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A throat I wouldn’t mind seeing peeking through my fingers as I wrapped my palm around it …
Fuck. Dangerous thought. Dangerousfuckingthoughts.
She cleared her throat. “You should go to the hospital to get that wound checked out.”
I shook my head. “Not going to happen.”
My response elicited a frown. When she finally spoke, her tone was bland. “The bullet only missed your lung by a millimeter. I honestly don’t know why you aren’t in worse shape. I’m about three and a half years away from being a fully qualified nurse.” She jabbed her finger in the direction of my ribs. “And my suturing skills aren’t great, so there’s a high chance of them snapping before your body can fully heal. You need to go to the hospital and get checked out properly.”
I stared at her for a solid minute, waiting for her to back down. Most people did when they felt the full force of my black gaze. When it was clear she wasn’t going to break, I said firmly, “No.”
She blinked like she was having trouble processing what I’d just said. “No? What do you mean,no? You’re putting your life in danger by not going.”
“My life is always in danger.” And now, thanks to me, so was hers. “Have there been any other shots fired into the house while I was unconscious?”
She held onto her upper body tightly, her throat bobbing with nerves. “No.”
Maybe there hadn’t, but that didn’t mean there wouldn’t. I got to my feet, pain stabbing at me like a relentless dagger. Fallon’s eyes narrowed on the savage twist of my mouth as I breathed through the pain.
Leaping up, she tried to urge me back down. “You shouldn’t be pushing yourself right now.”
My stomach turned as if it agreed with her. Well, too fucking bad. I brushed past her—or attempted to, at least. My knees buckled, making me throw my arm out to the wall to keep myself from going all the way down. Fallon was there a moment later, arm around my back and taking my weight.
“You need to sit down.”
“No.” I blinked, my vision fuzzing out to black. Shaking my head, I repeated, “No. I need to go …”
It turned out I wasn’t going anywhere.
The next thing I knew, I was staring at the ceiling while Fallon tried to disentangle her arm from behind my back.
“Jesus, you weigh a lot,” she muttered angrily. Her eyes returned to my face, her brows rising in alarm. “Orin? Orin, can you hear me?”
* * *
“Orin? Orin,wake up!”
The words were hissed and laced with fear.
I was instantly alert, my eyes opening wide to search for danger. They shifted over to Fallon who was looking at something behind us. When her blue eyes returned to my face, they were wide—terrified.
“What is it?” I asked, my voice rasping over my rough vocal cords.
Her voice dropped even lower. “Someone’s trying to get in the house.”
My first instinct was to sit up, but my ribs still screamed at me. How long had I been unconscious this time around? With a groan, I attempted to get upright again, only to lose the battle to get vertical. If it wasn’t for Fallon’s hand under my arm, nothing would’ve stopped me from collapsing backward.
“What happened?”
“I fell asleep on the couch. I woke up a few minutes ago when I heard the front door handle jiggle. Then I saw shadows pass by the windows.”
She pointed at the living room windows opposite us with a shaking finger. I waited—tense and wound tight—to see whether the shadows would reappear. It only took a few minutes, but two men walked past the windows, trying to peer past the sheer curtains.
Turning to look at Fallon, I demanded in a low voice, “Tell me you have a gun in the house.”
Her whole body stiffened, but she nodded.
“Where is it?”
