“I said no. Just stitch my shit so I can go back to work.”
I feel her before she speaks.
“Rev?” Her voice is hesitant, behind me. “Are you okay?”
“I’m good. Go home.”
She ignores me. Circles around behind the doctor. Her hand goes to her mouth. “Rev! Your face!”
I glare at her. “Face cuts bleed a lot. Looks worse than it is.” I glance at the doctor for confirmation.
He nods, then looks at Myka. “He says no anesthetic. You tell him to let me.”
She furrows her brow. “Why wouldn’t you let him use local anesthetic, Rev? You just won a fight. No need to prove anything.”
I clench my jaw. “Not provin’ shit. I just don’t like my face being numb. Feels weird for fuckin’ hours. I’d rather just get it over with.”
She looks behind me—I feel Chance back there. “Chance, talk to him.”
Chance just laughs. “On your own with this one, babe. Watched him dig a ricochet out of his own chest with a hot knife, stone-cold sober. I think his ass can handle a couple stitches.”
She blanches. “Oh.” A wave of both hands, and a sigh. “Fine then. Whatever. Be macho.”
That almost gets me to crack a grin, her adorable fucking irritation somehow at me yet on my behalf at the same time
The doc sighs, and pulls on rubber gloves, then takes the suture needle and moves closer to me. He smells like garlic and fabric softener. His touch is gentle as he pinches the cut over my eyebrow closed; the sting of the needle piercing my skin almost gets a wince out of me. Instead, I hold Myka’s gaze. Maybe my dumbass is proving something to her.
What, I don’t know.
I can’t help staring at her mouth—wondering if she’s thinking about me kissing her. If she regrets it.
She watches, her emotions plain on her face—she winces each time he sutures, as if she feels the pain instead of me. Really, it’s nothing. Not after some of the shit I’ve been through. A few minutes, and then he’s tying the suture off, snipping it.
“Cheek, no stitch.” He dabs goo on the cut and fastens a butterfly bandage over it. “Good. Keep clean.”
Money exchanges hands from Lew to the doctor, and then somehow Myka and I are alone in the corridor.
She looks like she has a billion things to say, but no clue where to start.
I stand up and crowd her space; I expect her to flinch away from the violence that coats my being like a second skin, but she stands her ground. “Save your tears for someone who wants ‘em.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “I’m not crying.”
I run a thumb over her dry cheek from beneath her eye to the edge of her chin; she’s got skin like silk. I expect my touch to leave a red smear, but it doesn’t. “See the fight?”
She doesn’t pull away from my touch, the idiot. Like she wants it, almost. Or thinks she does.
She nods, a hank of sun-bleached blond coming loose from her pony and draping in front of her eye; she tosses it out of the way with a flick of her head. “Most of it.”
“Watch it through your fingers?”
She sighs. “No. I had to help Ingo.”
“So Inez tossed you to the sharks, huh?”
“To the wolves, in her words.”
“And here you are, still standing.”
