Page 49 of Prey

He was injured and wouldn’t be able to chase after me.

My hands shook.

I couldn’t bring myself to leave him, no matter how stupid that was.

We stumbled our way into the bedroom. Roman lay down on the bed.

“Where’s the first aid kit?” I asked.

“Under the sink, in the bathroom,” he grunted out.

I turned and ran to the bathroom, grabbed the first aid kit, and returned to him. I sat down next to him on the bed.

His eyes were closed, and if it weren’t for all the blood, I might have thought he was sleeping.

My hand hovered over his body.

I didn’t know where to touch him.

One eye peeked open, startling me.

“I won’t self-combust if you touch me,” he said, one corner of his mouth tilting up in a small arrogant smirk. I could feel my shoulders relaxing at the sight. “In fact, I think it’s required for you to touch me.”

“Be serious about this, Roman,” I answered, even if his teasing did make me feel better.

My hand came down to the hem of his shirt. “I need to take your shirt off.”

His grin went up a notch. “Sweetest words I have ever heard.”

I rolled my eyes, though my lips twitched from the small smile threatening to show. I pulled his shirt up and off him. He leaned forward, helping me. I took in all the skin he exposed, and all the new marks I was sure would bruise in a day or two.

He wasn’t as bad as I had initially thought. Most of the blood seemed to have come from his face because his torso was okay. Just small nicks and cuts here and there from when that man tackled him to the ground.

Most of the cuts were hidden because of his ink. I took in the realistic skull tattoo wearing a crown sitting on his right pec, next to a small cut that had stopped bleeding during the drive here.

My fingers traced the outline of the tattoo, my lips trembling.

I didn’t know if I wanted to cry or throw up. Perhaps both.

“Dominic did them,” he said suddenly, bringing me out of my thoughts.

“What?” I asked, trying to figure out why Dominic was being brought into the conversation now.

“The tattoos.”

“He did all your tattoos?” I asked, surprised.

“Most of them. Some I had before I joined the club. I think Dominic was a tattoo artist before he joined the club. He even got his license. And the man’s good.”

I didn’t know the president of the King’s Men club very well, and honestly, he scared me, but even I had to admit these were good.

I didn’t respond as I let my eyes move down his body.

His right rib cage seemed to have taken the brunt of the beating, and I let my fingers gently skim over it, over the rune-type tattoo that covered most of the skin there. I quickly pulled away when he let out a sharp breath, but he grabbed my hand and pressed down on his warm skin.

“Does it hurt a lot?” I asked.

My eyes came up to the small wound on his arm from just a few days before. It had felt like such a long time ago when he opened the door for me in his apartment, and I caught sight of the bandaged arm.

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