Page 80 of Sacrifice
I've never been to his room at the clubhouse before.
It's at the end of a secured hallway, a heavy door with multiple locks.
Inside, it's sparse but clean—bed, dresser, small kitchenette.
More like a studio apartment than just a room.
"This is yours?" I ask.
"Yep. Don’t ask me how I’m the lucky bastard who ended up with this. I don’t stay here often, just when shit's heavy or I'm too drunk to ride home." He opens the sliding door to a small balcony overlooking the back property. "It's secure. No sightlines from the street."
The night air is cool against my flushed skin.
I grip the railing, trying to process everything.
Elfe in the hospital. Bullets in a parking garage. Emil's blood on my hands.
"Shower," Emil says from behind me. "You need to wash this night off."
"What about your arm?"
"I'll manage. You first."
The bathroom is small but functional. I stand under water as hot as I can stand, watching pink swirl down the drain—Emil's blood, washed away but not forgotten.
When I emerge, there are clothes on the bed.
My clothes, though I don't remember packing them.
"Astrid," Emil explains. "Remember, she grabbed stuff from your place earlier. I had her stop by my place and bring a couple of things for you."
He's sitting on the bed, cradling his injured arm. The bandage is already spotted with red.
"Your turn," I say. "I'll help."
"I can manage?—"
"Let me take care of you. Please."
He must see something in my expression because he nods.
I help him carefully remove his shirt, trying not to jar the wound.
In the harsh bathroom light, I can see other scars—old wounds, old fights written on his skin.
"This isn't your first gunshot," I observe.
"Third. First one stateside though." He lets me help him clean around the bandage, hissing when I get too close. "You did good tonight, Saga. Really good."
"I was terrified."
"But you acted anyway. That's what counts."
We manage to get him clean and into fresh clothes—soft sweatpants, nothing on top to avoid irritating the wound.
Back in the main room, exhaustion hits like a wave.
"When are you meeting Doran?" I ask.
