Linc’s eyes, however, were not there to catch hers. Apparently, he’d taken her examination of her “outfit” as an invitation for him to do the same. His breathing slowed as his gaze traveled the black lace wafting over the curves of her breasts—her hips—each breath making his chest swell fuller than the last until it rose so high it nearly touched the button of his chin.
“Yes.” She laughed. “I definitely need more clothes—stat.” She’d come close to borrowing some of Linc’s clothes earlier that morning, but a part of her worried it might be too weird. Too suggestive. Too… something she still couldn’t quite wrap her head around.
“A’ight.” Jingling the keys he’d yet to set down, he nodded toward the door, eyes still locked to her nightie. “Let’s go.”
“Are you that desperate to escape my cooking?” She motioned behind her. “Food’s ready. We can eat first.”
“Nah, let’s go right now.”
“But you’ve been gone all day. You must be starving. What’s the rush?”
He licked his lips and sighed, lifting his eyes back to hers for the first time. “You’ve got medical supplies at your place, right?”
She craned her head slowly to the side, her eyes moving deeper into their corners as she did. “Little terrified to ask, but… Why?”
He held her eyes for a long, silent moment. Then, without another word, he reached up, wincing as he did, and took the flaps of his leather jacket in his hands. Another grimace flashed across his face, and he hesitated another beat before pulling it off his body and dropping it to the floor.
Veda’s mouth fell when her eyes landed on the large red bloodstain soaking through the shoulder of his white t-shirt, which had previously been hidden away under the flap of his jacket. The stain was bright red, fresh, and appeared to be spreading wider by the second.
Her fingers went limp, causing the spatula she’d forgotten was in her hand to fall from her grip and clatter to the floor. She clapped one hand over her heart and the other over her parted lips.
“Holy shit—” She leaned forward at the waist, voice muffled. Momentarily speechless, all she could do was peer at the circular bloodstain. A tiny rip had split open the cotton of his shirt in the middle of the stain—which she assumed was the heart of the wound. From the many gashes she’d seen at the hospital, she ventured a guess, her heart pounding a mile a minute. “Linc, please, please tell me that’s not a bullet wound.”
His breathing grew labored, as if the pain of the wound was hitting him for the first time, and had suddenly become unbearable.
His labored breath was answer enough for Veda. She knew he’d been acting strangely since the moment he’d walked in.
“Who shot you?” she cried, eyes widening when the question immediately sent a wave of fear rolling through her.
“How ‘bout this? How ‘bout we go…” He nodded toward the door. “Right now, and I’ll tell you on the way.”
Veda sputtered. “How the hell are you so calm? How did you just walk in here and carry on an entire conversation with me as if you’re not bleeding profusely right now—?” Her voice broke, and she willed herself to focus. “You need a doctor.”
He motioned to her, making the keys in his hand sing. “Got one.”
“You need a surgeon,” she clarified.
“Barely a graze.” He swallowed again. “No hospitals. No paperwork. Just you.”
A part of her wanted to argue. But another part of her—the stronger part—just wanted the sight of that blood gone and gone now. So, Veda crossed the kitchen with no further fight, knees wobbling the whole way, bending down and seizing Linc’s jacket from the floor.
He watched her every move.
“Use it to cover up,” he said when she tried to hand him the jacket.
And she did. Her brow permanently furrowed, her mind racing too fast to speak a single one of the million questions flying through it as she swept the jacket up her arms. Once on, it covered her like a potato sack, reaching all the way down to her knees, the sleeves so long she was forced to shove them up to her shoulders. When they still didn’t stay, she crossed her arms over her body to keep them in place.
Using his good arm, Linc snatched another jacket from the coat rack next to the door before pulling it open without a word. He waited for her to wiggle her feet into the slip-on sneakers she’d left next to the foyer table, allowing her to lead the way out the door before he followed, pulling it closed behind him.
——
A part of Veda was angry and confused that Linc had managed to get himself shot and refused to see a doctor.
But another part of her was relieved.
