Dare To Run (The Sons of Steel Row #1)(60)

He held a hand to his chest. “Ouch. That almost hurt.”

“And don’t call me doll.”

“I’m winning you over,” Chris said, grinning. “I can feel it.”

I ignored him.

Lucas laughed. “Shit, man. She doesn’t like you.”

“She’ll come around,” Chris answered distractedly. His gaze was on Lucas’s arm instead. “This is barely a bullet wound at all. You called me over here for this shit?”

“I’m high maintenance like that,” Lucas said, grinning.

“No shit,” Chris said, walking past him and into the bathroom.

I came out of the kitchen, a full tumbler in my hand. “Drink this.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” Lucas lifted it to his lips and downed it all. I cringed because he had the cheap stuff that tasted awful. Prison food must have destroyed his palate. When the glass was empty, he handed it back to me. “You might want to leave the room.”

Shaking my head, I dumped the glass onto the coffee table, sitting beside him to hold his hand. “I’m staying right here.”

“Heidi, you nearly puked just thinking about the stitches. Now you’re gonna watch? I don’t think so, sweetheart.” He locked stares with me. “Go into the bedroom and listen to your music or something. The stuff you were dancing to earlier.”

Taylor Swift. I couldn’t rock out to that when he was getting stitches and bleeding all over the couch. I just couldn’t. “But—”

“Look at it.” He turned to me fully, and I forced my eyes on it. Just seeing the blood and flesh torn apart—oh my God. “Yeah. That’s what I thought. You look seconds from puking, and that won’t help Chris focus on the stitches. Go in my room.”

He was right. Swallowing back the bile, I nodded once. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is.” He rested his head against the couch. “Go.”

Standing, I dropped a kiss on his forehead. It was coated in a thin sheen of sweat. “Okay.”

His good hand gently cupped the back of my head before letting me go, his fingers trailing through my hair, and he nodded once. “Thanks. And, darlin’?”

I stopped halfway to the bedroom. “Yeah?”

“Turn it up really loud, and dance for me. I like it when you dance.”

I wouldn’t be able to dance to music right now if someone held a gun to my head and told me my very life depended on it. “Yeah. That’s not going to happen.”

As I walked to the bedroom, I stopped at the bathroom doorway. I peeked back at Lucas, but he didn’t appear to be watching me. Chris straightened, a bunch of medical supplies in his hands. When he saw me standing in the doorway, watching him, he froze. “You hiding in the bedroom?”

“We agreed that it might be best.”

“I heard.” Chris studied me, his dark brown eyes seeing way too much. Despite my knee-jerk dislike of him, he really was very handsome, if you liked brown hair and brown eyes. Turned out, I preferred reddish brown hair and moss green eyes. “I’ll let you know when it’s over.”

Running my gaze over the supplies, I noticed something was missing. “You’ll give him something for the pain, right?”

Chris shifted his weight, focusing on something past me. Lucas, more than likely. “Haven’t before, but maybe the third time’s the charm.”

Lucas had been shot twice before? Somehow in my examination of his body last night, I’d missed the scars. It was something to put on my to-do list. Chris began to move, like he was going to try to squeeze past me, and I took a step to block his way. I glanced at Lucas again. He’d lifted his head and was watching me.

Turning back to Chris, I took a deep breath, Lucas’s stare burning into my back. “Look, I’m not good with the blood-and-gore type of stuff, but if something happens . . . if you need an extra set of hands, yell for me. I’ll deal.”

To be honest, I half expected Chris to laugh in my face. You’d think a street rat like me could handle a little blood, but nooo. Yet, instead, he eyed me with respect and nodded. “Fair enough. I’ll take good care of him, though. I swear it.”

I swallowed past the lump in my throat. I didn’t cry, and I wasn’t about to start now. “Good. Now go fix him up for me.”

Chris brushed past me, his gaze never leaving mine until he was out of the bathroom. I watched him cross the room, set down the medical supplies, and lean down at Lucas’s side. Instead of going into the bedroom, I backed into the bathroom and closed the door most of the way, leaving a small crack for me to see through.

They spoke quietly between themselves, and I strained to hear the words. I couldn’t make out a single one. After Chris finished threading the needle and setting up the supplies, he started wiping the wound with a cotton ball doused in alcohol. Completely unfazed by the blood that was soaking the cotton, Chris said something that made Lucas laugh. At the sight of the crimson-tinged cotton, my stomach roiled.

I pressed a hand to my mouth. “Oh my God,” I whispered.

“Heidi? Close the damn door,” Lucas growled.

Jumping, I slammed the door shut out of reflex. As soon as it closed, I heard a few words, and Lucas laughed again. Clearly, I was the only one thrown by the fact that Chris was doing emergency surgery in the living room. I retreated until I hit the toilet. Dropping the lid, I sat, interlocking my fingers tightly. There was a “Fuck, man, that hurts. Didn’t your Girl Scout troop leader teach you any gentler sewing techniques?” from Lucas, and I could taste bile. Three times he’d been shot. I thought I knew what kind of life he led, but as I listened to the boys compete for the filthiest curse, I realized I had no idea.