by Paige Hill
I sit up straighter, trying to shake off my unsettling reaction. “I’m trying.”
He simply grunts in response. Caveman.
I manage to hold back some very unattractive tears as I watch him pull the glistening pieces from my feet. I watch intently—he works carefully and fluidly, and then grabs a clean cloth and alcohol.
“I’m sorry,” his warm eyes meet mine.
“Why—” is all I can manage. Fire sears the bottoms of my feet. “What the hell? That stings!”
“I said I was sorry,” he replies, his expression anything but sorry.
Ugh, if I weren’t about to pass out from exhaustion, he would know exactly how sorry he is. I know it’s a necessary evil, but ouch!
Putting the final wrap on my poor feet, he stands, letting out an exhaled hiss. My forehead wrinkles in confusion as I take in his form. Sitting like this, I realize how large he really is.
“Thank you. For everything.” Words don’t mean much, but I need him to know I’m not a completely ungrateful bitch.
He responds with another grunt and a nod of his head.
His hands grab hold of my sides, lifting me and placing me gingerly onto the floor. The pins shooting through the soles of my feet should be what I notice first, but it’s not. Aiden’s massive frame staggers just slightly, and I reach out to steady him.
“Are you alright?” I ask.
“Fine.” His voice is rough as sandpaper and his tone is clipped.
I know he’s lying, but I lower my hands anyway, knowing he isn’t going to elaborate.
“Can you walk?”
I put additional pressure on each foot, testing. “Yeah, I think I’ll be fine.”
Turning toward the mirror, I assess my appearance. Don’t I look sexy, I think as I take in my wild hair and impressively smeared mascara. Reaching up to wipe away the smudges with my fingers, I let out a noise somewhere between a scream and a gag.
Pulling my fingers from my face, I stare with disbelief at the blood staining my hand. Aiden’s reflection in the mirror catches my attention as he turns from the doorway, worry written in the lines of his face.
“What’s the matter?”
Frantically searching myself for wounds, my confusion piles.
It’s not mine.
My eyes meet his in the mirror before inspecting the length of his body.
Oh, Dios mio.
Dark red shines under the recessed bathroom lighting. Even in his black tactical gear, I can see the mass of blood pooling just above his hip.
“You’re bleeding!”
He slaps a hand over the wound, groaning through the sudden movement. “I’m fine. Barely grazed me.”
He tries to sound nonchalant as he turns to leave, but I can tell his face is becoming more and more ashen.
“You are not! Sit down!” I demand, waddling out, hot on his heels. He ignores me as he side steps and heads to the wet bar.
The cabinetry is dark, almost black—a stark contrast to the white marble countertop. The crystal highball glass clinks as it meets the stone with more force than is necessary.
“What happened?” Now that the adrenaline has worn off, the effects of blood loss are starting to show.
His head falls back, clearly trying to reign in his frustration with me. Forgoing the glass, he tips back a bottle of bourbon I recognize as Michter’s Celebration. A bottle that, bartending in my younger years tells me, cost well over three grand.
Who is this guy?
“It doesn’t matter. I’m fine.”
“At least let me look at it for crying out loud.”
“No.”
“Stop being a stubborn ass! You’re going to get an infection if you don’t at least clean it.”
Growling in frustration, he places the bottle on the dining table and starts to tear off his Kevlar vest, that until this moment, I didn’t realize he was still wearing.
The more layers he removes, the more I realize how dangerous his wound is.
“You were shot.” I gasp.
Another grunt.
Pulling his shirt over his head, his chest expands as he sucks air through his teeth, breathing through the pain.
My mouth goes dry and I immediately forget how to talk. Aiden’s body is solid. Thick corded muscles flex with each move. Black and gray ink paint his torso, snaking over his shoulders and down both arms. Before, it was obvious that he took care of his body, but…
Dayum.
Blinking away my lust-filled haze, I lean in, inspecting the wound. He’s lost a lot of blood and its’s still bleeding.
“You need to go to the hospital. You need stitches. And antibiotics.”