Relieved that he was so distracted by his desperation to find her attacker, Zena’s pimp, and the trafficking ring that appeared to be showing its face on Shadow Rock more and more every day, that he was completely neglecting his search for The Chopper.
It angered her that her number five, Liam O’Dair, was still in jail for being a shitty human being because it was slowing her down exponentially. She’d thought living with Linc would force her to put her entire plan on hold, but Hope and Jake had been right all along. Now that she was living with Linc, she knew he was blinded by another case entirely. The Chopper was the last thing on his mind. If there was ever a perfect time for her next attack, it was now.
But she couldn’t. Her number five was still incarcerated, and her wrists were tied until he was released, so she pushed Liam O’Dair out of her mind as she followed Linc back into his apartment. She’d trailed his heavy stomps as he moved into the living room, flicking on lights as he went.
After making it to her apartment, she’d changed into her favorite pajamas. Black cotton shorts and a matching baby tee. She’d replaced all of the lacy, silky, and see through thirst traps Jake had packed in her duffle bag with nothing but jeans, sweats, and t-shirts. She’d also gathered her medical kit and her best painkillers for Linc, insisting she get to work on his wound at her apartment.
Linc had declined, demanding they return to his place because it was safer.
Veda followed him into the living area, keeping her eyes on him as she sank to her knees next to the coffee table.
Linc watched her sink down, only breaking his gaze away when she set her medical kit on the table and threw it open. He crossed the room as she shuffled through her supplies, and a moment later, The Weeknd’s “The Hills” came wafting through the speakers.
“A little music to set the mood?” Veda grumbled. “I have no idea how you’re so calm with a damn bullet wound on your chest, oozing blood.”
“Like I said…” His stomps moved back to the coffee table, gravelly voice reaching for her as he came to a stop on the opposite side. “Just a graze.”
“Wanna tell me why you’re refusing to see a doctor?” She looked up at him. She’d been asking him that very question all night, and he’d avoided the answer each time. When his green eyes fell, avoiding the response yet again, she nodded toward him, a hint of irritation in her voice. “Supplies are ready. Take off your shirt.”
His eyes zoomed back up and snatched at hers. A silent moment passed. Then he crossed his arms over his stomach. Taking the hem in his grasp, he held her gaze as he slowly peeled the white t-shirt over his head. Even as he winced at the movement, he didn’t give so much as a gasp of discomfort. The shirt shielded his face as he pulled it over his head, but when his eyes reemerged, they were still locked to hers. He dropped his arms down at his sides, shirt hanging from his fingertips.
Every bone in Veda’s body told her not to look down, understanding for the first time the mental battle pubescent boys must go through when met with a pair of double D tits spilling out of a low-cut top. She knew Linc’s broad shoulders, muscular pecs, and six-pack abs were one drop of her eyes away. She knew if she gave in to the urge to take them in it would be a sight to behold. But she also knew that, just like a woman with double D’s who’d found herself faced with a horny teenaged boy, Linc was watching her lik
e a hawk. He just knew she would look. It wasn’t a question of if, but only of when.
She refused to give him the satisfaction. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen it all before. She’d seen his chest a million times at the gym, gleaming with sweat, pulsating, heaving from the hours they spent sparring in the boxing ring.
But there was something about that moment that was… different.
She knew it, and judging from his unrelenting gaze, so did he.
Veda swallowed thickly and managed to keep her eyes on his while nodding to the couch. “Sit down.”
Linc licked his lips, smirking, the double D woman in him visibly amused at Veda’s visceral struggle not to objectify him. He moved around the coffee table and plopped down on the couch, splaying his big legs wide, wincing again when he appeared to make a move that caused another shot of pain to shoot through his chest.
Shaking her head, Veda seized her medical kit, stood, and circled the table to the couch, feeling his eyes watching her the whole way. She took hold of his thigh—which he flexed the moment she touched it—to give herself leverage as she eased down next to him, adjusting her body so she was facing him with her legs tucked under her butt.
