Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
I was nobody’s nursemaid, but when you worked in a dangerous field where people often got hurt and couldn’t go to the hospital and risk being reported to the cops, you learned a thing or two about battlefield medicine.
Christ, it was insane how many bullets I’d plucked out of people. Myself included.
“Okay,” she said, lower lip quivering.
“Okay,” I agreed, moving to stand.
As she tried to do the same, though, she fell back down with a ragged cry that had that cracking sensation moving through my chest again.
“It’s okay,” I said, voice soft as I bent down. “I’ve got you,” I told her, lifting her as carefully as possible into my arms. “I’ve got you,” I said again as she turned her head into my neck, taking slow, deliberate breaths to try to fight back the pain.
I walked us right back into the bathroom I’d just come out of, the air still a little thick and humid from my shower, despite the fan going.
Walking over, I set her on the closed lid of the toilet as carefully as I could before turning away to go into the linen closet, bringing out my medical kit, and starting to line up things I was going to need.
“Here,” I said after slamming an instant ice pack onto the counter to activate it, holding it out to the most swollen part of her face.
Her hand automatically lifted, but only just enough to hold it in place.
Which told me one thing.
Her ribs were fucked up.
“Are you having any trouble breathing?” I asked, watching her chest for an entirely different reason than I would have just an hour ago.
Wasn’t proud of that, but, fuck, the woman had some great tits.
“It hurts to breathe,” she admitted, voice smaller than I’d ever heard it.
Cinna never sounded small or soft, the things that made women seem more, I dunno, feminine. She was always strong and sure and fierce.
“Does your chest hurt?” I asked, soaking a sterile gauze in saline solution, intent on cleaning some of the blood off of her face, so I could assess the damage better.
“No. My ribs fucking hurt,” she said, and it was so Cinna, that I felt a small bit of anxiety fall away.
“Are you short of breath?” I pressed, moving over toward her and pressing two fingers into her pulse point in her neck, wanting to make sure her heart wasn’t racing.
Chest pain, shortness of breath, racing heart, abnormal breathing, all signs that you punctured a lung with your broken rib.
“No,” she said, but her gaze was down, so it was hard to tell if she was lying.
All the guys claimed that Cinna had the best poker face in our entire organization. They literally wouldn’t play cards with her because of it.
I dunno.
I always found it easy to tell when she was lying, though. But she had to be looking at me with those ridiculously appealing dark eyes.
“Say that again,” I demanded, gently snagging her chin and forcing her face up under the guise of wiping the split in her lip, but my gaze was on hers.
“No,” she said, this time with a little nod, like she knew I was struggling to read her, what with her eyes so fucked up.
“You have to tell me if that changes,” I demanded.
Getting your ass kicked could often look and feel worse than it was.
But it was bleeding in the head and a nicked lung you really had to worry about.
“Did your head get slammed into a wall? The floor?” I asked, swiping as lightly as I could at the filthy scratches across her puffy cheek.
Like she’d fallen on her face on a dirty floor.
“Not bad enough for a concussion, I don’t think,” she said, voice still so much smaller than normal.
“Okay,” I said, though my concern about that wasn’t abated in the least. “What’s going on with your wrist?” I asked, noting the way she was cradling the left one to her chest with her other hand.
“I don’t know. It hurt like a motherfucker,” she admitted. “But now… now it’s kind of numb.”
Numb? Or was she a bit in shock?
This amount of damage, she should be in fucking agony. Every damn inch of her.
I tossed one gauze, then soaked another, wiping the blood from her nose.
“Sorry,” I said as she winced and flinched.
Her face mostly clean, I reached for her forearm, drawing her hand over toward me, noting how swollen it already was.
It had to be broken.
And not getting it set was going to make her a fuckuva lot weaker.
“I’m not going,” she insisted, reading my mind.
“Then I’ll wrap it,” I said, going back to the kit to grab an elastic bandage and quickly wrapping it up. “I need to check your ribs,” I reminded her, reaching down to grab her elbows when she tried to stand by herself and failed.