Page 82 of Violent Possession

The pain is different. It’s a clean, constant pain that anchors me to reality. I grunt with clenched teeth, but it’s a sound of resistance, not pure agony.

“Stay awake, Griffin,” he commands. He’s not looking at me. His eyes are fixed on the wound, on the blood that slowly begins to stain the makeshift dressing. “Talk to me. What’s your name?”

“Go to hell...”

A quick smile crosses his lips. “Good. You’re still you.” He increases the pressure. “Keep talking.”

“Do you want me to... recite the fucking alphabet?”

He doesn’t laugh. The pressure on my leg increases. Another wave of pain makes me see stars.

“Anything,” Alexei commands. “I don’t care. Just don’t black out.”

“Your brother’s guys... are terrible shots...”

“They hit you,” Alexei replies, not taking his eyes off the wound. “That makes them competent enough.”

I let out a sound that’s almost a laugh, but it turns into a groan of pain when he adjusts the pressure.

“Should have... aimed... for the head,” I murmur. My vision darkening at the edges again.

“No,” he says. “I’ve invested too much in you already.”

He maintains the pressure. I don’t know for how long. The bleeding seems to decrease. I think.

I feel the overcoat being tied tightly around my leg, holding the improvised pad in place. He slips an arm under mine.

“Don’t carry me,” I try to protest. He ignores it.

“Come on,” he says, and pulls me up.

He puts me on my feet, or at least tries to. I’m a dead weight against him, my injured leg giving way instantly. The world spins, a mix of pain and dizziness.

“Fuck,” I curse. My head falls onto his shoulder. That scent... it makes everything feel a little better.

He slings my good arm over his shoulders, holding my weight. “Try not to bleed on my shoe.”

And then, cold leather against my back.

I’m in the passenger seat. When did I get here?

The car door slams shut. Alexei is at the wheel. Wasn’t he just holding me? The dashboard light illuminates his face. The blood—my blood—makes a beautiful contrast with his skin.

He’s talking. Not to me. He called someone.

I close my eyes. His words are distant, the car is moving. My thigh burns. An ugly sound, a moan, escapes my throat.

Alexei looks at me. Wasn’t he on a call?

“Griffin.” I hear him speak. “Stay with me.”

I try to answer, to tell him to go fuck himself, but my tongue feels like a useless piece of meat in my mouth. I think I say he’s handsome. Or maybe I just thought it.

He doesn’t answer. He just speeds up.

I wakeup to a dull ache throbbing all over my body.

I don’t know where I am. But it’s clean. I alsofeelclean. There’s the scent of cleaning products, freshly washed sheets, expensive things. The kind of thing Alexei would choose to shelter a wounded animal. Which is to say: me.