Talon (Uncompromising #1)(7)

“Jealous?” I taunted, deflecting.

Kendall leaned forward and got in my face. Her finger trailed down my stomach. “I’d have to want to fuck you to be jealous. But those?” She pointed at my balls. “Aren’t big enough for me, hero.” She waltzed out of my shop.

“Fuckin’ hell,” I muttered, turning to go back to my office.

Nic stood in the doorway. “Is that your girlfriend?”





GODDAMN IT. “I DON’T HAVE a girlfriend.” I hated Kendall and her big mouth. “How much did you hear?”

Nic stared after Kendall then her eyes traveled to mine and despite her best efforts to hide what she was going through, all the shit of the last twenty-four hours showed on her face. Pain, exhaustion, anxiety; she looked vulnerable as hell. “Why did you nickname me Siren?”

I felt like an asshole. “Just so you know, I’m no fuckin’ hero.” I glanced at the pants she’d pulled back up over the open wound and silently cursed. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” I didn’t wait for her to follow.

I walked into the small kitchenette, grabbed one of the towels I kept for the beach and dropped it on the floor. “Take your pants off and stand on the towel,” I ordered. “What’s your pain tolerance like?”

“What?” Her voice squeaked.

I spared her a glance. “I’m gonna throw some stitches in. I don’t have Novocain but I have topical cream and I’ll be fast.” It was the best I could do.

Looking nervous, she agreed. “Okay.”

I pulled out supplies while she stepped out of her pants. Once I had everything I needed, I allowed myself to take in the sight of her.

Jesus.

She looked so damn fragile, trying to hold a brave face. The ripped T-shirt with bloodstains stood out against the pink satin of her underwear and all I wanted to do was pull her into my arms.

Knowing I shouldn’t, I cupped her good cheek. “I’ll be quick but I gotta stitch that wound before it gets infected. You with me?”

Her eyes closed but she didn’t say anything.

“C’mon, Siren,” I coaxed. “Open those baby blues and talk to me.”

She looked up at me with trust I didn’t deserve. “Okay.” She breathed out.

The thought of hurting her sucked. Add the misplaced trust in her expression and I had to give her an out. “The walk-in can numb you up. We could have them do this.”

“No,” she said forcibly. I raised an eyebrow and she softened her tone. “Can you please do it?” She pulled her injured arm closer to her body.

Standing there, holding her face, it felt good, too good. I released her, grabbed a bottle of water and started talking her through what I was going to do. “I’m flushin’ the wound out.” I poured the water over her leg then picked up the hydrogen peroxide. “This may sting a little.” I followed with the disinfectant and her face twisted in pain. “It goes away in a few seconds,” I reassured, patting the surrounding skin dry. “But the topical will only help a little,” I warned, pulling on gloves. “You sure ’bout this?”

She steeled herself. “Yes.”

I smeared on a heavy dose of topical. She flinched but she didn’t complain.

“I gotta give it a few minutes.” Not wanting to look at her and see the pain in her eyes, I got the stitches ready. I messed around in my kit then pulled out a chair and put another towel over it. When I had no reason to stall anymore, I nodded at the chair. “Sit.”

She eased down.

I dropped to my knees and held her gaze. “You ready?”

Her throat moved with a swallow. “Yes.”

I lifted her foot and tucked it under my arm. Holding it tight in case she jumped, I did the first stitch.

She jerked back and gasped in pain.

Fuck. “Sorry.” I tightened my hold and quickly followed with the second stitch, wishing like hell I didn’t have to do this to her.

Sucking in a huge breath, she went white as fuck. “It’s okay.”

“You gonna faint on me?” I stuck her for the third suture, hating every second of it.

“No,” she panted.

“Good, ’cause I’d hate to have to catch ya,” I joked, forcing half a smile. “Never had a woman faint on me yet.” I quickly pulled the needle through two more times but I didn’t tell her I’d never stitched a woman. I’d seen more shit than I ever could’ve imagined, blown-off limbs, gaping wounds, grown men begging me to not let them die. I even treated a few wounded female Marines. But I’d never stitched one of them. “Usually it’s the big Marines who faint. They see a needle and it’s lights out.” I finished and grabbed a clean dressing. “Press this against the stitches for a few minutes.”