I don’t bother to hide my displeasure. “What are you doing here?”
“I didn’t want to come either, but I figure you might want your car.”
Point taken, but other than Lyosha, I don’t like it when others drive my vehicle.
He adds, “Plus Elizabeth wants me here, just in case. She doesn’t like it that the guy who hired the thugs is still out there.”
“Was she that distraught?” And confused? She and I have known each other for a long, long time. She should know by now that Roy Wilks didn’t escape…contrary to what the police think.
“You’re obviously slipping. Getting stabbed? Really?” Antoine gives me a “you’re such a pathetic has-been” look.
I fantasize about kicking him in the face, but restrain myself. Angelika could walk in on us. I don’t want to show her my aggression. It’s time she becomes overwhelmed with gratitude and love.
“That guy’s a low-level thug who got initiated into the gang six months ago,” Antoine adds, obviously determined to taunt me until I lose my temper. But the day I let Antoine irritate me enough to deviate from my plan is the day I eat the cream of corn in my pantry.
“Maybe he got lucky,” I say nonchalantly.
He lowers his voice. “You faked it, didn’t you?”
I shrug. I’m not saying shit when he could be recording my answer. Antoine is loyal to Dominic, and he knows how much I hate his guts.
“You mocked Dominic constantly for taking a bullet to get Elizabeth, and you did something similar.”
Unlike Dominic, I was fighting three on my own. What can I do when the idiots couldn’t shoot, except to settle? Besides, the stab wound aches a little, even if it isn’t fatal. My plan was to take it in a non-vital area, but make sure I was covered in blood—not all of it mine. God only knows what plague those morons carry in their blood, but I figure with modern medical technology, they can cure me.
It’s an acceptable risk to keep the little fawn with me. No woman can dump a man who literally bled for her.
But before I could execute my plan, I heard Angelika’s breathing hitch, like she was about to hyperventilate but trying hard to be brave and control herself. And for some reason, that distracted me for a fraction of a second. Normally, my head is ice cold and steady when I fight. No exceptions. But that moment, something hot and feral raged in my mind, and I took the knife in the wrong spot—albeit not fatal and nothing too dangerous.
Still, I deviated from the plan. Got distracted.
Not good.
It’s the kind of thing that could get me killed. And the fact that she’s the only one who can split my attention means she’s…
Well. She holds my heart in her hands. More firmly, more permanently than I ever suspected possible.
I let myself smile, a little bit bemused, a little bit stunned.
Of course, what happened today will not happen again. Nobody will ever take my little fawn.
I study my upper body more closely. The medical staff did an impressive job of bandaging me. Plus my torso is black and blue. Not because the trio of hired imbeciles actually managed to connect with anything, but because I did it to myself after I took care of Roy and before I barged into the warehouse with the other three. My little fawn would find it odd if I were in pristine condition except for a knife wound. Details matter.
I know I did a good job because the nurse who came by earlier asked me if I was sure about not taking the pain meds. I told her I was certain. I want to be able to drive if Angelika wants to leave tonight.
“You’re sad,” Antoine says.
I ignore him. He knows how non-damaging the stab was. He also suspects I could’ve moved out of the way with time to spare. I will confirm nothing. I’ll be damned if I tell him I got distracted during a fight and received an unplanned version of the injury I was hoping to have.
The door opens, and…
Finally. I smile at the sight of Angelika walking in. Then I remember I’m supposed to be injured and wipe the grin off my face. Antoine raises an eyebrow, which I ignore.
She looks well, considering. A little pale. Her soft lips tremble. The blood has been wiped from her legs, but her shoes are still bloody. Those wide whiskey eyes are swollen and bloodshot from crying. Her wrists are bruised and chafed from resisting the cuffs. Seeing that makes me think I should’ve tortured the three a bit before killing them.
Well. There’s always Roy Wilks.
“Are you okay?” Her voice is raw and pained, like she’s the one who was stabbed.