Page 48 of Velvet Corruption

He opened the passenger door for me without another word, waiting patiently as I climbed in. The movement sent another jolt of pain through my hand, and I bit the inside of my cheek to stop from crying out. Kieran closed the door gently and walked around to the driver’s side.

I leaned my head back against the seat, my breath unsteady. The car started with a low rumble, and we pulled away from the building in silence. I kept my eyes on the road ahead, trying to focus on anything but the man sitting beside me. His presence was overwhelming, suffocating in a way that made me feel both exposed and strangely…safe.

"How bad is it?" he asked after a few minutes, his voice low and hesitant.

I didn’t want to answer. I didn’t want to admit that I was in agony. "It’s fine," I said through gritted teeth.

"You’re a terrible liar when you’re in pain," he said, glancing over at me. "Is the bleeding under control?"

I swallowed hard, refusing to meet his gaze. "It’ll hold until we get there."

Kieran sighed softly, like he wasn’t buying it but decided not to push. The rest of the ride was quiet, the tension between us stretching thin and brittle. I focused on the rhythm of the cars passing by, the way the city blurred into streaks of color. The pain was still there, relentless, but I forced myself to endure it. I had to. I couldn’t afford to fall apart—not now.

When we finally pulled into the urgent care parking lot, Kieran parked and shut off the engine before climbing out. He was opening my door for me before I could stop him, meeting his eyes with a withering glare.

“I’m fine,” I bit out.

“You’re not,” he pressed. “And if you don’t let me help you, Marquez, I’m going to pick you up and carry you kicking and screaming into this clinic.”

I growled under my breath.

“Well?” he said. “What’s it gonna be?”

I steeled myself and got out of the car, letting him take my arm.

“You’re an asshole,” I grumbled.

He snorted. “Yeah…and you love it.”

I didn’t love it. But despite myself, there was comfort in him. Comfort in this. In his cockiness, in how easy and familiar this banter felt.

In him.

And I didn’t know why, but that worried me. It worried me almost more than the cut in my hand.

Chapter Eleven: Kieran

Ruby was trying to walk like nothing hurt. Like her hand wasn’t bleeding through a half-assed wrap job. Like she didn’t need me.

It was bullshit.

Every step made her flinch, her jaw tight, her fingers curled awkwardly around the wad of gauze like she didn’t trust it—or herself—to hold together. She didn’t see me watching, but I felt every goddamn twitch like it was happening to me.

I still had her by the elbow—lightly, sure, like I might let go if she asked. She hadn’t. Not yet. I didn’t know if that meant anything.

“You sure you don’t want to lean in a little?” I asked, keeping my voice easy. “Or are you saving that honor for a stranger with a clipboard and bad bedside manner?”

She shot me a look sharp enough to draw blood. “I said I’ve got it.”

Right. That’s why her skin was too pale and her hand looked like it was one flex away from tearing open again.

“You’ve got it,” I echoed, dry. “And here I thought the trail of blood behind you was just for dramatic effect.”

She hissed in pain—soft, involuntary—when her fingers shifted, and I watched her bite it back like it owed her something.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” she snapped.

“No,” I said. “But you clearly need a grip on reality.”