Series: The Rossi Crime Family Series by J.L. Beck
Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 56905 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56905 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
I don’t think she even noticed the wound, most likely too pumped with adrenaline to feel it, and I’m thankful for that. I don’t want her in pain. Still, it’s yet another reason to get her out of here and back to the hotel before she wakes up. I need to look at that cut as soon as I can. I open the car door and deposit her onto the back seat. Before I get into the driver's seat, I cuff her hands behind her back with a spare set of handcuffs. If she wakes up before we get to the hotel, she is going to fight me, and I don’t have the time to deal with that right now. Though I kind of wish I did.
I start the car and head toward the hotel. To my surprise she doesn’t even stir in the backseat. Not during the drive to the hotel or when I wrap her up in my jacket and carry her up to my room. And though I want to wake her, to revel in her anger filled eyes, I thank fuck she is out because I can’t handle another outburst right now. I’m already hanging on the edge of the cliff by my nails. This was the last thing I wanted to do to her. All I wanted was for her to have a good, simple, fucking life, and now she’s wrapped back up in this bullshit.
I deposit her on the king size bed and peel back my jacket. Then I roll up her shirt, exposing her soft flesh. My cock hardens the moment I see her skin. Silky smooth, unmarked porcelain. I position her on her side, with her hands still cuffed behind her back, as I examine the wound. It’s a good size cut, maybe an inch or so across, right below the swell of her breast.
It’s going to need a few stitches, thankfully, it’s not too deep and something I can stitch up on my own. I grab the suture kit from my suitcase and lay out everything I need to stitch her up.
I clean the wound carefully. I definitely need to make sure it stays clean, so it doesn’t get infected. Her flesh around the cut is a soft pink. The thought of her getting an infection from that asshole makes my hands shake in anger. I let the wound dry before I put a thick layer of lidocaine on it.
That should numb her skin long enough for me to get the stitches in without her feeling too much pain. I let the anesthetic sit for a few minutes before I start. I spend that time staring at her, watching her angelic face in slumber.
She is wearing nothing but a loose-fitting T-shirt and some PJ pants with owls on them. I haven't seen her this up close in a long time. I haven't been close enough to smell her sweet floral scent or touch her soft skin and now that I am, I can barely control myself, which is saying a lot, since I’m a trained killer with the patience of a saint.
If she wasn’t hurt and things were different, my hands would be all over her, getting reacquainted with every inch of her body. In my mind, Grace was always it for me. She stole my heart long ago, claiming me, ruining me for anyone else, and still to this day she has that hold on me.
I shake my head and push the thoughts away. I take out the needle and thread and exhale a breath, pushing every single thought from my mind. She stirs and groans when I start to sew her up, but she doesn't open her big doe-like brown eyes until I’m at the last two stitches.
“Don’t move, or I’ll have to start over.” I try to keep my voice calm but what’s the point. The sleep in her eyes turns to pure fear, and just like that she’s back to struggling. I almost roll my eyes. I should just tell her I’m a trained killer, maybe then she would stop fighting me? Knowing Grace, she would probably try to fight harder.
She tries to wiggle away from me, so I place my hands on her hips holding her in place. With my hands on her skin again, my cock hardens, pressing against the zipper of my pants painfully.
“One more stitch and I’m done,” I assure her.
“I’m not going back there,” is the first thing that comes out of her mouth, just as I pull the last thread through her skin. I know she is scared, of me, the past, and after everything that has happened to her tonight, I can hardly blame. Still, I can’t lie and say I’m not hurt that she thinks I would take her back to that fucking place. I wouldn’t take her back there, even if we hadn't burned that fucking place down to the ground.