Page 11 of Hostile Rival
Damn, he’s good-looking. Longish hair drapes his swarthy forehead as he drinks liquor straight from the bottle and glares at his right leg.
He’s already stripped off his tactical vest and long-sleeved base layer, leaving his muscular chest bare and heaving. The gun he’d used this evening sits on the vanity, close at hand.
I shouldn’t gawk or think about how wet my pussy was for him earlier. And I refuse to admit that it’s happening a second time.
I’m older than this guy, for fuck’s sake, and I hate the Souza cartel with a passion. But I feel weird, vulnerable, and way out of my comfort zone. Being this close to Matheus was never the plan. Blanco certainly didn’t foresee this happening.
If he hadn’t ordered me to join The Covenant, I wouldn’t be here. But he has a plan, and I can’t screw it up.
Dark chestnut eyes meet mine and his brows snap together. “Get the fuck out of here!” Matheus hisses, perched on the edge of the bathtub, his hands slick from all the blood he’s losing.
I scan his wound, noticing something sticking out of it. “Looks like you’ve had a bad night. If you’re going to die, Crow, could you do it quietly? I’m trying to sleep.”
Matheus tries to stand, clamps his jaw shut, his nostrils flaring as he breathes through the pain.
My belly knots and a disturbing sensation trickles through my black veins. For some reason, I don’t like seeing him suffer, the same way I’d hated watching my mama struggle. But I don’t do feelings, not anymore. I’m basically an island covered in snow.
But this time, my brain malfunctions. A memory flashes in my mind of the long nights sitting next to her when I didn't have money to buy more pain medication. It was brutal. However, it was a long time ago and I’m not that helpless girl anymore.
I swallow hard and consider leaving him to figure out this mishap on his own. He’s one of them, after all.
Despite myself, I don’t move from the doorway, drawn to the way his eyes are all over my baggy t-shirt and fluttery high-cut sleep shorts. Even in agony, his curiosity burns into me.
Angling toward the vanity, he slams the whiskey bottle on the countertop, unbuckles his belt and pulls down his zipper.
“Sorry to keep you awake.” The fucker glances over at me again, annoyance written all over his gorgeous face. “Shut the door on your way out,” he orders. “There’s nothing to see here. Get back to bed.”
And that right there is like a red rag to a bull. Screw him and his orders. I pivot on the spot, march to my bed, and drag my weapons bag out from under it. Grabbing a jagged hunting knife, I return to the bathroom and plant myself before him. He stiffens when I grab onto his utility pants.
“Do not tell me what to do. And these…” I start hacking at the material. “Need to be cut off, so the glass doesn’t burrow in deeper.”
Slowly, I snick the seams until his muscular leg is revealed and continue cutting upward to the waistband.
Lowering like I’m praying to him, I tug the other pant leg to his ankle and sit on my shins. I’m at eye level to his boxer briefs and have to force my gaze away from the twitching outline of his solid dick.
The carved landscape of his abdomen flexes as his breathing quickens. I tell myself it's a reaction to the agony he’s in, nothing more, even though my own pulse is racing.
But I won’t waste time trying to understand the adrenaline wave I’m riding. This guy and I could never be close.
Setting the knife on the tiles, I finger the oozing flesh, assessing the damage. “Did someone do this to you, or was it from a bomb blast?”
“That’s classified.” He clears his throat, pretending my touchy-feely inspection doesn't hurt like hell.
But of course it does. He has a chunk of glass jammed into his muscle. Multiply a thorn by a million and it might come close.
“Looks like you're lucky you got out alive.” I glance up at him from my kneeling position. “That could have hit a main artery and then there would be one less smartass in the world.”
He grunts at me, and I can’t help the shiver it evokes. From down here, he looks like a glorious warlord. The way he quietly stares at me makes me unsettled and—tingly.
“While you're kneeling before me…” His lips quirk and his eyes drill into mine. I hold my breath. “Pull that fucker out. I’ve tried to get a grip on it all night.”
I cock a brow at him. “Is that another order, or are you asking for my help?”
He drags a hand down his face, inches back, and slowly sits on the bathtub edge again, toeing out of his pants. “How about you do whatever you want to do?” he announces, his voice deep and husky from exhaustion. “Help me or go back to bed. Your choice. Either way, I can sort myself out,Dani.”
“Been doing your research,Mat?” I stand and walk over to the wall mounted cabinet, looking for something to stitch him up with.
The sooner I pull the glass shard out and fix him up, the sooner I could continue to ignore him.
