Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 141464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
“This will pull,” she warns. “I’m sorry.”
The needle bites through my skin. I flinch hard, fingers curling into fists.
Rooster squeezes my shoulder. “Try to stay still.”
I grunt a noise of agreement.
Each tug of the needle pulls. A dull, dragging sort of flame.
Her breath ghosts over my skin as she leans in, focused, determined. The corners of her mouth pulled down, brows drawn tight.
“You got this,” Murphy says, squeezing my other shoulder.
My body’s coiled tight, bracing for the moment whatever Margot sprayed wears off and hell kicks in.
“Breathe,” she whispers, her voice a soft tether pulling me back. “You’re doing great. Almost done.”
I drag in a breath that doesn’t quite reach my lungs.
Another couple minutes go by in a haze. Then she steps back, staring at her work. “Done. Let me put an antibiotic ointment on it, then cover it with some gauze.”
She moves to the counter. I track her for a second, then let my head thud against the table.
“Feel better?” Rooster asks.
“My head stopped spinning, so yeah.”
“Good.”
Margot returns, dressing the wound with steady, practiced hands. When she’s done, she takes a step back, still staring like she doesn’t trust the bandage to behave.
“You’re staying here,” she says firmly. “I’ll check it and change the dressing tomorrow.” No room for arguing with my girl.
I groan and push up on my elbows. “Not sure how I feel about going up all those stairs.”
“We’ll get your big ass up there,” Rooster promises, way too cheerfully. “One way or another.”
“I’m thinking we might run over to the urgent care clinic in the morning. Have an actual doctor look at it,” Margot says, still focused on my thigh. “Maybe give you antibiotics.”
“I’m sure it’s fine,” I grumble. “I don’t need to drop my drawers for some doctor.”
She crosses her arms over her chest, bunching up the blue scrub top she’d put on at some point. “You lose your leg, you won’t be riding again any time soon, so you’ll go if I think you need to.”
Rooster huffs and snorts.
Wrath actually cackles.
“Can he put pants on?” Rooster asks. “I brought some loose athletic shorts and a pair of sweats.”
Margot meets my eyes. “The shorts should be okay, if you think you can tolerate them.”
“Yeah.” I stretch toward the counter. “Gimmie.”
Rooster sets the duffle bag on the table next to me. I paw through the stuff—Gatorade, shiny black shorts, sleeveless shirt—
“You brought me a pair of fuckin’ Crocs?” I hold up the giant, black clown shoe and whap his arm with it.
“Ow.” He laughs and covers the spot I nailed. “I did the best I could on a moment’s notice. Figured you’ll be recovering for a few days.”
Margot fishes the other shoe out of the bag. “We can put some of my pins in the holes to dress them up if you want.” Her lips curve into a wicked smirk.
That gets the guys laughing again.
Fuckers. Every one of them.
Except Margot. Can’t get enough of her. Even if she’s poking fun at me and ordering me to go to the doctor.
“Where’s Rock?” I ask.
“Checking the oven,” Murphy says.
Margot’s eyes widen. “I better go. I need to burn all these clothes.” She gathers my ruined jeans, digging into the pockets. She empties everything onto the counter—wallet, keys, loose change…
And one gold foil square that must’ve escaped my wallet.
Murphy doubles over, howling.
Rooster—asshole—chuckles.
Margot slants a look at me and tucks the condom back in my wallet. “You won’t be needing that for a few days.”
Wrath loses it, snickering like an idiot.
I glance from the gauze taped on my thigh to Margot. “We’ll figure out something.”
She snorts and rolls her eyes, scooping up the clothes into the sheet and bundling it into a massive ball.
“I can take that, Margot,” Wrath offers.
She glances at the bundle, then Wrath’s cut. “I’ve got it. I’d rather not risk transferring any DNA onto your leather, since I know you won’t toss that in the fire.”
“Good point.” Wrath tips his chin in approval.
I tilt my head toward the door. “Go with her,” I say to Rooster.
“Yup.” He dips his chin. “On her.”
Murphy taps his fist against my shoulder and follows Rooster out.
I cock my head at Wrath. “Guess that makes you the lucky bastard helping me into my shorts.”
“For fuck’s sake,” he groans, but he’s already holding them out, letting me use his shoulder for balance and keeping his cranky jokes to himself.
I wiggle my feet into the fucking Crocs and shuffle into the hallway.
Not bad. I can put weight on it. Doesn’t burn as much now. There’s a tug-and-pull sensation, but it’s tolerable.
At the staircase, I stop, grip the banister, and stare at the long road ahead.
“All the way to the third floor, huh?” Wrath asks, resting a hand on my shoulder.
“Yup.”
“All right. We’ve got this. Slow and steady.”
Wrath slipping into encouraging cheerleader mode is almost the most unnerving thing about tonight.