Page 51 of Bad Bishop
Stitching me up?
What was she, a bleeding nurse now?
“If you don’t know how to stitch, knock on Tierney’s door down the hall. She’ll call for help.” Doubtful I had enough time, but I wasn’t in the mood to be poked a bunch of times.
Her eyebrows slammed together. She looked pissed off I doubted her abilities.
“Fine. There’s a suturing kit in the cabinet in the bathroom,” I groaned. “Don’t bother bringing the analgesic spray. I thrive on pain.”
She moseyed back into the en-suite bathroom. I followed her with my eyes, wondering how she was going to get out of this one.
She just revealed her entire hand to me. Not only did she not have any intellectual issues, she also knew how to treat potentially fatal wounds. Did she tend to her brothers like this? The thought of her touching other men—even her kin—made my skin crawl.
Lila returned. She removed the gauze and resprayed the wound to disinfect it, then used the needle driver to grab the needle. Her hands were steady, her breathing calm. Pushing the needle in a ninety-degree angle at the edge of my wound, she began stitching me up.
I stared at her face. She looked like an angel. One I’d very much like to stick my cock into. She sewed with stoic practicality. It was her eyes that gave her intelligence. They saw everything, and I wondered if they also noticed how out of my fucking depth I was where she was concerned.
She was everything I couldn’t control, and it drove me wild.
“How long are we going to do this song and dance for, Lila?” My gaze drifted down her satin babydoll, to those full, perky breasts and tight nipples. Down her flat stomach, to the junction where her panties were hidden by sun-kissed, slender thighs. “Where you pretend to be incapable and I pretend to buy it?”
Her throat bobbed with a swallow.
“They call me Deathless, you know,” I hissed, my voice groggy. “I survived six assassination attempts and fuck knowshow many more gunfights. Wouldn’t it be ironic if what takes me out is a sloppy stab in the chest by a fucking nobody?”
Lila’s face remained impassive. Her hands on my bare flesh were sweet torture. Her fingers tingled and teased, like little flames licking at my skin.
I wondered what other talents she was hiding.
And if Tate Blackthorn knew about them.
“You should let me bleed out,” I mused, watching her unwavering expression. “You know you want to.”
Not a muscle in that perfect face of hers twitched. She wasn’t going to break. Not even crack. For a reason beyond my understanding, Lila decided to spare my life, but didn’t deem me trustworthy enough for her confessions. For her words.
I focused on the delicate contours of her face, wondering when I last saw something quite as superb. Never, was the definite answer.
“I’m not letting you go, you know.” My voice was calm, final, before I let my eye flutter shut. “You’re mine. Only fucking mine. Till my last breath.”
She pricked my skin with her needle, extra hard.
And I smirked, knowing she heard me.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
LILA
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Why did I help him? Why didn’t I look the other way and let karma finish the job?
I’d been awake as usual, staring at the ceiling, when I felt the sharp bang of the entrance door reverberating through my spine. When I walked out of my room, I noticed the carnage.
I wanted to let him die…
But something inside me refused to be as ruthless as the men in my life. And while Tiernan was a terrible human, he never crossed my red lines. He didn’t force himself upon me, made sure I always ate, and even took me to see the sunset.
I knew, from watching old Mama-approved movies, that allowing your wife to stab and shoot you didn’t qualify as romance. However, in our world, it made for a damn decent husband.
