Page 114 of The Art of Obsession

I manage a weak grin. “You look good in red, Little Quill.”

She huffs, tears brimming in her eyes, the others mixing with the blood on her face. “You’re hurt. Bad. You need a doctor.”

“I’ll live,” I mutter, swaying as she steadies me.

“Not if you keep standing there bleeding like a stubborn shithead,” she snaps, though her hands are gentle as they press against my side, trying to stem the flow.

“It’s just a scratch,” I mutter, even as the world tilts around me.

“Don’t you dare downplay this,” she snaps, slipping an arm around my waist to support me. “Come on. We’re getting you out of here.”

She half-drags me through the shattered glass, ignoring how it slices into her bare feet. The beach stretches endlessly before us, but she doesn’t falter.

“I don’t need a doctor,” I slur, trying to grin as I look up at her, my cock like iron from how gorgeous she is like this.

Everleigh rolls her eyes, carting me away in slow trudges down the beach. “Only you would charge in and bring a gun and a knife but no first aid kit.”

“You’re my first aid kit. Just lay me down right here. And I’ll give you instructions.”

“What instructions?”

“Very simple. Pull out my dick. Sit on it.”

She lets out a disbelieving laugh, tears streaking her face. “You’re a bonehead.”

“You’re beautiful.”

“Cal you’re bleeding out!” she moans, dragging me up to the boardwalk. “Besides, do you think just because you show up like a knight in shining armor and take a bullet for me, it means I’ll automatically fall into your arms?”

“Technically,” I mutter, smirking through the pain, “I’ve fallen intoyourarms, Little Quill.”

“Insufferable jackass,” she huffs, her blood-soaked hair thwacking her cheeks. “It’ll take more than a bullet, Cal.”

“How about two?” I say, pulling the gun from my waistband.

Her scream echoes across the beach as I pull the trigger, the bullet slamming into my shoulder. The same one she stabbed.

“Why thefuckwould you do that, you crazy, insane moronic idiot?” she shrieks, wrestling with me for the gun.

I groan through the pain, my vision blurring. “Proving I love you. How many bullets will it take, Everleigh?” I try to tug on it, but my grip is frail at best.

She’s so beautiful when she’s crying in her madness while getting the gun away from me and hurling it far across the sand. “None! You fucking idiot, NONE!”

Her hands press against my shoulder and side, trying to stop the bleeding. Tears fall freely as she shakes her head.

“What is Cherry thinking about now, hmm?” I slur, unable to push past the pain for the first time in my life.

“Oh, god, that is so not what you should be focused on right now.”

“Come on, Little Quill. Give a dying man his last request. What is your deep inner self doing?”

“Fine, you fucking psycho?—”

“High-functioning psycho.”

“Ugh! She’s down on her knees proposing marriage, you fucker!”

“Tell her to crawl to me, and I’ll consider accepting,” I mutter, twisting my mouth into a crooked but weak smile.