Page 11 of Protected

Damn it. If there’s too much blood, it will ruin another one of my few pieces of clothing.

Deck sucks in an audible breath and takes me by my uninjured shoulder to turn me around so he can see.

I jerk away. “It’s fine! I fell on it the other night with Pete. It scratched up the skin and there’s a bruise. But it’s not serious. The scratches must have broken open again and started bleeding.”

He keeps trying to get a better look, and I continue resisting. The skirmish ends when I make a loud, frustrated sound and take several quick steps away from him. “I said no.”

Once again, I’m reminded that I really should be playing nice. I’m completely dependent on these people, and if they decide I’m too much trouble, I’ll be left alone and unprotected again.

Plus Deck has helped me. More than once. He rescued me the other night.

But there’s this twisting tension inside me, pressing out against the edges of my being. I can never unleash it for real, but the pressure nags at me constantly.

It makes me want to snap at anyone who gets too close, and right now that’s Deck.

He takes a few deep breaths through his nose and glares, obviously annoyed. Then, to my relief, he walks away.

I find a convenient tree to do what I need to do, and then I sit down on my blanket to comb out my hair and put on my shoes. I’ve got an old sports bra—stretched thin from years of use—and I manage to maneuver myself intoit without fully taking off my big T-shirt. No one is looking at me, but still… I’m not going to go around in my underwear like some of the men do.

“Hey.”

I look up to see Burgundy smiling at me. “Hi.”

She’s holding a small plastic box. “Do you have an injury that needs treating?”

With a gasp, I shoot my eyes over to land unerringly on Deck, who is leaning against a nearby tree, trying futilely to appear innocent.

“I’m fine.”

“I’m sure you are. But Deck thrust this first aid kit at me and pointed at you quite insistently, so we either need to take care of the issue or deal with Deck. And let me tell you, that man is as stubborn as a mule.”

“I believe it.” I get up with a sigh. “Fine. But I’m not going to take off my shirt in front of everyone.”

“We can go a little farther up the creek where there’s no one around.” Burgundy smiles.

She’s as unfazed by my bad temper as Deck is, but in a sweet way rather than an obstinate way. I follow her to the creek bank where several people—including Logan—are washing up. Then we keep going until no one else is in sight.

“Is it safe this far out?” I ask when Burgundy sits down on a rock.

“It is with our watchdog on guard.”

I jerk my head in the direction she motions and see Deck standing a distance away with his rifle, his back toward us.

He obviously can’t see my expression, but I roll my eyes at him anyway.

“Logan told him to watch out for you,” Burgundy murmurs, “so he’s going to do it no matter what.”

“I know. I know I should be grateful. He really saved me the other night. Big time. But…” That twisty tension rises up again, this time pushing into my throat. I lower myself to the ground beside Burgundy.

“But what?” She sounds genuinely curious as she pulls scavenged bandages and antiseptic wipes out of the first aid kit.

I pull my T-shirt off so she can get to the scratches on the back of my shoulder. “But it makes me feel even more helpless. I know I am—I am helpless—but I like to at least pretend I’m not.”

“You’re not helpless. I understood you survived entirely on your own for months ever since your boyfriend died. Hal, right?”

“Yes. Hal. And I did make it on my own, but I only made it by hiding most of the time.”

“Hiding is smart if you can’t fight. Hiding isn’t helpless.”

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