Page 83 of Hard Bargain

Cassian’s gaze slid from Knox to Dominic, fascination clear on his face.

The elevator waited and Knox felt the silence stretch. Dominic hadn’t told him to leave, but he hadn't told him to come upstairs either.

Dominic’s eyes found Knox. “You coming?”

Two words. That was all it took. Knox stepped into the elevator.

Cassian shook his head. “Look at that. You’re bringing guests upstairs now.”

Knox stood near the wall with his hands loose at his sides, acutely aware of how small the space felt now that the moment of decision had passed. Dominic stood near the control panel, gaze fixed forward as the floor numbers ticked upward. Not looking at anyone. Not explaining anything.

Cassian smiled to himself. “You know,” he said, “this might be the most interesting part of my evening.”

Nobody answered him, but he didn’t seem to mind.

With nothing to do, Knox pulled out his phone. His screen was crowded with missed calls and messages from his friends, trying to figure out what the hell had happened at the club and whether he was okay.

He sent back a quick reply, assuring them he was safe and promising he’d explain later.

It was the best he could do. By tomorrow, he’d have to come up with a version of the night that sounded believable enough to answer their questions without coming anywhere close to the truth.

The doors opened onto the third level and Cassian stepped out into the hallway, hands in his pockets. Just before the doors slid shut, he glanced back at them and said, “Play nice.”

The doors closed.

Knox was painfully aware there were only two of them left. His eyes dropped to Dominic’s arm where the dark stain had spread farther. “Your arm’s still bleeding.”

Dominic glanced down. “Yeah,” he said.

The casual tone made something twist in Knox’s stomach. He pushed past it. “You need stitches.”

Dominic rolled his shoulder. Knox saw the tightness around his mouth even if his expression barely shifted. “Yeah,” he said again. “Probably.”

Probably. Like it was a mild inconvenience instead of a knife wound that had been bleeding through his shirt for the past hour. “You’re not going to the hospital?”

The faint, humorless curve of Dominic’s mouth said everything. “Not my favorite place.”

Of course it wasn’t. Hospitals meant paperwork, questions, police sometimes. People who wanted to know where stab wounds came from.

The elevator chimed and the doors slid open onto his floor. Knox followed him out, the adrenaline that had carried him through the evening beginning to settle, leaving his nerves raw and overexposed. “What are you going to do then?”

“You’re going to stitch it.”

Knox blinked. “What?”

“I can’t reach my own arm like that.” Dominic lifted it slightly, like that settled the matter. “So you’ll have to.”

“I’ve never—”

“I’ll walk you through it. You’ll manage.” The confidence in his voice was irritatingly absolute.

Knox ran a hand through his hair. “This sounds like a terrible plan.”

Dominic’s mouth twitched. “Probably.” He nodded toward the kitchen. “Go wash your hands, carefully. Then grab the first aid kit. It’s in the cabinet above the sink.”

Knox moved before he could argue himself out of it. The kit was easy enough to find, a metal box that looked expensive and well stocked. Of course it was. Dominic didn’t do anything halfway.

When he turned around, Dominic had shrugged out of his shirt and was removing the bandage. For a second Knox’s brain didn’t seem to process what he was looking at.