Page 101 of Bad Situation

Bree is full-on sobbing—shaking—and I turn to see who’s been hit as other agents take over. They roll Bree to her stomach and cuff her as Larry is on the phone spouting out the scene.

“Fuck, lemme see.”

I look up and Dean is yanking at my shirt. That’s when I feel it.

Adrenaline is a weird thing—a rush of hormones secreted by the adrenal glands that can cause all kinds of reactions. I’ve had my share of adrenaline rushes—hell, it happened every time I’ve ever had a gun pointed in my direction and I’ve experienced that more than anyone should in one lifetime. Adrenaline has made me stronger, quicker, and more alert, but this is the first time it’s ever caused me to not feel pain.

“Fuck, that hurts,” I mutter as Dean pulls at my shirt. I hear someone else on the phone describing the gunshot wound and, for some reason, all I can think of is Jen having a fit and my OPR interview next week is going to be an interesting one.

Chapter 28

Loses It

Eli

Like Pavlov’s Dog, my dick twitches when I hear it. Don’t ask me how, but I know it’s her. The way she walks, her cadence, her fucking ability to stride into a room like she’s taking over the world in a way that’s only hers.

Fierce, confident, intelligent, and yet she does it in a way that’s feminine and sexy as fuck.

Especially in her damn heels.

The clicking gets louder and quicker. She’s picked up into a run by the time she stutters to a halt at the door.

Her tank dress is the color of a dark lager and shorter than she usually wears. I know this for a fact because I made quick work of pulling it over her hips when I took her in the closet this morning before the sun came up.

Her jacket—the color of vanilla ice cream and long enough to kiss her ankles—is hanging off one shoulder from running to me. Besides that, she looks as put together as always. All but her eyes which match her dress today. They’re wild and desperate—saying it all when they hit mine like a heavyweight.

“You didn’t believe me.”

Her voice hitches. “No. I didn’t.”

“Told you I was good,” I say as the nurse bandages me.

Her lashes fan under her eyes when they close and she nods twice. Swallowing hard, she does what she always does unless we’re alone. She pulls herself together, standing straighter, schooling her features.

“You did. I just had to see for myself.”

Andrew stays where he is in the hall when she clicks toward me, today in heels the color of rusty copper.

When she reaches me, I slide my hand inside her jacket and squeeze her ass over her dress. “Happy?”

Her brows pucker. “Thrilled.”

“You’re almost done. Shower like normal and redress the wound. No baths or swimming. Doc’s giving you a prescription for antibiotics and an ointment. Follow the directions and see your regular doctor if it becomes inflamed, red, or you come down with a fever. Stop by here in about seven-to-ten days and we can snip those.” The nurse points to my stitches. “You’ll be as good as new.”

I look to the older woman. “I can cut them out myself.”

She shakes her head. “Men.”

“How bad?” Jen asks, putting her hand to my good shoulder to get my attention.

I shrug it. “Told you it was just a graze.”

“Graze, my gray-haired head. You lost a chunk of your shoulder. You were lucky,” the nurse sasses back.

I turn to her and glare.

“What?” she asks before laying it all out. “You’ve got your hand on her booty, so I’m sure she’ll see it eventually. I’d bet my next year’s diet of biscuits and gravy that she’ll be the one making sure you follow the doc’s orders, too—she needs to know.” The old lady, who is a Texas-version of my mother, looks to Jen. “He’s lucky—don’t let him sugarcoat it.”

---