Taking only a moment to appreciate the rock hard feel of his thigh, Veda set about organizing her supplies, all while grumbling about what an idiot he was. She rolled her eyes every time he asked, “What’s that?” after each new piece of equipment she pulled from the kit.
“Antiseptic. Sterile scissors to cut the thread,” Veda explained each item she set aside on the sterile tray next to her. “Needle holder to hold the needle… Since I’m literally going to be sticking a needle through your skin.”
“Yeah, I know what stitches are, Vandyke. No need for the scare tactics.”
She continued as if she hadn’t heard him. “And since you refuse to go to the hospital, where I’d have access to some real drugs, it’s going to hurt like hell. The aspirin you took earlier will help… very minimally.” Veda snapped on a pair of latex gloves. “So I don’t want to hear your bellyaching. Not one singular, solitary whimper of pain, got it?”
She ripped open an alcohol swab, noting that he’d already done a thorough job cleaning away most of the excess blood in the bathroom at her apartment so she could see the gash pretty clearly.
Now that she had an excuse to look at his phenomenal body, she did, letting her eyes fall to his abs, which had bunched tightly together in his sitting position, not an ounce of fat in sight. Every line in his muscular chest was so deep Veda was sure she could lay a piece of paper on top and shade out a duplicate with the edge of a pencil. She traced every deep groove with her eyes, moving around them like a winding amusement park line, all the way up to his pecs, unable to stop the sharp breath from leaving her lips when her eyes landed on the gash.
She studied it. “You were right. It’s only a graze. No internal bleeding. No signs of shock.”
“Been through this once or twice.”
He wasn’t lying. Veda studied the many bullet wounds this man had collected over the years. The one on his left arm just above his deltoid muscle. A wound that, if it had hit an inch in any other direction, would’ve cost him his whole arm. The circular scar on his lower waist at the very base of the deep v in his hips. Half of that scar disappeared beyond the waistband of his sweats, but Veda got the gist. Another hit he’d been lucky to survive.
As she surveyed his scars, her eyes couldn’t help but land on the mark he’d put there on purpose. The delicate calligraphy tattooed on the inside of his arm, which he had slung over the back of the couch. The calligraphy she’d caught subtle glimpses of in the past, but had only now gotten a good look at.
Lisa.
If she weren’t so desperate to get him stitched up, she’d have taken a more thorough voyage of his body, wondering if there were even more tattoos and bullet wounds than the ones screaming at her right then, but she was too anxious to get him cleaned up.
She squinted at the pattern of the newest gash he’d added to his collection and ventured a guess. “9mm?”
“40 caliber hallow point, I’m guessing.”
“Christ, Linc. And you didn’t catch the son of a bitch?”
“Tried…”
Only needing a moment to examine the graze before deciding the style and angle of her sutures, she placed the antiseptic swab she’d opened on top of the wound.
He hissed.
She shot him a look. “Already complaining?” she chuckled. “We’re just getting started, baby.”
“I’m good…” he said, a frown between his brows. “Little warning would’ve been nice.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” she teased. “Not too late to get some real drugs… Hospital’s right down the street.” She snuck a look up at him just in time to see an intense gleam cross his eyes.
The pain must’ve been worse than his hiss had signified because his voice came scratchier and deeper than she’d ever heard it. She almost felt the vibration at the base of it shaking her skin. “No hospitals, Veda. I already had to fight tooth and nail to get my lieutenant to trust me with your case. If she found out I got shot she’d force me to undergo a psych eval.”
“Can’t you just refuse it?”
He shook his head. “Policy requires any officer shot on duty get cleared before they’re allowed back to work, and they’re slow as shit. I’ve seen weeks go by.”
“Your partner didn’t rat you out?”
