Indebted(43)

I don’t even know who I am anymore. I don’t know why, when Zerro’s hand was slipping from mine, that it hit me. That maybe, just maybe, me being around had gotten to him. It is as if in that split second, we had reversed roles. I know for a fact that if I would have let his hand slip from mine, he would have been gone, dead to the world. As much as I wanted that to happen, a part of me didn’t want it to happen.

So I pulled the trigger. I shot the man who was trying to end his life. I saved Zerro. He doesn’t realize it yet, but he saved me too.





“Get some cloth and water,” Jared orders from the bedroom. I am in the kitchen pacing like a maniac. He is just going to take the bullet out, clean it like a God damn scraped knee, and stich it up. Something about that doesn’t sit well with me.

Filling a small bucket with water, I bring it to him. Zerro is just starting to come around.

“Get this fucking bullet out,” he growls at Jared. He is thrashing back and forth on the bed as Jared uses a pair of tweezers to dig around in his shoulder. A hiss leaves his lips as his eyes seek mine out.

“Whiskey…” Jared asks, pulling me from Zerro.

“Whiskey?” He didn’t ask for whiskey, did he?

“Yeah, I need it to clean the wound.” I get up, running to the kitchen again. I have no idea where the whiskey is kept here, if it has anything to do with Zerro, it is probably all drank.

I search the many cabinets that line the kitchen walls only finding plates, food, and silverware. I pull on a small drawer only to discover it is filled with guns. Then it clicks. Maybe he has some at the small bar he has in the dining room that I noticed earlier. Closing the drawer, I run to the dining room, my feet slipping on the wood floors. My eyes search the small bar shelf from a distance. BINGO. My eyes land on the bottle of bourbon. Zerro’s favorite I assume since it is the only one I ever see him drinking. He will hate to see this go to waste.

Hurrying back to the room, I hand the bottle to Jared. “Took you long enough…” Zerro almost screams at me. His eyes are soft, and I understand his words aren’t meant to be mean. He is in pain.

“This is going to hurt…” Jared mumbles and then pours a liberal amount onto the wound, his hands, and tweezers. Zerro lets out a loud scream as large amount of curse words follow. Sweat forms on his brow as he clenches his teeth. I watch as Jared digs around in his shoulder some more.

Zerro doesn’t move or make any more sounds. His face is full of agony, and I feel badly for him. Yes, I feel badly for him. I have watched this man shoot and kill people. I have felt his hands around my throat, and yet looking at him now, I feel nothing but pain for him. I know, deep inside, that my reaction stems from more than just a sense of compassion.

Three minutes later, Jared pulls away from Zerro smiling. “Got it. Strong fucking little slugger,” he says, dropping the bullet into a pan I have brought him.

“Thank fucking God. I was about to get my gun out and shoot myself in the other shoulder,” Zerro mocks. I smile at him as he attempts to sit up.

“No way. Don’t move the fuck around. I need to get you sewed up. You’re lucky that it didn’t hit anything important,” Jared orders, moving back over to Zerro. I get up from the bed, not sure what I should be doing. I am stuck here as much as Zerro is. Not that the safe house is bad. We have internet access, TV, and it is a cozy little cabin. Except knowing what we are here for is what makes it seem like my own personal jail cell.

“Come hold him down!” Jared yells to me. I move to the side of the bed slowly. I am not sure where Zerro and I stand after everything. I saved his life, and he saved mine. I am sure the debt had been paid now.

Sitting down on the soft comforter, I ask Jared, “Where do you need me?”

“Just hold his arm on that side. Zerro, quit fucking moving. This isn’t your first rodeo.”

“Yeah, well, the first fucking rodeo didn’t hurt as bad.”

My mouth gapes open. I know he is a mafia man, king, whatever you want to refer to him as, but I didn’t know he had actually been shot more than once.

Placing my arms against his skin, I hold him securely.

“You’ve been shot before?” I ask, my face mere millimeters from his. His brown eyes warm as they pass over my face and then down to my lips. I know what he is thinking. He wants to kiss me, devour me until there is nothing left of me. I know it because that’s how I am feeling.

“Yeah. I was shot in the leg when I was seventeen. Drug deal gone wrong.” The way he refers to it makes it seem so nonchalant.

“Yeah and I saved his ass then too…” Jared cuts in, sliding the needle and thread through his skin.