“I said no. If that fucker is as smart as I think, he’s going to be watching the hospitals. If I’m in there getting fucking stitches, who’s going to be watching you? No one else knows about this. Not a chance I’m willing to take.”
“But you’re willing to risk an infection in your bloodstream?” I ask, defiantly throwing my hands on my hips.
He grunts again, his shoulders shrugging before he takes another swig from the bottle.
“What’s that now?” I ask, pretending I can’t hear him. “Too busy laundering your loin cloth to learn how to speak?”
He pulls the bottle from his lips and just stares at me under the thick shade of his lashes. His eyes dare me to say more, but all I can do is roll my eyes.
Such an ass.
Placing my hand on his stomach, careful not to touch the angry laceration, I turn him slightly. His abs flex beneath my fingers, causing my thighs to clench in response.
What the hell is wrong with me? When this is over, I’m getting a mental evaluation.
Looking closer, I inspect the area, realizing I can’t see where the round exited. The wound is pretty close to the outer side of his torso. It looks like it’s only a half inch or so over, so I don’t think it will take much to get it out.
“Ugh, I hate to break this to you, Caveman, but I think it’s still in there.” I narrow my gaze on his face, trying to get my point across.
Ignoring my statement, he tilts the bottle back, keeping his eyes on me as he turns quickly. His large form staggers on his feet, confusing me because there is no way the alcohol would have affected him like this so fast. He slams the bottle against the heavy wooden table, presumably trying to right himself.
“Aiden?” I call out his name, genuine concern filling my words. But he doesn’t respond. It only takes a split second, but I see it in slow motion. His knees buckle, and he crumbles to the ground like the Berlin Wall.
“Aiden!” My voice cracks as I fall to my knees beside him. His skin is pale, the whitest color imaginable for a human being. Gripping his shoulders, I shake him, trying fruitlessly to rattle life back into his body. Seconds tick by and I feel my skin break out in a cold sweat.
Think, Celeste. Think!
Unable to come up with a better plan as panic begins to seize me, I pull my hand back, bringing it down with a firm smack across his chiseled cheek. My heart beats an erratic rhythm in my chest, and I suck in a breath when his eyes open, focusing on me.
“What the hell?” he barks, looking around, confused about the situation.
“You passed out!” I scream at him, still high on the fear prickling my nerves.
Again, choosing to ignore me, he grunts as he pulls himself up off the floor. Grabbing his precious bottle of bourbon, he heads straight for the bathroom and slams the door.
Alrighty then. If he won’t help himself, I’ll do it for him. Reaching for my phone, I pull up Ethan’s number and type out a message, explaining the situation. Almost immediately, he responds.
Ethan- Sounds like his blood pressure dropped. Where are you?
I have no idea where I am. Looking around, I see nothing with an address. Doing the only thing I can think of, I open the message and drop a location pin.
Celeste- Please hurry!
Chapter Four
Aiden
Than
k God for good bourbon. Warmth spreads through my veins as the alcohol slowly starts to take the edge off the pain. Turning to look at my side, I see she’s right. There is no exit point.
I grab the bottle, enjoying the smooth burn down the back of my throat. This isn’t the first time I’ve been shot, but over time, you forget how much this shit hurts. Passing out, however? That’s a new one. Thankfully, my place is locked down like Fort Knox, so I don’t have to worry about Celeste here.
Turning on the faucet, I splash water over my clammy skin. I just need to clean up the area and I can see someone about extracting it tomorrow. Celeste’s acting like a mother hen, trying to baby me. She’s overreacting.
I nearly lost it when she leaned in and rested her delicate hand on my abs. Her touch burned straight through the muscle to my stomach. I had to put space between us. And now, I’m hiding in the bathroom like a fucking coward.
And that mouth. Why does it turn me on when she calls me Caveman? Every word that comes out of her mouth is defiant and mouthy. It should piss me off. Women are dangerous, I’m the voice of experience. I played with that fire and burned my soul. The woman in my dining room is nothing short of explosive. Guaranteed C4 wrapped in sin.
