Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 141464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
She comes to my side. “I’m going to raise the table.” She rests her hand on my shoulder. A second later the motor whirs and the table jerks under me, rising, rising, rising.
My stomach lurches and horses tap dance inside my skull again.
“Can you guys get his boots?” Margot asks.
Rock and Murphy move to my feet and start unlacing my boots.
Margot reaches for my belt. I wrap my hand around hers. “You know damn well you don’t know how to work that buckle.”
Her shoulders shake. “Then hurry up.”
She watches my hands in a detached, clinical way while I work the buckle loose, then arch my back and pull the belt free and hand it to Rooster. “We’re burning these jeans,” I explain.
Margot nods and unties the bandage around my thigh. I bite back a scream from the pain. Then she carefully unbuttons and lowers my zipper.
I roll my head toward her. “This isn’t very arousing.”
Margot flicks her finger against my side. “It’s not supposed to be.”
She unfolds a small, white sheet and drapes it over my groin before carefully easing my jeans down my legs. So professional.
I hiss a pained breath as the denim scrapes over the wound. She’s gentle as she peels the sticky material away from my skin, doing everything not to cause more pain. Cold metal chills the backs of my legs and feet.
“How’s he doing?” Wrath’s big voice echoes in the room.
Margot turns her head. “Haven’t quite gotten there yet. He’s still cracking jokes. I think that’s a good sign.”
“It’s something,” Rooster mutters.
I close my eyes again.
The sharp snap of rubber breaks the air. Then another. Soft fingers press into the meat of my thigh. I flinch but try to stay still.
“I need to irrigate this. See how deep it is.” Margot’s voice—low, clinical, but shaking at the edges.
“Need one of us to help?” Rock asks.
“If you don’t mind scrubbing up and putting on gloves, sure.”
Water runs. Plastic rustles. Rubber snaps again and again.
“Hand me that,” Margot says.
A second later, something cold and sharp blasts over the burn in my leg.
“Fuck!” My body bows off the table. White explodes behind my eyes.
Strong hands clamp down on my shoulders.
I crack open one eye. Rooster. Murphy. “Your beards are even uglier from this angle.”
Rooster applies more pressure to my shoulder. Murphy just snorts.
I swing my head toward Margot. She’s not looking at me. Her eyes are on Rooster. Wide. Focused. She gives him a tight nod.
He sets a firm palm on my chest like I’m a deer about to bolt into the woods.
“What’s—”
“I’m going to sterilize this. It might burn,” Margot says. “Keep him still.”
Might? Oh, that definitely means it’ll burn. Every muscle in my body tightens.
Rock steps in and plants both hands on my good leg. Not pushing yet. Just waiting.
Fire licks my side.
“Fuuuck!” I twist, muscles spasming, trying to get away.
“Stop.” Her voice wraps around me.
The pain fades. Or I black out. Hard to say.
I drag in a breath. Blink hard. Margot comes into focus through the heat and static buzzing over my skin.
A single tear cuts a clean track down her cheek.
“You know I’d never hurt you on purpose, Jensen,” she whispers.
I nod. Quick and jerky. Can’t form words.
She leans over me again, fingers returning to my leg. Searching. Face blank, except for another tear sliding from the corner of her eye.
“If this had been six inches in the other direction, he would’ve hit something vital,” she murmurs.
I can’t tell if she’s referring to my dick or my femoral artery. Either way, it sounds like good news.
“The tissue’s angry,” she murmurs. “But not gaping. I think I can close it.”
“Goody,” I mumble.
“Relax,” she says in a calming tone. “I promise I’m good at this. Dad started having me suture any visible wounds. Says I make them look like nothing ever happened.”
I meet her eyes again. “I trust you.”
No ER doc would give a fuck about getting this right as much as she does.
“Rock, can you hand me that white can Rooster brought?”
There’s a rustle. Clink of metal.
“This might sting,” Margot warns. “But not as bad as before. Then it should help numb the area while I close the wound.”
“Okay.” Not like I’ve got a choice.
She leans over, spraying a fine mist over my upper thigh. Cold. Sharp. Then a low, spreading numbness. Not painless, but less fire.
Snap. Another pair of gloves. The sharp chemical scent of disinfectant stings my nose.
“Gauze,” she says, and someone—Rooster, I think—places it in her hand without a word.
Another sting of antiseptic, milder this time. Then pressure. Damp warmth. My leg twitches. I grind my teeth.
“You okay?” she asks without looking up.
“Just ducky.” My voice scrapes out of my throat like gravel.
She picks up something thin and silver. My vision tunnels on it.
Needle. Thread. Probably what she uses to stitch dead faces into their final, peaceful expressions.