Page 48 of The Devil

Just as well. Me bleeding all over the place probably wouldn’t make a good impression on her.

I walk to the front door and let myself in so I can clean up.

“Foda-se,” I curse, and stepping back outside, I glance at Oscar and order, “Have one of the men go to the motel to pack my clothes.”

“Yes, sir.”

I’ll have to lie low here for a few days until we’re sure the police aren’t searching for me. Getting arrested is the last thing I have time for right now.

I shut the front door before going to the kitchen, where I grab the roll of paper towels and a butter knife. Taking a seat at the island, I shrug off my jacket, and it makes a sharp pain shoot through my side. I clench my jaw while I quickly undo the buttons of my vest and shirt before taking them off, and using my shirt to wipe up most of the blood.

Oscar comes into the kitchen, then asks, “Can I help?”

“Sure,” I grunt. “Dig the bullet out.”

He washes his hands and glances around. “Do you have a first aid kit?”

I gesture at nothing specific. “Not sure. Look around.”

Oscar opens all the cupboards, and lucky for me, he finds one in the pantry.

He sets the bag down on the island and removes a bottle of alcohol from it. “This is going to burn.”

“Just do it,” I growl.

He pours some of the contents over the wound, and I clench my teeth again when it feels like he’s lighting a match to my skin.

It takes Oscar a few minutes to dig the damn bullet out, and by the time he sets it down on the granite top, a fine layer of sweat coats my body.

Just as he takes a needle from the first aid kit, I hear a gasp, and my eyes snap to the doorway.

Jenna’s staring at us, shock tightening her features.

“Get out,” I tell Oscar.

Jenna misunderstands, and swinging around, she darts into the hallway.

“Merda!” I shoot to my feet, and not caring that I’m still bleeding, I set after her. “Jenna!”

I catch up to her in the foyer and grab hold of her arm. She spins around, her eyes wide with a mixture of confusion, fear, and worry.

“Not you. I was talking to Oscar,” I explain.

Just then, the guard hurries past us and lets himself out of the house.

Her gaze widens as it locks on my side, then an inaudible sound sputters from her. The next instant, she drags me back to the kitchen. Panic flares over her face as she looks at all the bloody antiseptic wipes and paper towels.

“Don’t panic,” I say. “I’m fine.”

Her eyes snap to me, and a heartbreaking expression tightens her beautiful features, then she shakes her head and grabs more towels. Hurrying back to me, she presses them gently to my side, and her breaths start to come faster as she wildly glances around us.

I take hold of her chin and force her to look at me. “I’m fine. Stop panicking. It’s just a flesh wound.”

She sucks in deep breaths while still keeping the paper towels pressed to my side.

“I just need to close up the wound, then we can sit down and talk. Okay?”

She nods again, her eyes still wide on me.