One Touch More (17 page)

Tony whimpered, his hands held weakly in front of his face as though he could shield himself from the onslaught of Damien's fists. Something tugged at his elbow and he shook it off. Pulled back his arm to throw another punch, and met with resistance yet again. He twisted at the waist, ready to lay into whoever was trying to stop him, but froze as his eyes met Tabitha's, the blue depths glistening with unshed tears, panic, and worry.

“Damien, stop!”

The mindless violence that possessed him evaporated under her gentle words. He released his grip on Tony and let him collapse to the floor without a second thought. Damien's breath punched in and out of his chest, deep draughts that made him ache on the exhale. His body vibrated with unspent adrenaline, and he swayed on his feet. Probably the blood loss. Tabitha steadied him, propping her body under his arm to keep him upright. “Jesus Christ, Damien. You're covered in blood!” Her voice climbed to a panicked pitch as she ran a hand over his chest, his back, as though checking for wounds. “Where are you hurt?”

“Thigh.” The word pushed past his lips in a pained bark. “Flesh wound. Take his gun and let's get out of here.”

Her hands shook as she eased away from him and Damien retrieved his own weapon while Tabitha grabbed Tony's 9mm from the bed. He held out his palm and she handed it over. Tucking it into his waistband along with the forty, he let her support him, the pain radiating from his leg with white-hot heat.

“Oh my God, Damien. Can you even walk?” Tony lay on the floor moaning and for all Damien cared, he could stay there and rot. Tabitha was worried if he was okay? Jesus, he was so shaken up, so fucking scared that asshole had hurt her, he could barely think straight.

“I'm okay.”

“We've got to get you to a hospital.”

“No.” She paused at his emphatic tone, brow puckered with concern. Until a few minutes ago, he'd been prepared to call Gates and have him take him to the hospital so that the Marshals Service could keep his care off the books and under the radar. Drug dealers didn't go to the ER, especially when the local police were out looking for suspects in a reported shooting.
Fucking Joey
. What an idiot. His trigger-happy bullshit had almost gotten them both killed tonight.

“What do you mean, no?” Tabitha kept her voice down to a fierce whisper as they headed for the elevator. With every step, Damien's boot squished and from the corner of his eye he caught her cringe in time with the sound.

“No hospitals. Just get me somewhere that I can clean up and slap a bandage on it and I'll be good.”

“What happened?”

The elevator doors slid open and they stepped inside. “Someone who likes Joey even less than you do shot me.”

“Oh my God!” Her voice boomed in the enclosed space of the elevator. “What if the bullet is still in your leg? You might need surgery. Damien, you can't—”

“The bullet went through my leg. And I don't think there's any muscle damage, just the meaty part of my thigh.” The elevator doors slid open and she helped him out and into the hallway.

Tabitha scoffed and he quirked a brow. She held open the door and Damien stepped out into the chill night air, taking a deep breath and allowing it to clear his head. “Sorry, but there isn't an inch of soft or meaty anything on your body.”

His dick stirred in his jeans at the compliment. Apparently it would take more than a bullet wound to calm his libido. Shot and bleeding, all he could think about was Tabitha's warm skin and soft cries. Her lips. The curve of her ass. “How full is the hotel tonight? Would anyone have heard the commotion in the room?”

“We're pretty empty tonight,” Tabitha said. “I made sure to book most of our rooms away from this floor. I'm sure no one heard.”

“Good.” The last thing he needed tonight was another fire to put out. “Ouch.
Fuck
.” A spasm of pain shot up his thigh, interrupting the course of his erotic thoughts.

“What? What is it?”

Tabitha's concern tugged at his chest. “Just hurts. No big deal.”

Her derisive snort told him exactly what she thought of his explanation. “If you won't let me take you to the ER, you're at least going to let me look at your leg.”

He cast her a sidelong glance and pointed to his car. He didn't want to give Tony a reason to vandalize it when the asshole came to. And if he touched Tabitha's car, he'd have more than a broken nose to worry about. “You have a secret exam room somewhere that I don't know about?”

“Keys.” At her bossy tone, he dug in his pocket and handed over his car keys. “I'm taking you to my apartment, smart-ass. And you'd better be a good patient or I swear I will kick your ass.”