“Bullets were flying. Sam was too busy getting the hell out of the way. Didn’t even notice I’d been shot. Shit, adrenaline was pumping so hard I didn’t even notice I’d been shot. Didn’t even feel it until a few minutes later. Thankfully my jacket covered the blood.” He paused. “But even if she had known, she wouldn’t rat. She knows our lieutenant would pull me from duty. Re-assign all my cases—your attacker, Zena, The Chopper, all of it…”
“Maybe being pulled wouldn’t be the worst thing. Maybe it’s just the vacation you need.”
“I don’t need a vacation. I need to find out who did this to you and crush their fucking skull.”
“Do you think the shooter was the same guy that was driving the red cab?”
“Yes.”
Veda’s eyes narrowed, floating to a distant place, the suture needle in her hand frozen above his skin.
“Aye…” He waited for her to snap out of her haze and meet his eyes. “I’m never gonna let anything happen to you.”
She bit her bottom lip, eyes falling. “I know,” she whispered. She refused to look up and meet his eyes again, which she could feel burning into her as she primed the needle at the edge of his gash. “Here comes the pinch.”
Heeding her warning, he laid his head back against the couch and closed his eyes with a deep breath. This time, he didn’t hiss when the pain came. Silence filled the air as the needle sank into his skin like butter.
“An alcohol swab had you crying but a needle through the skin? No big deal…” Some part of Veda was secretly relieved that, if he was in pain, he wasn’t showing it. She never wanted to cause him pain.
“Just keep talking to me,” he said, eyes still closed.
“You’re actually asking me to talk to you? I think you’ve lost more blood than I imagined. You’re becoming delirious…” Veda took his rare moment of defenselessness—eyes closed, head thrown back, neck exposed—to study his face. She drank in his every strong feature, the brow bone that hooded his closed eyes, the gash through his left brow, his shadowed jaw, and his full lips. The way his straight nose had nostrils that were slim but slightly upturned, making him look dangerous and always primed to attack. Her fingers ached to reach out and push the few wisps of hair that had escaped the bun tied low on his head away from his face.
Thankfully, her hands were too full to carry out an action that would do nothing but embarrass her, and with a deep breath, she returned her attention to his stitching, speaking softly. “Inviting me to live with you, inviting me to talk to you. I swea
r to God I don’t recognize you these days. It’s like you’ve been replaced with some well adjusted, socially advanced pod person.” She froze when a chuckle shook his chest. “Try not to laugh.”
“Sorry…”
“If I get it just right, it won’t scar.” She snuck another look at him. “You can grab onto me if you need something to hold on to. I know it hurts…” She watched his face, so serene he looked like he was sleeping, for another moment before bringing her attention back to his sutures. When he didn’t accept her invite, she took a deep breath and accepted his, talking to keep his mind off the pain. “You said that Zena’s definitely been trafficked, right? That it’s possible a lot of the girls who’ve gone missing or come up dead on this island have? So why is it taking so long for anyone to do anything about it—?” Veda’s words were cut short when, as she pressed the needle back into his skin, his hand flew out and took hold of her thigh, just above her knee, apparently deciding he was going to heed her invitation for something to hold on to. Still, the sudden weight of his hand—the strength behind the grip of his fingers—gave her the slightest moment of pause.
Swallowing thickly, she continued working, hearing the strain in her breathing that hadn’t been there before. Every time she reinserted the needle, the squeeze on her leg intensified, so much so she worried it might go numb, but she didn’t dare complain.
His voice rang in, slightly labored around his deep breathing. “Trafficking cases are difficult to charge and hold together because they rely on people who are addicts and prostitutes themselves. Involved in criminal activity themselves. Most of them are scared for their lives and, therefore, scared to talk. Cases like this can take longer to prosecute than first-degree murder, especially on this scale.”
“How do you fix something that’s so pervasive and widespread? What’s the solution? How do you end this war?”
“It never ends.”
“I always thought… legalization. Legitimatizing and taxing the oldest profession in the world. Not only would it save millions of innocent lives, but the country’s trillion dollar deficit would be paid within the week on the tax dollars alone. Pussy would trade right alongside solid gold on the stock market.”
Pulse (Revenge Book 5) Page 12
