Page 28 of Ruthless Sinner
For some reason, the idea that she was trying to hide her worry from me meant more than if she’d been wringing her hands and crying over me. Probably because she was aware I dealt with this on a regular basis and had gone through worse—if I didn’t make a big deal out of it, neither would she.
Kennedy got the supplies all set out. “How attached are you to this shirt?”
“Not very, but I’ve got a fondness for the jacket.” Good leather jackets weren’t exactly off the rack.
“All right. I’ll pull the knife out, and you’ll take off the jacket. We’ll cut the shirt open, and then I’ll stitch up the wound. Fair?”
“Fair.” It would be easier to just get the jacket off than try to cut through it, anyway.
I felt Kennedy’s palm on my back, bracing. “On the count of three, I’m going to pull it out, okay?”
“Okay.”
“One—”
I swore in pain as she neatly pulled the knife out in one smooth, powerful motion. I glared at her as Kennedy set the knife down in the sink.
She shrugged, completely unapologetic. “You would’ve tensed up at three.”
…fair enough.
I shrugged quickly out of the jacket. Now that the knife was gone, my wound was going to bleed, badly. It was why I hadn’t tried to remove the knife earlier. I knew of a lot of guys who’d had wounds that were treatable but they’d tried to get the knife or bullet or what-have-you out too soon and they’d bled to death.
Once the jacket was off, I sat back down on the tub. Kennedy pressed her hand to the knife wound and I held in a hiss of pain. It was good, both for her to brace and so the bleeding was somewhat held in while she efficiently cut open the back of the shirt.
I could feel the way the fabric had become thick with blood as she peeled it away from my shoulder. I heard Kennedy sigh, and then she ran the tub for a second. I realized why when I felt a warm, wet cloth wiping at my shoulder—cleaning the blood so she could get a good look at the wound.
“Where’d you learn to do this?” I asked.
“My dad was in construction and was kind of the neighborhood handyman. He taught me everything he knew, I was his little assistant.” I could hear the smile in Kennedy’s voice—and the wistfulness. “It’s inevitable that you get injured at some point, and it’s better to be prepared for the worst. So he taught me a lot of stuff. Then after he died and my mom got sick… I just got used to taking care of people, I guess.”
I winced but held still as she cleaned and disinfected, then winced again as she slid the needle through my flesh.
“Will you get this x-rayed tomorrow?” she asked, like she knew I’d avoid it otherwise.
“Yes.” I resisted the urge to tease her about it.I just got used to taking care of people.
This meant something to Kennedy. Did that mean that I meant something to her? Did I want to mean something to her?
Did she mean something to me?
There was silence for a few minutes, and then Kennedy said quietly, “I know that you don’t talk about your work a lot. But… what were you doing? You’ve never come home injured before.”
“That you know of.”
“I’d know,” Kennedy said, and there was such conviction in her voice that I suddenly wondered if she’d really been asleep all those times before or if she’d just been pretending, making sure I was okay and then minding her own business.
That oddly comforted me. She was giving me space but also looking out for me.
“I’m not sure what I’m doing, and that’s the problem,” I admitted.
I grimaced and grunted as she continued with her stitches. I was going to need to get a tattoo to cover this scar up. Some guys thought a lot of scars made them look tough, but I preferred to look invincible. Like I’d never had a scratch on me.
“I’m a soldier,” I said quietly. “Do you know what that means?”
“You fight?” Kennedy hazarded a guess.
“Kind of. I mean, yes, I fight. But I’m a grunt. I do whatever bodyguard or overseeing work needs to be done. If a guy is trouble, I eliminate him.”
