Sinner's Revenge (Sinner's Creed MC #2)(18)

She offered to take a look at Diem without me even asking. I appreciated the gesture, but I wasn’t sure how Diem would react. Where she was hard and mean, Carrie was soft and nice. The two together might turn into a disaster.

“I appreciate that, Carrie. Really, I do. But she’s a little . . . f*cked up. Not just physically but mentally too.” Carrie just nods and flashes me a reassuring smile.

“I can handle myself, Zeke.” She winks at Rookie and adds, “Joe.” Rookie must have told her about our change in identities. I follow her inside and to my room. Not sure of what will be waiting on the other side of the door, I pull Carrie back to open it and walk in first.

Diem is still lying in bed, her eyes focused on the ceiling. For a minute, I wonder if she’s dead. When she speaks, I hear myself and Rookie sigh in relief. “You know, if you’re going to talk about someone, then maybe you shouldn’t do it so they can hear you. But don’t worry, Carrie.” She turns her head, giving Carrie an evil smile. “I don’t bite.”

I was a dumb-ass. Of course she could hear us. We were just outside the window. I replay everything in my mind, but nothing about our conversation pertained to anything but her and the accident. Oh, and me calling her f*cked up.

“Pity,” Carrie says, moving to the other side of the bed. Leaning close, she whispers, “I like to get bit.” My eyebrows shoot to my hairline as my gaze slides to Rookie. His nostrils flare and he shifts, his eyes burning with passion—for his woman. The one who was good enough to keep him from temptation.

“Guys?” Carrie asks, looking at us expectantly. I refuse to leave her and with just a shake of my head, she nods and focuses her attention back on Diem. Her fingers move down her body, applying pressure, asking questions and rotating her slowly. Diem acts the good patient, answering all her questions and succumbing to her every demand. I’ve never been more thankful to have Carrie here. Chances are, Diem wouldn’t have been so yielding to me.

“That hurt?” Diem whimpers in pain at Carrie’s question. She’s on her side facing me, but she doesn’t look at me. “I can stitch you up, but I don’t have anything to numb it.”

“It’s fine. Just do it,” Diem snaps, her hand shaky as she brings it to her face. With her thumb and finger, she squeezes her eyes, drying the tears. Digging in her bag, Carrie gets to work. With every stitch, I feel Diem’s pain. And when her eyes narrow and her lip goes between her teeth, she seeks me out.

I meet her gaze, never taking my eyes off hers. It only takes Carrie a few minutes, but when she’s finished, it seems like a lifetime has passed. “All done,” she announces, helping Diem roll to her back.

“Do you have any pain meds?”

“She does.” I answer Carrie’s question, knowing Diem will refuse them.

“Good. That and a lot of rest will help. Zeke can wrap your wrists later. I’ll leave him some bandages. You might want to get a bath first. That back wound is pretty messy.” Diem doesn’t answer and Carrie looks at me. I shrug and she smiles, following us out.

“Hey, Carrie,” Diem calls, her voice weak. “I owe you one.” Carrie just nods, but I personally know the depth of truth in Diem’s words. She’s indebted to Carrie, and I know she’ll keep her word.

After Rookie and Carrie are gone, I find myself going back to check on Diem. I don’t know why. I’m just gonna say that it’s my duty because she’s my houseguest. I find her in the same position, still staring at the ceiling.

“I thought you weren’t going to help me anymore. But you did, and I didn’t ask you to.” Even exhausted, she finds a way to be an ass.

“I wasn’t going to, but Carrie offered,” I say, shoving my hands in my pockets and propping up in the doorway.

“Well, for whatever it’s worth, thanks.” I’m shocked at her gratitude, but don’t let her see it.

“You’re welcome.” I let the silence sit until it becomes uncomfortable. “Well, good night.”

“Zeke,” she chokes out. A sob? “I can’t do this alone.” Her admission is sobering. The amount of pride a woman like her has to swallow to say those words is unfathomable.

I walk over, looking down at the broken woman lying in my bed. Tears pool in her eyes that seem almost lifeless. My chest tightens at the sight. “I’ve got money. I’ll pay you.”

“Diem,” I start, but she shakes her head.

“Just until I can get on my feet.”

“Whatever you need,” I cut in, before she says anything else to make her feel worse. Or me. “Tell me what I can do.”

Attempting to sit up, she leans on her elbow, pausing to close her eyes and grit her teeth in pain. Her bottom lip trembles as she holds her breath. After a moment, her chest begins to rise and fall while she struggles to control her breathing. “I’m not sure what I need,” she whispers.

She gazes up at me with dark brown pools of aching need. They plead with me to just help her in whatever way I can. Because right now, she can’t help herself. And although she’s hurting, she’s not desperate enough to ask.

My lips pressed in a thin line, I give her a nod. “I got you.”

I walk to the bathroom, remembering that Carrie insisted she bathe and clean the wound on her back. As I fill the tub, I make a mental list of the things within my power I can do for her. She needs food, clean clothes, plenty of liquids, and something to help the pain—even if it’s NyQuil.