When she’d woken up with him crouching over her in the shower she’d completely lost it. Panic still hummed through her, that adrenaline blast in her system having barely faded at all. She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry for trying to hit you with a vodka bottle.”
To her surprise, his lips curved up the tiniest fraction. She wondered if it was his version of a smile. “I need to look at your wound before we head to the hospital. At least put a bandage over it so you don’t bleed through your clothes.”
She looked at the truck stop clothes she’d discarded on the tiled floor of the bathroom. The sweatpants should be okay to wear again, but she’d bled through the shirt. It didn’t matter in the big scheme of things. Because Vadim was right. She wasn’t sure how long she’d slept in the shower, but she felt less fuzzy now. Enough so that she knew talking to the police in Vegas and at least documenting her injury was the smart thing. She couldn’t believe how out of it, how purely panicked she’d been. “Okay. If you know where Vadim’s First Aid kit is, I’ll grab it.”
He just snorted and pointed to the marble-topped counter. “Sit there. I’ll be back.”
Normally a forceful or demanding tone from a stranger would get a rise out of her, but it was a relief to let someone else take over. At least temporarily. Adrenaline might be jagging through her, but she was still weak and shaky. As he left the room, she grabbed the sweatpants off the floor and tugged them on. Then she held the towel up to her chest as she sat on the counter.
Turning sideways, she looked at her exposed body in the mirror. The wound was still red and trickles of blood were still streaming down her side. Damn it, she’d probably get the blood on her pants now. She slid off the countertop as Roman walked back in with a small red and white kit in one of his big hands.
“You doing okay?” he asked, his voice strong and soothing, taking away some of her edginess.
She clutched the towel to her chest, not caring that her back was exposed. “Yeah. I just realized I shouldn’t have put my sweatpants on so soon. Not until after I patch up.”
He nodded and turned around. “Strip ’em and tell me when you’re ready.”
She blinked at that tone that brooked no argument. “You can just leave the kit with me.”
“It makes more sense for me to bandage you. The wound is in an uncomfortable place.” He shrugged. “But you can do what you want.”
She liked that he wasn’t pushing her, his actions making her trust him more than words ever could. “You’re right. Hold on.” She shimmied the pants off before hopping back up on the counter. Her back and part of her butt were visible in the mirror as she held the towel over her front and around her non-wounded side, but she didn’t have enough energy to care about partial nudity at this point.
When he turned around, he paused for a second, his gaze sweeping over her in a very non-clinical fashion. He did it so quickly she wondered if he was even aware of it. A moment later, he was at her side. If Vadim vouched for him, she was going to trust him. There was something intrinsically solid about him too. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but there it was, the most primal part of her brain telling her she’d be safe with this man. Not that he in any way or shape seemed safe. No, he had a dangerous edge to him, but he wouldn’t hurt her.
“Hold your arm up while I clean your wound, okay?” he asked in a surprisingly gentle voice.
She did as he said, watching as he opened the kit.
“So Neal Lynch is the name of the man who shot you?” he asked as he began pulling out antiseptic and bandages.
“Vadim told you his last name?” She looked away from him, facing forward as she spoke.
“Yeah. This might sting for a second, but I’m going to clean the wound.”
“It won’t hurt more than getting shot,” she muttered.
Roman laughed, the bold sound taking her off guard, rolling through her like a warm, soothing balm. “You’re right about that. And you’re damn lucky that Lynch fucker wasn’t a better shot. I don’t even think you’ll need stitches.”
“Have you ever had stitches?” she asked, mainly just to make conversation and steer away from talking about Neal. Even thinking about that monster, the way he’d gunned down Hugh, made her throat tighten and tears well up again. She didn’t want to have another breakdown. Not yet. Not until Neal was behind bars.
Roman let out a short chuckle as he put something cool on her wound. “Yeah. Too many times to count.”
“From your time in the Marines?” She bit back a hiss as he laid the bandage over her wound. The contact made all the muscles in her body tighten.