Page 5 of Canvas’ Muse

Engines rev outside. Motorcycles, multiple bikes. Then the sound fades, moving away down the street.

Silence.

I stay frozen for another ten seconds, listening, making sure they're really gone. My body is still covering Eden's, my arms caged around her head, protecting her from debris and bullets and whatever the hell just happened.

"Canvas?" Her voice is small, scared in a way that makes my chest hurt. "Are they gone?"

"I think so." I start to push myself up and that's when I feel it.

Warmth spreading down my left shoulder. Not sweat. Not adrenaline.

Blood.

I look down and see the dark stain spreading across my black t-shirt, soaking through the fabric. One of their bullets must have caught me while I was covering her. I was so focused on keeping her safe, I didn't even feel it hit.

"Oh my god." Eden sees it the same moment I do. "You're bleeding. Canvas, you're bleeding."

I roll off her, sitting back against the base of the tattoo chair. The room tilts slightly. There's more blood than I expected, running down my arm in dark rivulets.

"You're shot." Eden is on her knees beside me, her hands already moving toward my shoulder. She's still in just her t-shirt and those black lace panties, her long dark hair falling around her face, and even bleeding out I notice how beautiful she is. "Let me see. I need to see it."

"I'm fine—"

"You're not fine. You're shot." Her nurse voice is back, loud and commanding. "Do you have medical supplies here? First aid kit, anything?"

"Cabinet. Under the sink. Back corner." The words come out slightly slurred. When did that happen?

She's across the room in seconds, yanking open the cabinet, pulling out the kit I keep for exactly this kind of emergency. Then she's back, dropping to her knees beside me, already opening packages.

"I need to see the wound. Your shirt has to come off." Her hands are on the hem of my shirt, and they're shaking just slightly despite her training.

I try to help her pull it over my head, but my left arm isn't cooperating. Everything feels distant, like I'm watching this happen to someone else. Eden has to peel the shirt away from my shoulder where the blood has made the fabric stick to skin. I hiss at the pain.

"Sorry, sorry." She gets the shirt off and immediately applies pressure with gauze from the kit. "Okay. Entry wound, posterior shoulder. I need to check for exit."

She moves around me, her fingers gentle but probing against my chest. "There. Exit wound, anterior. The bullet went straight through. That's good, means nothing's lodged inside."

"How bad?" My voice sounds wrong. Weak.

"Bad enough." She's opening more gauze packages. "You're bleeding heavily from both wounds. This needs a hospital, Canvas. Gunshot wounds need surgical attention, imaging to check for arterial damage—"

"Can't." I catch her wrist with my good hand. "Can't go to a hospital with something this serious. You know that. Gunshot means police, questions."

"I don't care about questions right now. You're losing blood."

"MC has a guy. Saint. Handles this stuff." I fumble for my phone in my pocket, nearly drop it. "Just need to call Phoenix, our president."

Eden takes the phone from my shaking hand. "Unlock it. Now."

I give her the code. She scrolls through my contacts, finds Phoenix's number, and dials. Puts it on speaker while she works on packing my wounds with gauze.

Phoenix answers on the second ring. "Canvas? You good?"

"This is Eden Cross. I'm with Canvas at his tattoo studio. Someone just shot the place up. I don't know who, multiple shooters on motorcycles. Canvas is hit. Gunshot wound through his shoulder, entry and exit, heavy bleeding. He refuses to go to a hospital and says you have someone who can help."

There's a pause, then Phoenix's rugged voice: "How bad is the bleeding?"

"Significant. I've applied pressure and I'm packing the wounds now, but he needs proper medical care." Eden's voice is steady, professional, even as her hands work quickly over my shoulder. "Soon."