“You come prepared,” he said.
“Well, I haven’t always been a bartender slumming it in Savannah,” she said, spending a moment plucking various bandages and supplies from the kit.
“Explains some things.”
She arched a brow. “You’re dogging on my bartending skills right now? Really? I just killed a man for you.”
Callum went silent, looking away. She’d been joking, attempting levity, but she was completely fucking right. She had saved his life, no question about it.
“Let’s see the damage first, okay?” she said, changing the subject. “I’m going to help you get your shirt off.”
Callum straightened and slowly raised his arms. Vi stripped his t-shirt up over his head as fast as she could, but he couldn’t hold in the low sound of agony that escaped his throat.
“Sorry, sorry!” Vi said, her big blue eyes flashing with remorse.
“S’okay,” Callum mumbled. “Do you have anything up here to drink?”
“Ummm, yeah…” she said, turning and moving to open a shoddy white cabinet door.
Even wounded, he couldn’t help but check out her ass when she reached up to grab a dusty bottle from the shelf. He closed his eyes, knowing that the last thing his body needed right now was all his blood flowing straight to his cock.
And unfortunately, that was what Viola always seemed to do to him.
“Just Johnny Walker, looks like. And no glasses,” she said, turning with a shrug.
“Don’t care,” he said, reaching out for the bottle.
He unscrewed the cap and raised the bottle with his good arm, slugging back a shot. He regarded the label, noticed it was high-end stuff.
“Fancy whisky.”
Viola didn’t respond, just leaned closer to examine the wound in his shoulder. “This one’s just a graze.”
Meaning, the bullet hadn’t actually pierced him.
“The one on my hip is the same,” he said. “Guess I got lucky.”
“Hold on,” she said, heading for the back of the apartment again. When she came back, she offered him two fat white pills.
“Vicodin?”
“Take them both. Have another shot. I’m going to clean your shoulder aggressively.”
“And my hip?” he asked.
Her face colored. “You’ll have to take your pants off.”
Callum couldn’t quite repress a smirk as he took a second shot of Johnny Walker, then set the bottle aside.
“Ready?” she asked, her hands hovering above his shoulder.
He nodded, gripping the tops of his thighs. Viola pulled on a pair of latex gloves, then liberally doused his shoulder with antiseptic.
“Fuck!” Callum groaned, tightening his grip on his knees.
“Sorry,” Viola said. “I’m trying to be gentle.”
He glanced down and saw that the wound looked like a really bad cut more than anything.
She used wads of sterile gauze to gently dry his shoulder, then produced something that looked like a thick piece of clear tape.
“Butterfly bandage,” she said. “I’m going to have to pinch the wound closed, though.”
“Just do it,” Callum said.
She was quick, he’d give her that much. She pinched and taped the laceration, ignoring his grunt of pain.
“See?” she said as she wrapped a bandage around his arm. “That wasn’t so bad, right?”
Callum just gave her a look.
“Okay. Let’s get your pants undone,” she said, wasting no time.
“Not the context I’d hoped,” he said, sliding off the counter and unzipping.
He only had to slide his pants down a couple of inches to reveal the spot where the bullet had grazed his flesh. Viola went red as a tomato, but she just knelt at his feet, repeating her gauze and antiseptic treatment.
His window to enjoy the sight of Viola on her knees was all too brief. The second she touched him, he was in the purest agony.
It took everything Callum had to stay still and silent as she butterflied the wound on his hip. He actually felt faint for a moment, reaching out to steady himself on the counter ledge.
“Whoa,” Viola said, standing up. “Let’s get you horizontal.”
She got her arm around his waist and helped him hobble to her cramped bedroom. The bedroom, he remembered a little more than the kitchen. The surprisingly nice silk sheets, the dark wood headboard, the closet full of colorful clothes.
He sat on the bed, his movements ginger as he stripped off his bloodied jeans, leaving him in his boxer briefs. He could feel Viola’s gaze on him as he lied down on her bed, though he couldn’t tell if she was checking him out or making sure he didn’t bleed on her sheets.
As he lied back, he felt the painkillers start to kick in. His vision went a little fuzzy around the edges, and the throbbing in his hip and shoulder receded to a mild buzz.