Page 126 of Dark Little Game

“Move.”

I head down the staircase with him, startled by the amount of blood on the T-shirt.

We walk past Oliver and Noah as we head to the downstairs bathroom, and Oliver brings his hand to his mouth in shock when he sees the blood.

“Holy fuck. Did something happen?” Noah asks.

Hunter starts to make an excuse. “Part of my, uh, bed frame splintered off?—”

“Nope. No more fucking lies,” I say. “He was playing with his knives like a goddamned idiot, and now I’m going to fix his own mistake.”

Hunter puffs out a breath. “Damn. Okay. If it’s like that, Rayne, then why don’t you just tell them about all ofyourmistakes, too?”

“Ignore him,” I say. “He’s fine. Or hewillbe.”

“Rayne’s afraid of a little blood, apparently,” Hunter mutters.

Ollie is grimacing. “It’s more than a little.”

“First mistake was trying to help you, I guess,” I say under my breath as we walk into the bathroom.

I slam the door behind us and reach for the first aid kit, grabbing the disinfectant first. I take Hunter’s arm and position it over the sink, and when I take away the T-shirt, blood drips into the white porcelain basin of the sink.

I squirt the liquid onto his wound.

He doesn’t even wince, even though I know this shit hurts like a bitch.

“Really unnecessary, Colson,” he mutters.

“Someone is out there trying to kill you. Not going to let you die from an infected wound on your hand, Hunter. That would just make it too easy for them.”

He groans. “You’re starting to sound like me. Since when do you like playing a medic?”

I work quickly on the wound.

“I’ve gotten enough injuries on the football field to know what I’m doing. For the most part, I guess.”

I can tell that the wound is shallow, and it probably doesn’t need stitches.

I wrap him in thick gauze and tape it shut around his hand.

“A+ work, Rayne. You’ve fixed me. Want a gold star?”

“You want me to smack you?”

“Wish you would,” he says with a little teasing tone in his voice that makes me rage.

I don’t even hesitate.

I reach up and smack my open palm along his cheek.

His mouth hangs open in shock as a faint pink mark appears on his skin.

“You need to start taking this more seriously,” I tell him.

“You think I haven’t been taking it seriously since the moment I knew there was a threat to you? I know the dumb jock is a stereotype, but you’re really a lot smarter than that, Rayne?—”

I reach up and smack him again and I hate that it makes him smile.