She was taking him back to her place? His libido perked up at the thought of being alone with her away from prying eyes and ears. He groaned as Tabitha helped him into the passenger seat. Talk about pain. He needed to get good and drunk before he felt any better. “Honey, I'll be the best patient you've ever had.”

“Ha. Ha.” Tabitha climbed in and adjusted the driver's seat to get her closer to the pedals. “You'd better be.”

Oh, he would be. He was as good as a slave to her will.

Chapter Eighteen

If there was ever any doubt that Tabitha had gotten in way over her head with Damien, there wasn't anymore. The only people who refused to go to the hospital after they'd been shot were gangsters, fugitives, and murderers. She already knew that Damien was something of a gangster. As for the other two, the more time she spent with him, the more she wondered if he was shielding her from even shadier parts of his past.

Had she reached the point of no return?

They took the stairs to her second-story apartment at a one-step-per-second pace. Damien was careful not to put too much of his weight on her shoulder. Every time he brought his right leg up to take another step, a growl that would have sent a wolf running scared vibrated in his chest.

“Just a few more steps.” Tabitha wobbled as she steadied him. “Do you need to take a break?”

“No. Just get me up these stairs. I'll be fine once I can sit down.”

The determination in his voice was admirable, all things considered. Sweat beaded his brow and his jaw squared from how tightly it clenched. The last five stairs were the toughest, and by the time they reached the landing, Damien was panting through the pain.

“Okay, we're here.” Tabitha unlocked the door and poked her head into the apartment, a sigh of relief escaping her chest. Thank God Seth wasn't home. She wasn't interested in explaining any of this to him. Not yet, anyway.

Once inside the door, Damien paused beside her. While he caught his breath, Tabitha eyeballed the couch. No way was that going to work. Seth's bedroom was off-limits as well. That left only one option. “Come on, we're going to my bedroom.”

Damien didn't argue, simply let her lead him past the living room down the short hallway to her room. Would it be rude to ask him to wait until she could lay a towel down? Tabitha eyed her light-blue comforter and then Damien's bloody leg. “Hang on. I'll be right back.”

She grabbed a large bath towel from the bathroom and spread it out on top of the bed. Damien collapsed on the mattress, swinging his left leg up, and Tabitha grasped his right calf, easing him the rest of the way on the bed. “I'm probably going to have to cut your jeans away. I don't think I'll be able to get them off, otherwise.”

Damien's eyes met hers and Tabitha had to have mistaken the heat that burned in the golden-brown depths. It was pain she saw there and not desire. Right? “It's not like I'll be wearing them again.” The rough timbre of his voice sent a wave of chills dancing across Tabitha's skin. “Break out the scissors.”

She was going to need a hell of a lot more than scissors to fix him up. And until she assessed the damage, she wouldn't even know if she could. “Don't move.” He cocked a brow, as if to say
Where do you think I'll go?
Tabitha pursed her lips. “You know what I mean. Just try to relax. I'll be right back.”

She left the room and shuffled down the hallway, the
snick
,
snick
of her boots gliding on the carpet the only sound. She wandered to her living room in a sort of trance, all of the emotions she'd put on hold in the crisis of Damien's arrival at the hotel finally rising to the surface. Her knees buckled and her ass bounced down on the couch cushion. The first tear spilled, searing a path down her cheek. Another one followed. And another, until she could do nothing to stem the steady flow.

Jesus. If he hadn't shown up, Tony would have raped her. He could have beaten her. Forced her to drink and snort whatever he wanted her to. Used her for God knew how long. He might have killed her. “
Fuck
.” The expletive left her lips in an emphatic burst. “
Fuck!”

“Tabitha?” Damien called from the bedroom, his tone no less commanding despite his injured state. “Are you okay?”

She quickly swiped the tears from her cheeks and took several deep breaths. “I'm fine.” Her voice was thick with emotion and she cleared her throat. “Just grabbing a few things. I'll be there in a minute.”

