Page 10 of Laila Manning (Shadeport Crew #3)

I repeated those three words in my head over and over until his boots stopped right at the tips of my bare toes, crowding my view of the tile floor where I’d been staring blindly before.

“Hey.” He said again, slowly reaching for my hand and taking the ice cream from it, before setting it on the counter. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No one was supposed to come in,” I whispered, taking a deep breath. “Ryker said he told the guards to stay out. Then the door opened, and I—”

“You were scared.” He replied gently. “I’m sorry. I had no idea you were here, or I wouldn’t have come in like this. I just needed some first aid supplies, and I’m not exactly thinking straight right at the moment. I’m sorry.”

My eyes moved from the floor to his pants, slowly taking in the cuts in his pants and the wounds showing through them, then to his abs, splattered in blood I didn’t have to be a fool to realize wasn’t all his, up to his massive chest and shoulders and then to his perfect face.

“You’re hurt,” I stated the obvious as I relaxed out of my fight-or-flight mode. “Should I call Ryker? Or the doctor?”

The wound on his chest continuously dripped blood down his abs, and I ached to make it stop. There was only so much blood inside the human body, and even though Zeke was a giant, he was only human.

“I may need a doctor if I keep bleeding on Ellie’s kitchen floor,” he joked and gave me a one-sided grin. “But no, I’m okay.”

“Here.” I moved and grabbed a roll of paper towels off the counter, ripping a handful free and holding them out to him. “Put pressure on it.”

He raised an eyebrow at me but, thankfully, staunched the bleeding with the towels anyway. “You know first aid? ”

I nodded. “I patched the girls up when they—,” I shrugged, leaving the rest of it open-ended. He knew what happened to the girls. “I picked up a few skills along the way.”

“It’s a good thing to know.” He replied. “What are you doing in the mansion?” he asked again, looking around for someone else.

“The four of them went to a concert. Gavin’s nanny was sick, so they asked me to watch him so they could go.” I shrugged, looking from the red stain seeping through the paper towels to his bright blue eyes. “You need to get that bleeding stopped.”

“I know.” He nodded, reached around me to a tall cabinet on the wall, and grabbed a large bin from it. “I just needed this.” He held it up and smirked. “I’ll get out of your hair now.”

He backed up toward the security room again and nodded to the rest of the house behind the kitchen. “Go enjoy the rest of your night, Laila.”

“Where are you going?” I questioned, “Is someone going to help you with that?”

He shrugged, watching me closely. “I don’t need any help. I’m just going to take the mess to my apartment.”

“What if you can’t get it stopped?” I rambled. “What if you need help? Can the guards help you?”

He tilted his head and kept watching me, like a puzzle he was trying to figure out. “I’m a big boy, Laila. I can take care of it.”

The idea of him going to his apartment alone while I was stuck here for another few hours waiting for Ryker and Ellie to return stressed me out, so I spoke up again. “No one will know if you pass out or something. You can’t go lock yourself away alone.”

“Are you worried about me?” There was something so intimidating about his penetrating stare, and I, of course, dropped it, unable to even meet a weak man’s gaze regularly. And Zeke was anything but weak .

“No,” I replied instantly, stepping backward and shaking my head at the ridiculous notion.

“Hmm.” He hummed, putting his hand on the door handle, and nodding to me. “Stupid me thought maybe you forgot to turn the clock off on our little friendship experiment the other day.” He joked. “Don’t worry about me, I can handle this.”

“Stop.” I barked, making the man freeze in his steps, once again facing me. “I’ll do it. Come here.” I nodded to the stool at the island and rolled my sleeves up. “Sit.”

He raised his eyebrows and took a step closer. “Since when are you bossy?”

“Since you’re threatening to bleed out on your apartment floor because your toxic masculinity is stopping you from asking for help. Now sit down.”

He put the bin on the counter and sat down on the stool, leaning back against the bar behind him. “Can you touch me, Laila?” His voice was deep and filled with gravel that made it feel like my entire body vibrated around the words. “I’m a half-dressed man, and you have to touch me to help me.”

I opened the bin and started taking out what supplies I would need to close his wound. “I’ll just pretend you’re someone else.”

He snorted and smirked at me, and a part of me ached to see his full face without his dark beard so I could see if the dimple in his cheek was as deep as I imagined it would be.

“Who are you pretending I am?”

I poured antiseptic onto a few gauze pads and started wiping away the blood around his wound, waiting for him to flinch when the liquid penetrated the angry red muscle, but he didn’t so much as blink. “A harmless old lady.” I shrugged. “Too frail and slow to be a threat. ”

He smirked again and looked up at the ceiling with that devilish grin on his face as he let me work. “And is it helping you feel safe?”

“A little.” I shrugged again, focused on my task. “Stay still,” I ordered when he raised his arm, and the muscle I was working on flexed.

Do not stare at his moving pecks.

Do not stare at his moving pecks.

How did guys do that, anyway? It was unfair.

“I am still.”

“You’re fidgeting.” I countered.

“I’m not a fidgeter.” He scoffed. “I do not fidget.”

“Now you’re rambling, Granny.” I deadpanned, fighting my smirk. But when he opened his mouth and laughed at the ceiling, I was in awe of him, suddenly unable to care about the volume of blood he was losing.

Thankfully, it only lasted a second before I snapped myself out of it and got back to work.

“Okay, spitfire.” He relaxed, looking down at my work. “I’ll be a good boy and sit still. But just because it’s you.”

I shook my head, grabbing the bottle of medical-grade skin glue and holding it up to him. “Are you ready?”

“This is going to hurt, isn’t it?” He raised an eyebrow at me and then chuckled. “Do your worst, Doc.”

“Hold still, and I’ll make sure you get a sucker when you’re done.”

“Now you’re talking my language, Doc.” He closed his eyes, tipping his head backward like he was going to take a nap instead of enduring liquid fire sealing his wound together. “Praise and treats are the only way to make me behave.”

“I’ll have to remember that.” I mused, pinching his skin together with my fingers and wincing as I quickly poured the sealant into the wound.

He jerked and hissed as it essentially cauterized the muscle in his chest. The muscles in his neck were taut, but he remained still and passive otherwise, leaving me in awe of his strength.

“Don’t glue your fingers to my chest.” He said between clenched teeth before popping one eye open to look at me. “Unless you’re looking for an excuse to continue our friendship experiment.”

I laughed, pulling my fingers from his skin as the solution got tacky and dabbed at the bit of blood that escaped from the wound.

It wasn’t pretty, but it was sealed, protecting him from infection and more blood loss.

“Friendship.” I pondered, but the word didn’t feel right, though I didn’t offer any others in its place. “Are you actually friends with anyone?”

“Hmm.” He hummed, “Ryker.” He sat up again, looking down at the wound on his chest and then at me. “And occasionally your brother.”

“Just occasionally?” I questioned, entranced by him again as he stood up and towered over me. “When aren’t you?”

“When we’re arguing over you.”