I refuse to make that mistake twice, choosing to play with sparklers instead. They burn bright, but it doesn’t take long for the spark to fizzle.
The front desk intercom next to the door crackles to life, scaring away the dark thoughts circling like vultures in the night.
“Mr. Briggs, there is a visitor here to see your lady friend.” A voice announces over the intercom.
What the hell?
Barreling through the bathroom door, I stomp toward the box, trying to ignore the pain radiating from my side. I need to dig that shit out before infection sets in.
Celeste intercepts the box, buzzing the stranger through the gate before I have a chance to open my mouth.
“Come on up,” she pauses before turning toward me, “What number is this?”
“Who the hell is that?” I yell louder than I anticipate, but I’m pissed. “You can’t just let people into my house! Are you fucking stupid?”
Frustration settles in the lines of her face and she grits her teeth as she glares at me.
The speaker crackles again before the man with a death wish speaks. “Babe, which apartment?”
My eyes cut to hers; her file said she had no romantic relationships. Anger boils in my gut, but I douse that fire with more bourbon.
The weight of my stare doesn’t intimidate her like I expect. She simply smirks, cocks a hip, and struts passed me. Whipping the front door open, she reads the number on the door while buzzing him up.
“Are you fucking kidding me?!” I yell, throwing my hands up in disbelief. I stomp off in search of my gun, mumbling under my breath about killing her myself.
The doorbell rings and I gladly answer, my pistol pointed straight at his face.
“Whoa, what the hell man?” he yelps, taking a step back.
“What is wrong with you!” Celeste screams, reaching out for the dead man in the hallway. “Put that damn thing away before you shoot yourself. You’re drunk.”
“Someone better start talking.” My gaze nor the barrel of my gun leave his face.
“This is Ethan. He’s a friend of mine, and a veterinarian. Your stubborn ass won’t go to the hospital, so he’s your best option.” Pretty boy nervously holds up a medical bag.
“I’m not a damn dog,” I bark.
“You’re damn sure pig-headed! Either you let him help you, or I leave. It’s that simple.”
“Woman, you’re testing my patience.” She steps closer, staring me down. The fire in her deep green eyes unwelcomely awakens part of me. It doesn’t escape me that she isn’t immune either. Her nipples transform into stiff peaks beneath her shirt and her eyes dilate. If either of us breathes too deeply, they would be pressed against me. Her breathing picks up and I can feel the warmth of her breath against my skin.
“Don’t talk to me like that. I am not subservient, and I am not your woman.”
“Maybe I should let you go. Less hassle for me. Fuck, your man is here.” I toss a hand in Pretty Boy’s direction before staring him down. “Take her with you.”
“My man?” she asks, confused.
My eyes bounce between the two of them before looking pointedly back at her.
“Ethan?” A deep hearty laugh bubbles from her throat as she doubles over.
“What’s so fucking funny?”
Laughing so hard she struggles to breathe, signals Pretty Boy to answer.
“Honey, you’re my type. Not her.” A sly grin tugs at his lips. “Now, knock it off. I have work to do.” Flopping his bag on top of the dining table I’ve never used, he eyes me up and down, reminding me that I’m shirtless. “You might want to get a towel.”
CELESTE
“You’re a fucking sadist,” Aiden complains tipping back the bottle as Ethan’s gloved hand twists, digging the lead from his flesh.
“The more you drink that, the thinner your blood gets. My job would be much easier if the blood stayed inside your body.” Ethan sounds slightly annoyed.
He’s laid out on the dining table surrounded by towels. Just watching him has me on the verge of vomiting. With the exception of a few tender areas, he’s remained impossibly still. Even with the alcohol in his system, the pain has to be unbearable.
The sharp sound of metal clinking as the small round is dropped into the stainless-steel basin allows my muscles to relax. I hadn’t realized I was so tense, but the relief is a welcome sensation.
“About damn time,” Aiden whines again, twisting to look at the hole.