On shaky legs, she abandoned the couch and centered her focus on taking care of Damien. There'd be plenty of time to break down later. Right now, she needed to get to work. She filled a bowl with warm water from the tap and grabbed several washcloths and snagged the kitchen shears from the butcher block on the counter. Not even a drop of rubbing alcohol in sight, she had no choice but to opt for the bottle of cheap vodka Seth had stored in the cupboard. When she found a box of gauze in the bathroom, Tabitha felt like pumping her fist in the air. No surgical tape, damn it. But she did have a roll of duct tape. It would have to do. She grabbed her razor from the shower and took her haul back into the bedroom, depositing everything on the bedside table.

“Damien?” Her heart skittered in her chest at his still form, eyes closed, chest barely rising with his breath. She laid tentative fingers on his throat, feeling for a pulse.

His hand came up and encircled her wrist. “Worried?”

Tabitha let out a gust of breath and tried to pull away, but Damien held fast to her wrist. His lids opened and his gaze burned through her, quickening her pulse for an entirely different reason. “If you weren't already hurt, I'd totally smack you right now.” She tried for a playful tone but failed miserably. “How are you feeling?”

“I'm good.” He patted the bed beside him. “Why don't you lie down and I'll show you just how good.”

This time she did smack him. Just a gentle swat to his shoulder. Heat rose to her cheeks at the innuendo. “You've obviously lost too much blood and are delirious.”

He flashed a wicked grin that showcased his dimples. “I'm right as rain. Just give me a chance to prove it to you.”

Tabitha rolled her eyes. “Has anyone ever told you that you have a one-track mind?”

His gaze pinned her in place when he said, “Only when it comes to you.”

As she tried to peel her eyes from his, Tabitha fumbled for the scissors. A deep breath filled her lungs and she let it out slowly. “Playtime's over. I don't have any painkillers. Nothing stronger than ibuprofen.” She set the bottle of vodka beside him. “Feel free to drink away, but leave me some to sterilize the needle and your wounds, okay?”

“I don't need it.”

“Oh, so you're a tough guy?”

“Depends.” Damien's eyes raked her from head to toe. “Do you like tough guys?”

Oh hell. Tabitha's blood ignited like a flame to gasoline. Seriously, who flirted while bleeding out from a gunshot wound? He was absolutely a tough guy, and though she'd never admit it out loud, she really liked tough guys. Especially this one. “I'm, uh”—she cleared her throat—“going to cut your pants now. I'll try to be careful.”

Tabitha grabbed the shears and set them on the bed. She removed both of Damien's shoes, careful not to jar his right leg, and peeled off his socks. “Just want to make sure you're comfortable,” she said at his questioning gaze. “And we needed to get this bloody sock and shoe off.”

A burst of nervous energy dumped into her bloodstream, but Tabitha was careful to keep her face impassive. If the soaked sock and his shoe were any indicator, Damien had lost a lot of blood. From the corner of her eye, she caught him staring at her, his expression pinched. “Did I hurt you?”

“Taking off my shoes?” he asked with a lazy laugh. “No.”

Damien's lids drooped as she began to cut up his pant leg, careful to avoid the area on his upper thigh where the bullet had entered. She ran into resistance when the scissors met the additional fabric of his boxer briefs, and she separated them from the denim, cutting completely through the waist until the jeans parted away from his skin in two halves. “Sorry, but the underwear has to go, too.”

“Mmmm.” He blinked slowly. “Say that again.”

The man was incorrigible. He'd flirt her into distraction if he had it his way, but his wounds needed to be closed before he lost any more blood. Tabitha made quick work of the briefs, spreading the halves apart, and inhaled a sharp breath.

A large hole oozed blood from his upper thigh, the wound raw and angry. She angled him onto his side to find the exit point and let out a relieved sigh. Damien was right. The bullet had gone through. “Is there anything I can do to convince you to go to the hospital?” He'd be so much better off if he'd just let a doctor clean and stitch him up.

“Nope. Just slap a bandage on me and we'll call it good.”

“No can do. I'm going to have to stitch you up.”

 

 

Yeah, he'd figured. Tonight wouldn't be the first—and probably not the last—time he'd been sewn up in a pinch, and if the wound had been worse, Damien probably would've taken Tabitha up on her offer to get him to the ER. As it was, he was damned lucky the shot had missed his femoral artery. Otherwise, he'd be kissing his ass good-bye.

