Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 127484 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 510(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127484 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 510(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Ignore him. That was the most sensible thing to do right then.
“Let’s get you some water,” I told Daisy in a calm voice. Instantly, I transitioned into the caretaker role that had fit me like a glove my entire life when it came to my sister. Though in that moment, it felt uncomfortable, stifling.
“And you sit your ass in that chair.” Addressing Knox, I pointed to the dining room chair. “You were just shot, so I’m going to have to do something about that.” What, I had no idea.
“It’s a flesh wound,” Knox grunted.
“Yes, a bullet. Through your flesh,” I widened my eyes at him. “And it didn’t go through said flesh and hit me, as you so daintily pointed out. Therefore, it is still in there.”
He was watching me intently, no pain seeming to tighten his face. “Then I need a lighter and a knife.”
This was the most Knox had spoken in a single exchange since we got here. And those words included describing my destruction, alluding to his own, threatening my sister, and then declaring he was going to fish a bullet out of his own skin.
“You need to sit your ass in the chair,” I huffed, grabbing a glass for my sister after turning off the bubbling pot of food that smelled amazing. Moroccan stew of some sort, I guessed based on the scent of cloves and curry.
I handed Daisy the water which she seemed to take reflexively, observing me with wide eyes. She was likely just processing. She had probably mentally prepared herself to come in here and find me half-tortured. Which wasn’t untrue, I just wasn’t tortured in the way she expected. I looked exactly the same on the outside, but my insides were all gnarled and confused.
I reached into a cupboard I knew held an extensive first aid kit I’d been surprised to find. It made sense, due to the remoteness of the cabin and the fact that if either one of us got injured, it wasn’t like the proper authorities could be called.
Daisy sipped her water and gazed around the cabin while I took stock of the supplies.
The kit had a scalpel that seemed sharp and hopefully what was needed to fish the bullet out of Knox’s skin. Though I had no idea what one needed to fish out a bullet, and I didn’t have a phone to google such information.
The premise seemed to be to find something sharp then … dig.
My squeamish stomach turned at the thought of it.
“This is … cozy,” Daisy remarked, having looked around. I caught her eye right after she stared at the single bed in the room.
I had no idea which conclusions she was coming to, and I didn’t care. Knox was sitting quietly in the chair, which was an amazing feat in itself. That he obeyed my order and wasn’t speaking, merely watching my sister and I like a predatory cat, could’ve just been typical Knox behavior. Or it could’ve been indicative of blood loss.
Horrified, I looked to see a not small puddle of blood accumulating on the floor underneath the chair, dripping from his wound.
That was when I decided I’d address Daisy and the entire situation after I attempted to save Knox’s life.
The thought struck me like a knife to the heart. Knox. Dying.
Absolutely not.
Had I imagined it in the early days? Maybe.
But logically, that wouldn’t work for us. He might be our only way out of this scenario, if my thoughts about his feelings for me were correct. But then again, if they weren’t, he could be our damnation.
Maybe letting him die was the smarter gamble.
I shook myself out of my trance—fixated on the puddle of blood—to find Knox staring squarely at me, watching, as if knowing I was deciding whether I was going to try to save him or not. Arrogant of me to think I was the one who could control whether he lived or died.
Knox was in charge of that. Beyond even what higher powers might or might not have existed—I wasn’t sold on that, given the direction of my life and general childhood trauma.
I snatched up the supplies, laying them on the table before dousing the scalpel with alcohol and getting some gauze ready.
“Take off your shirt,” I ordered Knox.
His demeanor changed. He stiffened. Clammed up. Not that you could’ve described him as relaxed in any sense of the word, but he was surprisingly calm after being shot. Yet after making my simple request, the tension in the air was thick and stifling.
“No.”
I tilted my head to regard him. “I didn’t take you for someone who worried about modesty.”
My tone was dry, but I was teasing. How quickly my disdain for his violence to my sister waned. It didn’t completely disappear, just bubbled lower, waiting, merging with all of my other complicated feelings about him.