Page 62 of The Night Shift
Holly doesn’t want me dead. Not yet.
A blush warms my cheeks. I try not to let it show, which isn’t hard given that I’m bleeding profusely and also, it’s quite dark outside.
“You’re going to start behaving —” Holly goes on — “or else I’m going to take this fucking knife and shove it so far down your throat that you…why…why are you laughing?”
I try not to. Really, I do. “You want…me to…to behave, huh?” A throbbing sensation goes up my torso.
There’s blood all over my fingers. I think I’m going to be sick. “You know…Hollister…one of the biggest myths of dominant and…subordinate relationships is that men…always act as the…dominant ones, whereas women…women are more compliant and obey —”
“Theo,” she warns, a hint of worry in her voice. She looks down at my torso and then back up again.
I feel myself growing lightheaded. “I’m just saying, Hollister… that with the right motivation…I can see myself…being a good boy for you…”
“Theo.”
“Well, a good boy in…certain situations and a bad boy in…others —”
Holly puts her hand over my mouth, clamping it shut. “Oh my god.Shut.Up.” Her gaze flicks down to my stab wound. “Why on earth are you bleedingthismuch? I didn’t even put it all the way inside!”
She must feel my smile stretch underneath her palm, because the brief concern in her eyes disappears, giving way to absolute abhorrence. “Don’t eventhinkof making a sex joke right now.”
My grin widens. “Yoph wiph iph ma comphnd.”Your wish is my command.
Hesitating for a minute, Holly lets go of my mouth and wipes her palm on the side of her jeans. I have to physically stop myself from groaning in resignation.No, come back, love.
She leans back to unzip her fanny pack and pulls out a tiny metal box, setting both, the box and the blood-stained scalpel, on the dashboard. “Take off your shirt,” she orders.
“Take it off yourself.”
“Theo.”
I raise my tied-up wrists to undo the first few buttons of my white shirt, getting red splotches all over the collar.
Holly opens the metal box, taking out a pair of forceps and a roll of thread.
Wait. Is she…is she going to stitch me up?
I release a deep sigh and try to tame the flutter of nerves in my stomach. While slightly on the “murdery” side, my love still has a lot of heart. I’ve always known that. But Holly wouldn’tstitch me up. She wouldn’t. Would she? Oh god. My head feels like it weighs a hundred pounds. My skin turns clammy. I feel overwhelmed. Fuzzy. A deafening rush of pressure surges through my chest.
She unbuttons the rest of my shirt and lets it hang off my shoulders. “What the fuck, Theo.” Her fingertips brush against my chest, sending a shiver down my spine. “You’re bleeding like a crazy person.”
With a warm palm on my bare shoulder, she assesses my injury with a careful touch. I don’t know what to do. What to feel. I’m immobilized by her touch. There’s a flash of trepidation in her eyes, their scrutiny cataloguing the details of my injury. My brain entertains the thought of Holly Moore’s delicate fingers stitching me up for maybe half a second before she shoves the suture kit onto my lap and sits up straight. “Fix it.”
I raise a single eyebrow.
Holly just frowns. “What? I’ll untie your hands, but I’m not going to fucking do your sutures for you. It isn’t my fault that your body is so dramatic.”
I blink.
“I’m the one who stabbed you. Me.” She uses her hand to spell the last word out as if I’m a three-year-old. “How stupid would it make me look if I’m also the one who fixes you?”
My face contorts with a grimace as I manage to grab the suture kit off my lap and fling it back at her. The box barely hits her knee and falls to the floor of the car.
Holly’s nostrils flare. Her eyes meet mine — fierce and unrelenting. “No.”
“Please, love…”
A brief pause. A minute? A few seconds? Who knows? But ultimately, she grumbles something incoherent and bends over to grab the kit.
