Page 89 of Forgotten Sacrifice
“Knock knock.” Nicky says through the door.
Sam mutters something under his breath.
“Enter,” Romeo calls, staring Sam down.
“Sorry to interrupt, but I need to examine the patient,” Nicky announces.
“Tesoro, we’re not finished?—”
“Then be finished,” she says firmly, hands on her hips. “Vince could have internal bleeding.”
“Just a few bruised ribs.”Hopefully.
“Stay out of this.” Nicky points to me, and I zip my lips as she marches over to the boss, getting in his face. “I’m the medical professional of this family, and I say he needs a CT scan. Who’s transporting us to the clinic?”
Romeo smiles at her, and I get a really uncomfortable feeling. The boss rarely smiles; when he does, it usually means someone’s about to die. But to my surprise, he announces, “Sam, transport Nicky and Vince to the clinic.”
“How long is Luca going to milk this ‘I’ve been shot’ excuse?” Sam grumbles.
“My offer to shoot you stands, if you need a little respite,” Nicky tells the underboss. She kisses Romeo before briskly marching to the door, motioning. “Let’s go.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, nearly as scared to cross her as I am Romeo.
Chapter
Thirty-Four
Luna
A noise startles me, and I sit up in Vince’s pitch-black bedroom, disoriented.
“It’s me. Go back to sleep.” Vince guides me back down.
“Are you okay? What time is it?”
“A little after midnight. I’m okay. Going to take a quick shower,” he says, kissing the top of my head. “Sleep.”
Ignoring his command, I wait until the water’s running before tiptoeing to the bathroom. Vince is seated on the shower bench, his head in his hands. Quietly, I open the shower door.
He looks up but doesn’t say anything as I fall to my knees on the tile floor between his legs. “You’re not okay.” I gently run my finger along the purple discoloration that begins at his stomach, continuing around to the side of his left ribcage.
He watches me, his expression guarded. Which is bullshit. Beneath the stoic facade, he’s in pain. And not just physical pain.
No one’s ever taken care of this man in his entire life.With that realization, I quietly tell him, “You don’t have to be okay all the time.”
I rise, grabbing the shampoo bottle and squirting some in my palm. Rubbing my hands together, I wedge myself between his legs. Working the lather into his hair, I gently rake my nails against his scalp as he silently watches me. “Close your eyes,” I tell him, grabbing the detachable spray and rinsing his hair.
Moving the spray back into place, I grab the bar of soap and a rag from the hook, lathering it up. I cover his gruesome tattoo in suds. He allows me to move his arm, and I get the underside before switching to his left arm.
I silently wash his back. His chest. His stomach, being ever so careful not to cause him more pain.
Falling to my knees again, I wash his left leg down to his foot, moving over to his right.
Vince is hard, but I ignore his erection as I continue gently washing him from head to toe; I’m saving the best for last.
Locking eyes with him, I toss the rag as I stand and lather my hands with the bar of soap, falling to my knees as I wrap them around his dick, sliding them up and down.
“Luna?” Vince says in a pained tone.
