Page 96 of Himbo Hitman
I drag my attention back from St. Clare. “I think I’m going to need some help with that.”
“I can cut it off?”
“No.” I grip the front of my T-shirt. “It’s my favorite shirt.”
“It’s covered in blood.”
“Just needs a good soak.”
“Whatever you say,” he mutters, helping me peel the shirt up and over my head. My good arm is easy enough to pull out, but it takes some careful maneuvering to peel it from the wound and getit off the other one. The prickling of the cool air picks up with the breeze, even with the fire right next to me, and I’m probably getting frostbite or pneumonia at this point, but at least I still can’t feel it. Despite how much I’m fucking shaking.
Everett picks up what looks like a long, thin knife. “Three … two …”
I’m waiting foronewhen he stabs me with the damn thing, and a very unmanly squeal bursts from me. “I wasn’t ready!”
“That was the point.”
My teeth clench tight as Everett digs around in my shoulder, and now he’s started, all I can hope for is that he doesn’t bust up something vital that will lose the control of my arm. It’s a very nice arm, and we’ve been through a lot together. Shooting guns, carrying my bracelet, and all those times it’s helped me eat, drink, and jerk off.
“Is it actually in there?” I ask through my clenched jaw. “Or are you just enjoying stabbing me?”
“I can enjoy stabbing youandhave it be in there, Perry.”
“My mistake.” If you’d asked me a few minutes ago whether this could hurt more, my answer would have been no, but look at that, Ever is managing. I glance over and finally catch St. Clare’s eyes. “Have I mentioned yet how very, very sorry I am for shooting you?”
Instead of the indulgent amusement I’m so used to from him, St. Clare turns away and walks over toward where Lars is. They talk quietly between themselves, and I try and fail not to feel like the odd one out.
Tommy, Arlie, and Everett have each other. St. Clare and Lars have each other. No matter how much I try, I don’t fit in with any of them.
But these guys showed up for me, so I have to be grateful about that.
“Got him,” Everett exclaims, and a heavy metallicchinkcomes as the bullet falls into the metal bowl. Everett leans in for a better look. “I think that’s the whole thing.”
“You think?”
“At least sixty-five percent sure.”
Those aren’t terrible odds, I guess.
“I’ll clean it up and then stitch you back together.”
“You know how to do that?”
“Close enough.” Everett wipes over the wound. “Just don’t expect it to be pretty.”
“Good thing I have my face to do the heavy lifting. Isn’t that right, St. Clare?”
His stare bores into me in return, and I get that uncomfortable gut wrench that maybe I’ve done something wrong. When he doesn’t answer, I turn to Arlie. “Isn’t that right?”
“If by heavy lifting you mean scaring people away before they can even see your shoulder, then sure. But it’s not your whole face. Only the stuff that comes out of your mouth.”
I drop my head back toward the watery blue sky, the needle piercing my skin nothing compared to the abuse my shoulder’s seen today. “I’m starting to suspect I’m unappreciated in my time.”
Tommy laughs and waves a hand my way. “What part of all this are we forgetting to appreciate?”
Ah … Okay, he’s got me there. I joke about being good-looking when in actual fact I’m probably nudging a seven on a good day. On a day like today, I’d probably give me a weak four. People say I’m a fun guy, yet none of those people have bothered to stick around, so I’m not sure they can be trusted.Ithink I’m a fun guy, but as Lars pointed out, apparently my judgment can’t be trusted either. I’m loyal—just have no one to be loyal to. I have a big heart—and no one to share that with. And I’m sure Icouldhold down a job if this bad luck would stop following me.
I swallow roughly as Ever wipes over my newly stitched-up franken-wound. “Can we take a rain check on that answer?”
