She frowns in confusion. “My throat…”
My eyes land on the ugly dark marks on her neck that didn’t wipe away with that motherfucker’s blood.
Bruises. He was trying to choke her to death.
Rot in hell, you piece of shit.
I reach up. She flinches, but lets me run my fingers over her neck.
“You’re a little bruised, but you’re going to be okay. Drink the water, Callie. And breathe.”
“I can’t breathe and drink water at the same time.”
My eyes snap back to hers. They’re clearer now, more focused. I grin.
“How about one andthenthe other.”
She manages a weak smile as she brings the bottle to her lips again and takes a longer sip. Then another, before she brings it down.
“The whole thing.”
“Jesus, I’m not a fucking fish. Chill.”
My pulse jumps and I grin a little wider to hear her sassiness back.
“I need you to do something for me.”
She frowns in puzzlement.
“I need you to stay here.”
Instantly, her eyes start to fade again, and her hand lurches out to grab my wrist.
“Callie, I have to go deal with something.”
She swallows heavily. “You mean the bodies.”
I nod. “And I need you to stay right here while I do.”
I don’t have a gun on me, obviously. But when she finally allows me to pry her fingers off of my wrist, I head into the suite’s kitchenette area and slide a massive, probably-never-used chef’s knife out of the butcher block by the sink and walk back into the bedroom with it.
Callie regards it with clearer eyes.
“Are you serious?”
“Would it make you feel safer to hold it while I’m gone?”
She frowns, staring at it for a long time. Then she nods. “Yeah, maybe.”
I press the handle into her hands. “Stab anyone who comes through the door who isn’t me.”
She smiles quietly.
Good.
I squat down in front of her again, pulling the duvet up around her shoulders and wrapping it around her like a shawl.
“I’m coming right back. All right?”