Page 37 of These White Lies

I press her to me, eyes still scanning the shadows. I’m vibrating with adrenaline, but I force myself to breathe, to detach from theveryunprofessional reaction I’m having and assess the situation. Elizabeth is upright, but barely.

That’s when I register the wet warmth against my palm.

I pull back, look her over. “Elizabeth.” I grip her arms and crouch slightly to see her face. “Are you hurt? Did he cut you?”

Her lips part, but she doesn’t speak. I follow her gaze to the torn edge of her jacket, then to the blood blooming below it.

My breath freezes in my lungs.

“Damn. I love this suit,” she breathes.

“Hey! Look at me.” I catch her elbow when she stumbles. “Stay with me. You’re in shock, but you’re going to be fine,” I growl. My words are more of a demand than a reassurance.

She blinks up at me, her skin already rapidly paling, and a visceral fear rocks through me.

“We need to get out of the open. Call an ambulance,” I bark at the guard staring dumbly at me.

Scooping her into my arms, I don’t think about how slight and vulnerable she feels. I keep my face expressionless, but on the inside I’m a fucking maelstrom.

Someone hurt her.

On my watch.

Inside the lobby, I lower her to her feet, but her knees give out, and I catch her again. Easing her down until we are both on the cold marble floor, I cradle her between my legs and peel open her suit jacket. I have to bite my tongue not to react. I need her to stay calm.

The thin fabric of her blouse is soaked in red from the gash I can see through the ragged tear. My jaw clenches so hard I swear I hear a pop.

Elizabeth is pasty, and beads of sweat are forming along her hairline. Unfocused blue eyes look up at me.

“Give me your shirt.” The security guard who followed us is still on the phone with 911.

“Give me your fucking shirt,” I snarl, when he doesn’t move. “I can’t get mine off without hurting her.”

The man scrambles to get it off before shoving it at me. Quickly folding his uniform shirt into a pad, I press it tight to her wound. A hot splintering sensation lances through my own ribs when she stiffens with a sharp cry.

“They’re on their way,” the guard tells us, hovering nearby.

“See if you can find a first-aid kit.”

It’s unlikely, but on the off chance the kit has a coagulant, it’s worth a try. I berate myself for taking my personal car instead of one of Elite’s vehicles. Rhodes oversaw stocking our fleet with everything we could possibly need in a situation like this.

Elizabeth’s eyes are taking longer to open each time she blinks.

“Still with me?”

“I’m fine.”

I swear she has that response on autopilot.

“Yeah?” I clear my throat hoping to cover the gravelly sound of my voice. “Then stop bleeding on me.”

This time when she closes her eyes, they don’t open right away. “Stay with me, Firefly. No naps allowed.”

Her thick lashes lift, and she tries to lift her head. “I tried?—”

“I know. I saw. You did great, but don’t talk right now.” I cup her face. “Just stay awake. Stay with me.”

“Are you hurt?”