Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 37638 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 188(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 125(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37638 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 188(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 125(@300wpm)
To my surprise, when Brick swung open the barn door, there was an older model Ford F-150 inside. He got in the truck and drove it out of the barn. There was a closed trailer attached to it. Brick turned off the truck and went to the back, opening the door to the trailer.
“Get in the truck, Serelda. I’ll load this thing and be right there.”
I did as he asked without comment or protest. I wasn’t going back to Iron Tzars, but now wasn’t the time to argue with him. I was as non-confrontational as they came, so I knew how and when to pick my battles.
Instead of getting back in the truck and leaving, Brick came around to my side and opened the door. When I gave him a questioning look, he held up a first aid kit.
“Let me see.”
“It’s fine, Brick. I need some gauze to cover it up until I can clean it.”
“Ain’t askin’, little warrior.” It always surprised me when he called me that. My name roughly translated to “one who protects themselves in battle,” but not many knew that. I mean, why would they? It was one more thing about Brick that endeared him to me. And threatened to break my heart.
With a little huff, I did as he asked, lifting my shirt. It was caked in my blood, so I turned my head away, not wanting him to read my expression too much. Though I could take pain and be stoic about it, I hated the sight of blood. Hopefully, he’d think it hurt. It did, but it was nothing I couldn’t stand.
He used a bottle of water and some thick gauze to clean the blood so he could get a better look at it. Then he touched it, squeezing it together and pressing against the sides of it. Probably making sure there were no obvious foreign bodies or maybe to see how the blood flow was.
“Needs a couple of staples.”
“Good thing we don’t have any. I’ll have someone look at it later.”
“Who says I don’t have staples?” He opened his first aid kit and pulled out two packages wrapped in sealed plastic. One was a blue drape. The other looked like a plastic gun. Fuck.
“You’re not using that on me.”
“I’m not lettin’ you sit here and bleed all the way back to Indiana.”
“Then don’t. Drop me off at the nearest ER, and I’ll have a doctor fix it. I’ll make up some bullshit story that sounds halfway plausible, and they won’t ask questions.”
“Not lettin’ you out of my sight, either, so let’s get this over with.” That didn’t bode well.
Before I could protest or respond or anything, Brick pulled my shirt up over my head. I’m not sure why I didn’t stop him. I guess I was too shocked to realize he was actually doing it. I was sitting in the truck in only my bra and jeans. I gasped and covered my breasts with an arm. The arm on the same side as the knife wound, moving it conveniently out of his way. Brick didn’t seem to notice. His focus was on the injury. Could this be any more humiliating?
“I think two staples should do it.” He looked up at me. “Ain’t got nothin’ to numb it with. It will hurt, but not so bad you can’t take it. And it’s only two sticks. I’ve taken as many as five staples without numbin’ the skin.”
“Just do it,” I bit out. “It’s cold, and I want a clean shirt.”
With a nod, he went back to work. He’d already cleaned most of the blood away, but he went over it again, this time using some antiseptic along with the water. It stung but wasn’t as bad as the injury itself had been. The staples, however, hurt like a motherfucker. I managed to stay still and only tighten my jaw to keep from crying out when I wanted to shove him away and tell him to go fuck himself with the fucking staple gun.
Thankfully, he was quick about it. Brick didn’t take time to do more than make sure the staple was in the right place and ensure each staple did the job of closing the wound, so he only had to use the two he’d anticipated. Once done, he washed the skin around the wound, getting more blood cleaned off and putting a bulky dressing over the wound before pulling me out of the truck to stand between him and the door.
He pulled out a pair of yoga pants I had crammed in my bag before reaching for the waistband of my jeans.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I’d never spoken to Brick like that. Or anyone else, for that matter. I always left that up to Winter. But she wasn’t here. Guilt stabbed through me much like that stupid knife had. My sister was probably worried sick about me. Judging from the texts blowing up my phone.