Page 60 of Toxic
“Let me save you the trouble,” Gracin rasps from the floor, making all eyes in the room swing to him just as a second shot thunders through the airaroundus.
A red circle blooms right over Danny’s left eye, his legs fold under his dead weight, and he falls to the floor, landing with athud. The next two shots take down the thugs on either side of Danny before I’ve even processed thefirst.
Sal bellows in fury, and like I had all those months ago, I react instinctually to protect the one man I can’t seem to live without. The gun fires with the barest of pressure on the trigger, and Sal flies backward and lands with a crash on thecouch.
After a few seconds of stunned silence while we both process what the fuck just happened, Gracin looks up at me. “I got hurtagain.”
I surprise us both by flying at him and punching him in the jaw. “What the fuck were you thinking you psychotic, suicidal asshole? Did you think you were being heroic jumping in front of a bullet? Did you think I’d be grateful watching you die right in front ofmyeyes?”
He drops back down to the ground and covers his face with his uninjured arm. “If you’re going to yell, can you do it a bit more quietly? My head is pounding like a son of a bitch. I think I nose dived intothetile.”
“You better be glad you’re hurt. If you weren’t, I would rip your balls off with my barehands.”
“I think I’ve been a bad influence on you,” he says, smiling even though he’s nearly ghost white beneath his tan. “You’re far more violent now than you were when wefirstmet.”
“Iwonderwhy?”
Before we do anything else, I inspect the wound on his shoulder. Thankful it isn’t life threatening, I tear a strip off my shirt and wrap it around his upper arm, taking pleasure in his pained grunts asIdo.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” I say when I finish and the bloom of fear and anger passes. “I thought you were goingtodie.”
“There was a time when you would have been happyaboutthat.”
I let the comment pass because the numbness of adrenaline that had been pushing me all day fades into shock. I came far, far too close tolosinghim.
He tips up my chin. “Hey. You didn’t. I’m here. I’m not goinganywhere.”
Ignoring the bodies on the floor around us, I crouch down to help lift him into a sitting position. When he’s able, I heft his weight up and help shoulder him tothedoor.
Instead of going down that rabbit hole of a conversation, I change the subject. “What are we going to do about this mess?” Are there going to be more mob bosses and henchmen after us in themorning?”
Gracin blows out a breath as we limp our way back to the vehicles. I don’t need to hold him. He injured his arm, not his legs, but I can’t quite seem to make myself let him go. I need to hold him to keep myself fromshaking.
“They probably won’t ever stop. I don’t exactly make friends in my lineofwork.”
“Good to know. Are we going to take my car or yours?” I ask as wereachthem.
He looks at me with an expression that’s a mixture of exasperation and confusion. “That’s all you have to sayaboutit?”
“We’ll deal with it tomorrow,” I say simply. “Nowwhichcar?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t care. I’ll have some of my guys get the other when they come back forcleanup.”
“You have guys who do—never mind,” I say, waving my arms. “I don’t wanttoknow.”
The house looksdifferent when we pull up. Not that I’m surprised. I’ve never driven to Gracin’s house willingly, and when he brought me here, it was the middle of the night, and I wasunconscious.
I offered to drive because he's wounded, but he wasn’t hearing any of it. Blood still seeps from the bandages, and I sigh as he gets out of the car with agrunt.
He doesn’t object when I lead him to the bathroom on the first floor, which is where I’ve taken to having medical supplies stocked for just thisreason.
“Sit,” I tell him, and he eases himself onto the closed lid of thetoilet.
“Getting into a habit,” he says and looks up at me, his eyes partially lidded with pain and a touch of humor. He’d said something similar when I had to bandage his wounds while he was atBlackthorne.
Tenderness blooms inside me like a lone flower taking root in the cracked surface of neglected concrete. To cover it, I lower my face to help him remove his shirt, taking care to maneuver it around his shoulder. The wound doesn’t look bad. He should count himself lucky he didn’t do moredamage.
After I gather my supplies, I brush my hands through his hair just because I need to touch him for my own reassurance and he leans intomypalm.