Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 66480 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 332(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66480 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 332(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
"I can make it," he insisted, even as his body leaned heavier into mine. “Just give me a second.”
"Shut up," I muttered, tightening my grip. "You've lost blood, and I'm not picking your ass up when you face-plant on these stairs."
He made a sound that might have been a laugh if it hadn't caught on a wince. The stairs seemed to stretch forever, each metal step ringing under our boots like an announcement: still alive, still breathing, still here.
“Are you even all right?” Though I sounded exasperated, I used irritation to cover my alarm. “Did you get shot anywhere else?”
“No. Just adrenaline drop.” He stumbled and lunged forward, somehow I managed to keep his fucking big ass, muscled up self from actually doing the face-planting I’d mentioned earlier. When I did, I bumped his arm and he groaned. Loudly. “And in a bit of pain. Maybe some blood loss.”
I'd spent the entire night pacing my apartment, imagining every possible horrible outcome while the men rescued those girls. Ghost had refused to let me come to the clinic when they'd first returned, telling me I needed to let Sawbones do his job. Like hell. The moment I'd heard Rocky was back and hurt, I'd bolted for the clinic, only to find him trying to stand up with that stubborn look on his face, the one that said he'd crawl across broken glass before admitting he’d been hurt.
I fumbled with my keys at the door, one arm still supporting Rocky. My fingers felt clumsy, my nerves shot after hours of waiting, of not knowing if he'd come back in one piece. When the lock finally clicked, I shouldered the door open and guided him inside.
"Sit," I ordered, kicking the door shut behind us and turning the deadbolt with a decisive click.
Rocky eased onto my couch with another suppressed grimace. Though Bones dressed his wound, it had bled through a small amount. Dried blood crusted along his forearm and streaked his chest where it had dripped down from his wound.
"It's not as bad as it looks," he said, catching me staring at the wound. "Just a graze."
"Yeah, and I'm the fucking queen of England." I moved to the kitchen, filling a bowl with warm water and grabbing a clean cloth before returning to kneel in front of him. "Let me see it."
He started to protest, but I silenced him with a look I'd learned from Ghost, the one that said arguing would only make things worse.
Rocky exhaled slowly, then nodded. "Fine. But I told you, it's just a—"
"If you say 'just a graze' one more time, I'm going to smack you upside your thick head." I helped him ease his shirt over his head, careful not to jar his injured arm too much. "Arms up, tough guy."
The shirt came off, revealing more dried blood and the beginning of bruises across his ribs. My breath caught at the sight. He'd taken more hits than just the bullet graze, though in the chaos of the warehouse raid, he probably hadn't even noticed.
I dipped the cloth in warm water and began carefully washing away the blood from his arm, working my way around the bandage Bones had applied. Rocky watched me, his eyes following every movement of my hands.
"Did Ghost give you shit about coming to find me?" he asked, his voice rougher than usual.
I snorted. "He tried. Told me to give you space to recover." I wrung out the cloth, the water turning pink. "Since when have I ever done what I'm told?"
That earned me a small bark of laughter before he groaned again. A small smile softened his features, a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made my throat burn with unshed tears. I focused on cleaning the rest of the dried blood from his chest and arm, trying to ignore how my fingers trembled slightly against his skin. And how close to breaking down and sobbing like a baby I truly felt.
"Wren," he said softly. "I'm OK. Really."
"You could have died." The words escaped before I could stop them, raw and honest in a way I hadn't intended. I kept my eyes on my task, unable to meet his gaze. "They could have killed you."
"They didn't, honey."
"Not for lack of trying." I pressed the cloth harder against a stubborn smear of blood near his collarbone, making him hiss. I immediately felt bad. "Sorry."
We fell silent as I continued working. The only sounds were our breathing and the gentle splash of water as I rinsed the cloth. My thoughts raced, jumping from the sight of him standing in the clinic doorway, looking pale but alive, to the terrifying hours of not knowing if he'd return at all. I'd spent those hours thinking, deciding, committing to what I knew in my gut was true, regardless of how we'd started.