Page 88 of Shameless in Vegas

Wrapping my arm around her, I pull her snug against my chest and continue to follow her directions, which now come out as barely above a whisper.

I suck in a deep breath as the car zooms down a deserted street through some industrial-looking town that I’ve never seen before, and then I blow it out in a puff of air.

“Natalia,” I say with another audible quaver in the back of my throat. “I need you to know that I—”

Natalia silences me with a tiny shush. “Créeme.”

Trust me.

I kiss her clammy forehead and nod.

After all, she didn’t let me down the last time she said that. And all I can do right now is hope that she doesn’t this time either.

TWENTY-FOUR

JOAQUIN

THE “DOCTOR” KNOWS NATALIA upon seeing her, and barks at me, “Bring her back here.”

I carry her bridal-style, following him through what looks like a large animal veterinary hospital all the way to an examination room in the back, where he barks at me again to put her on a stainless-steel table. I continue to apply pressure to the wound on her side with one hand, while stroking back her sweat-dampened hair with the other.

Her lashes flutter, and her eyelids keep dropping closed, like she’s fighting tooth and nail to maintain consciousness, and I can’t help smiling at her. “You are one badass mother fucker, baby. Keep looking at me, okay?”

Her response is a quiet groan through parted lips, and she draws the tip of her tongue across her parched bottom lip.

“I’m Dr. Mike,” the doc says, turning to us with a syringe raised at the ready in one hand and a large, alcohol-soaked gauze pad in the other. He nudges me out of the way. “We’ll get to you in a second, but for now, can you take off her shirt?”

I do so as quickly and gently as I can, prompting more quiet, throaty groans from Natalia as she partially lifts up her torso and lies back down on her own. Once she’s stripped down to only her blood-soaked bra and red-splattered, white leather pants, Dr. Mike goes to work, and I move to stand behind Natalia’s head.

It only takes him a couple of minutes to get her bleeding under control, and I try to distract myself and keep her conscious by stroking her hair, kissing her forehead, and murmuring in her ear a few times, “I love you. Hang in there. You’re gonna be okay.”

Dr. Mike is quick and efficient, working on her with strong forearms and hands, which I guess are a result of working with cattle and horses his whole career. After a few minutes, he barks at me again.

“Sit her upright.”

Slipping my hands under Natalia’s shoulders and arms, I ease her up. She manages to perch on the edge of the table, white knuckling the sides as she repeatedly sways forward and backward, her eyelashes doing that same concerning flutter every few seconds.

“Hold her steady while I give her this,” Dr. Mike grumbles at me, one hand on her shoulder while the other blindly reaches for more supplies on a small rolling table.

I move to stand in front of her, placing my hands on her shoulders while he lets go and fills a second syringe with a clear liquid.

“Hey,” I murmur to her, moving my hand to brush her disheveled ebony hair away from her pallid face. “Try to look at me if you can.”

Her thick lashes are matted with tears even though she hasn’t actually cried about any of this, and she blinks slowly up at me beneath them. Her eyes are unfocused and drift a little, but she manages to look at my face. “I’m sorry,cariño.”

Dr. Mike pushes her injured arm out of the way, and I hold it against her chest. “For what?”

“I…” she starts to say, then sucks in a hiss through her teeth as Mike injects the clear liquid into a couple of places around the wounds. “For… when I—”

“Looks like both of the bullets passed all the way through,” Mike announces, automatic and clinical and oblivious to how utterly harrowing this situation is. “That’s good. Missed anything major. You dodged a bullet.” He chuckles under his breath at what he apparently considers a joke. “Figuratively speaking, of course.”

Natalia’s eyes drift sideways as if acknowledging his words and finding them unsurprising.

I reach to gather all of her hair into a thick mass in my fist and sweep it to the opposite side of her body from the wounds. “Keep talking to me, baby doll.”

Her gaze meets mine again, and then an actual tear slides down her cheek. “For injuring you. For knocking you out while you were driving. I’m sorry.”

She reaches with her good hand to touch my neck where she had to cut me to distract Xavier and his thugs. It probably won’t even need stitches, which boggles my mind as to how she knew exactly how to do that to make it look convincing while barely injuring me. But it only confirms what I saw with my own two eyes earlier—Natalia is a masterfully-trained human weapon of war. I don’t really want to think about what she had to deal with to become that, but I have a feeling she’s going to need some kind of serious therapy eventually. Whenever all this shit calms down.

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