Page 62 of The Consequence of You
I only break out of my reverie when Rossi speaks again.
“We’re confident he was working alone. Luca is on his way to help me clean up this mess. But Callie really needs to have that wound looked at.” He turns to me. “Do you think you can get her back to the house? Get her cleaned up, and I’ll get a doctor out to check her over.” I nod and take Callie’s small hand in mine. “There’s no immediate threat now, but just in case, have you ever shot a gun?”
Rossi unclips a small black pistol from his ankle.A fucking gun?Why the hell didn’t he put a bullet in Carlo’s head if he had that strapped to him the whole time. As if he can read my mind, he tips his head subtly towards the building. Yeah, good call. A gunshot would have had the residents out here waving their walking sticks around, and we couldn’t have that.
He holds the gun, his head tilted, still waiting for my answer about whether I’ve ever shot one.
“My family have hunted for generations. It’s not really my thing, but I can handle a shotgun,” I tell him with more confidence than I feel.
Rossi smirks and hands the pistol to Callie instead.
“Callie’s had lessons. She can hold the gun.”
She tucks it into her pocket and Rossi becomes more serious then, checking in with her before we leave. “You sure you two can handle this? I don’t think there’s any cause for concern, but better safe than sorry.” She nods and shuffles closer to me.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CALLIE
Sliding into Asher’s passenger seat, I shiver. Thumbing the tender spot on my neck, I search my memories of growing up in Italy. Mama liked to entertain, and there were often other families in and out of our home, some with children, but I have no recollection of Carlo. Had my father seen something in him that made him unsuitable for an arranged marriage? No, that makes no sense. He would never give him a role in our security detail if that were the case. I have so many questions, but they will need to wait until I speak to my father.
One thing is for sure, today could have ended a hundred times worse.
Asher saved me.
He didn’t even hesitate. For once, I suppose I should be grateful for his recklessness, but it was a fucking miracle neither of us were more hurt today.
We drive to my house in near silence, only stopping for some food. Once we pull into the grounds, I direct Asher to the underground parking and his jaw drops open at the array of cars.
“Wow. This place is fucking awesome.” If it hadn’t been such a shitty day, then maybe I’d have laughed at his enthusiasm. I must be daydreaming, as he comes round to my side of the car and unbuckles the belt, lifting me out.
“I’m okay. I don’t need carrying.”
He insists, and it’s easier to let him than to argue. He carries me, without complaint, all the way to my room, but as we reach the top of the stairs, he adjusts his hold on me and flinches for a second.He’s hurt?Before I can ask him, he places me on my bed and goes into my bathroom.
When he doesn’t return after a few minutes, I follow him in there.
His back is to me, as he stoops over the bath. He’s swirling the water around with his hand, lost in what he’s doing. I take a moment to look him over. His shirt is dirty and ripped. He needs this bath as much as I do, but the thought of him doing something so inherently thoughtful for me, on top of everything else he’s done for me today, makes tears prickle behind my eyes.
I shift and he must hear me, because he turns and looks at me. His green eyes zero in on mine, and they are so filled with concern I can hardly bear to look at them.
“Asher, I don’t know what to say. Thank you doesn’t seem to cut it.”
“It’s just a bath,” he murmurs.
“I’m not talking about the bath.”
“I don’t need your thanks. I would do it again in a heartbeat. When I saw that prick with his hands on you? It was never even a choice.” I frown. He sounds possessive.More possessive than fuck buddies should be. I don’t dwell on what that might mean, instead I drop to my knees.
“Please. Let me thank you?” I want to show him how grateful I am, and this seems as good a way as any.
He steps towards me, but instead of undoing his trousers like I thought he would, he kneels down too and shakes his head. Rejection courses through my veins, wrapping itself around my heart and squeezing.
“You don’t want this?”
He runs his hands through his hair, pulling at the ends before letting out a bitter laugh.
“There isn’t a single second I don’t want you like that, but you’re hurt, and you need to get cleaned up so you don’t get an infection.” I swallow, relieved that he isn’t rejecting me entirely.