“Do it naked.” He was beginning to feel a little light-headed and his mouth formed words without his brain's permission.

“Damien.” Her chiding tone only served to turn him on. “This is serious.”

“I'm dead serious.” His arm felt like it weighed a metric ton as he reached out for her. “I want to see your body. Now. It'll distract me from the pain.”

“You promised to be a good patient.”

“Baby, I'll be the best you ever had.”

Tabitha crossed the room and grabbed a rag to soak it in the bowl of water before wringing it out. “I was right. You're delirious.” She came back to the side of the bed, her expression pinched and full of concern. Goddamn, he wanted to kiss her. “This is probably going to hurt, so prepare yourself.”

Nothing hurt right now. He was too overwhelmed by Tabitha's presence to feel anything but awe. Despite everything that had happened tonight, she'd kept her cool. Cold steel under pressure.

“Did he hurt you?”

Tabitha paused, her gorgeous blue eyes glistening with emotion. She tucked a stray strand of short, blond hair behind her ear. Her voice was low in the quiet room. “No. You didn't give him a chance to. Now, hold still.”

The muscles in his thigh tensed, a painful spasm traveling the entire right side of his body. His jaw locked down tight, aching from the effort it took not to shout. Especially when she concentrated her effort on the wound itself. “What's the razor for?” Damien asked as he panted through the pain. Anything to keep him focused and alert.

“I'm going to shave the hair away from the wound. I don't want anything in the way when I stitch you up, and it's more sanitary that way.”

“I have to say, a woman's never shaved my legs before. Kinky. Ah, fuck!” He pressed his head back on the pillow and took a few deep breaths.

“I'm sorry. I just need to make sure the wound is clean. Believe me, this is going to be a cakewalk compared to what's next. You know, it's not too late to go to the hospital.” Her gaze met his. Stern. “They've got all sorts of wonderful things there. Sterile instruments, trained professionals, painkillers . . . you won't feel a thing.”

“Stop trying to sweet-talk me,” Damien admonished. “Get back to work.”

Tabitha gave him a half smile, half grimace that twisted his heart like a pretzel. “Just remember, you asked for it.”

No one had ever treated Damien with such care. Tabitha's touch was gentle, satin gliding over his skin as she continued to clean the wound. He knew it was going to get a hell of a lot worse—hurt like a motherfucker worse—but he'd take it all and then some for her.

“Why did you go to the hotel tonight?” If he kept talking, focused on the sound of her voice, it would offer the distraction he needed. She kept her attention on the task at hand, the scrape of the razor against his skin the only sound in the room.

“Damien—”

He cut her off before she could chide him for not taking the situation seriously, or whatever she was about to lay into him for. “Just humor me. Talk to me, let me talk to you. Distract me. You're shaving my leg, for shit's sake. You
owe
me.”

She sighed, but humor sparkled in her eyes. “I went there to see you.”

Damien smiled wide as Tabitha cleaned off the razor on the wet rag and set it aside before she grabbed the bottle of vodka from beside him. “I'm less cranky about being shot than I am about missing that opportunity to be with you. I guess the night ended on a high note, though. I'm in your bed.”

Tabitha's lips curved into a sweet smile. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and cast a sidelong glance his way before pouring the vodka on the wound. Damien's back bowed off the bed, his thigh on fucking fire as the alcohol seared through the hole in his leg. He gnashed his teeth but couldn't do a damned thing to silence the pained groan that tore from his throat.

“The bleeding has slowed, but we need to get this closed up. Can I keep going, or do you need a breather?”

“Keep going.”

He watched as she poured a small amount of vodka into a cup. She dropped in the needle and a length of thread and swirled it all around, sterilizing it all. “A curved surgical needle would be ideal, but since I don't have a bag of them lying around, this is going to have to do. It's going to be tough to stitch you up with a straight sewing needle.”

“Give it to me.”

She fished the needle from the cup and handed it to him. It was long and thick enough that he could bend it without breaking it, and fashioned it into something crude but resembling a rounded curve. “Here.”

She dropped the needle back into the cup of vodka and swirled it around for a couple of seconds before fishing it out again. “This is definitely going to hurt. Are you sure you don't want—”