I stomped my foot. “Yes. You’re shot, Lucas. Freaking shot.”
“Yeah. I know.” He leaned against the door and slid his gun into its holster. “And if I go to a hospital, they’ll have to report it.”
“But—damn it.” He was right. Gunshot wounds always involved cops. “What do we do? Do you know someone? Is there someone on the payroll that can fix you up?”
“Yeah, but I can’t go in. I can’t trust him anymore. Scotty could’ve gotten to him.”
I pressed my fingertips to my mouth before saying, “Sit down. You look pale.” I led him to the couch, and for once, he didn’t argue. “God, what do we do now?”
Once sitting, he pulled his phone out. He glanced up at me. “Are you good with a needle?”
“Oh my—” I pressed a hand to my stomach. “No. No way. I’d puke all over you.”
He winced. “That wouldn’t really help me at all.”
“Yeah. I know.” A small laugh escaped me, despite the stress of the moment. “But I can’t help it. It’s true. The idea of pushing a needle through your flesh—” I covered my mouth and swallowed back the bile trying to escape my stomach.
He blinked at me. “Okay, okay. Stop thinking about it, sweetheart.”
I nodded frantically, because if I didn’t, I’d hurl.
Lifting the phone with his good arm, he waited. After a few seconds, he spoke. “I need you to sew me up. Some Bitter Hill guys got me in the arm.” He glanced down at the rapidly growing stain. “Yeah, it’s nothing bad. Just a flesh wound, but it’s on my arm, so I can’t do it myself.” He chuckled. Actually chuckled. “No. She’s apparently not on board with needles and flesh.” Another pause. “Thanks—I’ll leave the door unlocked. Be careful. The Boys might actually be doing their jobs and investigating the shots. I heard the sirens.”
He hung up and tossed his phone aside. When he looked up at me, he looked as calm as ever, and that famous smirk of his was firmly in place. “Chris is coming.”
I nodded. “Let me help you get your shirt off.”
He glanced down. “Damn it. This was my favorite dress shirt.”
“You can get another shirt,” I snapped, unable to believe how extraordinarily calm he was being about this. “You can’t get another arm.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” he drawled.
I walked up to him and undid the first button. My attention fell to his shirt, and the red blood spread way too fast for comfort. “Did you find them? Did they come out onto the street?”
He flexed his jaw. “I got two, but the sniper got away.”
I undid another button. “Oh.”
“Yeah. I wish I’d gotten them all, damn it.” He shifted his weight and winced. “I’ll get them eventually, though. No one takes a shot at you and lives to tell.”
“I don’t think they were shooting at me,” I said, my voice cracking.
“Yeah, well, I don’t give a shit.” He gripped the arm of the couch. “They still coulda hurt you.”
My heart twisted. He’d been shot at and almost killed, and all he cared about was that I was almost collateral damage. What even was that? “We need to stop the bleeding.”
“Hence the needle,” he said dryly. “Chris will be here soon. I’ll be fine. It’s a through-and-through, and it only skimmed my arm, really. A couple of stitches and I’ll be back on my feet. Probably could do without, but I don’t want to risk infection.”
I choked back the bile rising in my throat and continued unbuttoning his shirt. It was taking longer than it should have, as my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. “How do you know all this?”
“Because this isn’t the first time I’ve been shot, darlin’.” He dropped his head back on the couch and closed his eyes. “And it won’t be the last.”
“That’s just—” Lovely. I bit my tongue and undid the last button. “Sit up. Let’s get this off you.”
He sat up. I slowly lowered his shirt off his good arm and carefully peeled it back over his injured one. He hissed through his teeth when it stuck to his skin. “Son of a fucking bitch.”
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” I murmured, finally getting it off him. There wasn’t a whole lot of new blood, because it had clotted up a bit. “Did you get hit when you threw me against the wall?”
“No. I think it was after.” He glanced at me, his gaze shadowed. “When I found them.”
I rolled the shirt up in a ball. “And you think Scotty sent these guys after you?”
“Yep, no doubt.” He smirked. “So much for that lunch date with him, I guess. Good thing I filled up on eggs.”
“Lucas.”
“What?” he asked, blinking. “I just complimented your cooking.”
I threw the shirt aside. Anger pumped through my veins, but it wasn’t alone. It mingled with fear. So much fear. Knowing I’d almost lost him . . . Yeah, that scared me more than anything else could have. He could have died, and he was cracking jokes and acting as if it didn’t matter at all. It did.