Page 35 of Guilty as Sin

When I ready my bottle of numbing spray, he holds up his hand to stop me.

“I can handle the pain.”

“Good for you. I don’t care.” I pull his wrist out of the way with one hand and spray his wound with the other.

“Direct disobedience.” He says it in his lowest voice, making my nipples go stiff, my body reacting before I can consciously think the word punishment.

I distract myself by holding my needle up to the light and threading it on the first try. My hands are steady as I lean forward, but from where I’m sitting, I can’t get close enough to Brady to suture his wound properly. There’s nothing else for it, so I perch myself on the arm of the couch and get to work.

“What happened?” I pierce him with my needle and tug the synthetic thread through.

“Some bastard stabbed me,” he says through clenched teeth.

“Who?”

“I don’t know his name.”

I pull my second suture closed before glancing up at Brady’s face. Then I pause in my work, refusing to accept his nonanswer. He heaves an exasperated sigh.

“One of Seven’s men.”

“Who’s Seven?” I return my gaze to my needle and thread, but my attention is torn. Brady’s actually giving me information. Though it’s seemingly despite himself, he’s trusting me.

“Mortimer Vanleusen the Seventh,” he answers.

“Seriously? He sounds pompous as shit.”

“He is.”

I furrow my brow as I concentrate on an angled stitch.

“Wait.” My eyes snap up to his. “Vanleusen as in railroad money? As in the wealthy family that owns half of Chicago?”

“Vanleusen as in the enemy family your brother tried to make an alliance with, yes.”

My mouth drops open. Connor didn’t mention that little detail. And though I’m not happy about it, I understand why. I close my mouth and take a deep breath, then return to my work.

“So you’re telling me that the golden family of Chicago, with all their upper-echelon connections and power they wield over this city, is your enemy?”

“Yes,” Brady says simply.

“And here I’d thought you O’Sullivans were smart.”

“We don’t choose our enemies, Muloney.” He spits my last name like a curse, and heat flares in my chest. “The Vanleusens have always kept to the North Side. They’ve been quiet for generations, but now Seven’s decided that he wants to encroach on our territory.”

Frowning, I finish the rest of the stitches and use forceps to secure the knot. Then I snip off the excess thread and set all my tools aside, freeing my hands to inspect my work. Gingerly I run my fingertips below the sutured wound, pleased with how even my stitching is. I haven’t sewn anyone up in years, and I’d forgotten how thrilling it is in the moment, how satisfying it is afterward.

Brady’s skin is hot beneath my touch, and I swear I can feel his pulse thudding erratically. Without thinking, I lift two fingers toward his neck to check his carotid artery. He snatches my wrist.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He tightens his grip.

“Checking your pulse.” I try to pull my wrist away, but he doesn’t let go. We glare at each other. With me on the couch’s arm, I’m the slightest bit above his eye level, and I very much enjoy looking down at him.

As he scowls up at me, I use our staring contest as a distraction, darting my free hand toward him. Not for his throat, but for his heart this time. My palm is on his chest before he can stop me. And yes, his pulse is very erratic. Beneath my hand, his heart gallops, though I’d never know it by looking at him.

I keep my hand there as he stares at me. While an erratic pulse is rarely good, in this instance, it’s not a cause for medical concern. Brady’s thundering heartbeat matches my own, and I know the cause of my symptom well enough.

It’s the nearness of him.