“Hush and be still or I’ll find something else to dig around for,” Ethan threatens as he prepares to stitch the wound, his finely trimmed pompadour falling haphazardly over his undercut. Ethan and Bennie are opposites, but it works for them. Where Bennie is clean shaven with all the style and flash, Ethan prefers a scruffier, woodsy look. If Bennie didn’t take it upon himself to trim Ethan’s hair and beard, he’d look like a South Korean, hipster mountain man.
Before long, Ethan has him wrapped and resting on the couch.
“Thanks, man,” Aiden offers as he struggles to sit up and shake his hand.
“Don’t get up. You could pop one of the stitches. And you’re welcome. Just don’t make it a habit.” He winks.
Walking Ethan to the door, he pulls me into a tight hug.
“Stay safe, Babe. Bennie wouldn’t know what to do without you.” He pauses, nodding toward Aiden’s massive form. “He’s drunk as a skunk right now, but he’s going to be feeling it tomorrow. Just take it easy on him, okay?”
He knows me better than I’d like. I cock an eyebrow daring him to say more.
“Alright, just a friendly suggestion.” He laughs, holding his palms up in surrender.
Leaning in to kiss my cheek, his tone grows serious. “You did good calling me. It was the right choice, given the circumstances, even if he disagrees. He either doesn’t understand how serious a wound like that can be, even if it wasn’t buried deep, or he doesn’t care. My money is on the latter.” His eyes float to Aiden, and a sadness washes over him. As if he sees something that I can’t. “I love you like family, Celeste.” His gentle touch against my cheek forces tears to surface.
Sliding the final lock into place, I turn, feeling Aiden’s gaze heavy on my back.
“Are you feeling alright?” I ask, noticing his color is finally starting to return.
He grunts in response, folding his legs in so that I can sit at the far end of the couch. Curling into myself, I allow the heaviness to consume me. I have a million fires to put out and it seems I’ve misplaced the extinguisher.
“I didn’t expect them.” The low boom of his voice startles me.
“Didn’t expect who?” I ask, confused as his words come out of nowhere.
“The girls. No one mentioned them as a possibility. It was supposed to
be simple. Spot the drugs, make some arrests.” He sighs heavily as if the fate of the free world rests on him. “I couldn’t even look at them. Even the ones that survived… I-I could see death in their eyes.”
It takes a moment for the weight of his words to fall around me and realize he must be talking about the job he did with Declan this evening. I can’t imagine the things he’s seen.
“How did you find them?” I ask carefully. I don’t know if he needs to get the words out and drain the toxicity or if I should just drop the subject.
“They were in a cargo ship we raided, looking for drugs. They were brought here to be sold like fucking property. Some of them didn’t even look old enough to drive.” His voice takes on a dangerous edge and it makes the hair on the back of my neck stand at attention. “Fucking children,” he confesses.
I don’t know what to say. The gravel in his voice threatens to break me. Whatever it is he saw tonight, it haunts him.
“It doesn’t matter why you were there, or what you didn’t expect, Aiden. What matters is that you were there. Those girls get to go home to their families because of you.” The need to touch him is nearly unbearable. His folded legs rest near my mine, and I reach out, rubbing soft patterns on his skin. Selfishly, I’m sure it soothes me more than him. Realizing I’ve probably crossed a huge line by touching him, I pull away, humiliation coloring my face.
“Don’t stop.”
His tone is much softer than I expect. Unsure of how to proceed, I continue my movements until I hear his breathing even out and his muscles relax.
How is it I’ve only known this man a few hours and yet I’m sleeping in his apartment, wishing I had the power to take the pain from his words? I’ve been down this road before and I can attest that it ends with me free falling into the dark. The one thing in this world that I truly fear.
Chapter Five
Aiden
A shrill obnoxious alarm pierces my foggy brain, instantly giving me a headache. Where is that noise coming from? For the love of all that is holy, I’m going to strangle someone if they don’t shut that shit off. My head throbs sending waves of nausea to the pit of my stomach and my tongue feels like sandpaper. Trying to peel my skin from the leather sofa, my abs flex, angering the stitches and rapidly reminding me of the previous night’s events. I quickly lie back and let the stars floating above my head disappear before trying again.