involved with Luciano after all.
But if she isn’t, then who is?
EIGHTEEN | KATE
