Page 12 of A Past Too Broken (Bloodstained Love #1)
“T his is why we have streaming services,” I tell Reggie, shutting the TV off after running across another damn Christmas movie. Seriously, I know ‘tis the season and all that, but it’s ridiculous. We still have a week before the holiday is upon us.
Reggie purrs his agreement and lays next to me. Setting my hand on his back, I absentmindedly pet him while scrolling through social media. I don’t spend much time online, but it’s good to have for appearances. Keeping up the facade that I’m nothing but a boring cat dad with an equally boring consulting job that takes me away from home far more than I’d like is rather time consuming.
My phone rings, startling both me and Reggie, and we stare at the device for a long moment. The number is the same one I both look forward to and dread, and seeing it now has my stomach and heart doing weird things.
Before the call ends, I make up my mind and answer. “Hello?”
There’s a lot of static and then rustling, and just before I hang up, his voice comes over the line. “I… I need your help.”
Sitting forward, I grip my phone with one hand and my loose hanging hair with the other. Reggie protests that I’m no longer petting him, but right now my needy cat isn’t important.
“Where are you, Min?”
“I…” Heavy breathing and a few curses before he speaks again. “I think I got the wound cleaned, but fuck… it hurts.”
“Where. Are. You?” I grind out.
He rattles off an address that is, thankfully, in the city. “I’ll be there soon. Don’t fucking move.”
A strained laugh meets my ears. “Yeah, no plans of that. Hurry.”
I hang up, jump to my feet, and shove my phone in the pocket of my sweats. Reggie stares up at me, judgment in his blue eyes.
“Shut up. Something is wrong .” Gathering my hair, I use the hair tie around my wrist to tie it into a low tail at the base of my neck.
With my hair out of the way, I stride to my bedroom and grab some weapons before heading for the door. I don’t know what happened, but Min didn’t sound… right. It’s not like we spend any time on the phone, but I know his voice, know that something was off in his tone and the way he breathed.
Not only that, but I know what someone in pain sounds like.
* * *
The rundown motel Min gave me the address to makes me thankful I got a tetanus shot after he fucking stabbed me back in June.
I click the alarm button on my key fob twice, knowing it won’t provide extra security, but unwilling to leave my car in the dark parking lot otherwise. The stairs are at least reasonably sound as I climb to the second floor. Min’s room is at the end, close to the stairs. I wonder if he asked or just got lucky.
Knocking on the door, I try not to let the fear bubbling in me take over as two long minutes tick down by the time Min answers. All it takes is one look at him to understand why.
He’s not wearing a shirt, but the bloodsoaked bandage affixed crookedly to his side is all I can pay attention to.
“Get your shit,” I order.
Min jumps, his black eyes a little hazy. I curse, gently pushing past him. There’s a duffel bag spilled out on the bed, clothes and the contents of a first aid kit strewn about. Haphazardly, I toss things in the bag after putting all the medical supplies away. I find Min’s gun underneath the pile of clothes and give him a disgusted look because he doesn’t have it on hand. The state of him: pale, forehead and chest covered in a light sheen of sweat, and wounded, says he wouldn’t have been able to use it anyway, though.
Giving the room the same thorough once over I give every room I stay in, I make sure nothing gets left behind, then I shrug out of my jacket and help Min into it.
“I… I have clothes,” he says a little breathlessly.
“You have nothing appropriate to throw over that wound,” I counter. “I don’t want you to aggravate it by lifting your arms for a shirt. Deal with it.”
Throwing his bag over my shoulder, I wrap my arm around Min’s waist, fingers resting just above the bandage. Carefully but as quickly as possible, I help Min down the stairs and into my car. He’s panting by the time I buckle him into the front seat and toss his bag into the back.
“Didn’t… expect to see you… so soon,” he says between heavy, panting breaths.
“Hush. Just rest and try not to die; it’s my privilege to kill you, no one else’s.”
“No promises,” he mutters, closing his eyes.
Without thinking too much, I pull onto the road, my only destination home. Hopefully Reggie isn’t too upset about our unexpected guest.