Page 18 of Violent Skies

“Riggs.”

“What?” Birdie’s question is followed by the loud screeching of tires.

“I’m fine,” I cough out. “Maybe…” I grimace as Rafe takes a hard turn.

“Good news is, we got what we needed.” His eyes flicker down to the bloody knife between my feet.

“Put him there.” Cress points to the recliner. “What happened?” She sounds more panicked than she looks as Rafe helps me through the garage.

“You’re supposed to be at work,” I choke out. There’s definitely something wrong.

“It’s a damn good thing I’m not,” she snaps at me, her voice full of rage, but I can hear the concern there, deep underneath all of our shared trauma. She kneels down in front of me as I sink uncomfortably into the chair, all frizzy curls and tight worried features. Her lips push into a frown that I recognize well as she starts to examine my face.

“It’s my chest,” I say, attempting to lift my arms but she slaps them away.

“Stop it,” she warns and the laugh that bubbles up from me is caked in pain. “Get this off him.” Rafe moves closer to help me out of the dirty black t-shirt. “You need a hospital.” The gasp that leaves her makes me look down at myself.

There’s a massive bruise across the expanse of my chest that’s forming into an even uglier welt in the shape of the iron bar that caused it. “That explains the pain.”

“You’re an idiot,” she hisses, “you need an x-ray.”

“Ain’t going to happen.” I stare down at her, hoping that she’ll keep yelling at me.

“You could have punctured something, you stupid, reckless fucker,” she mumbles, her eyes wide.

“Do what you can here,” I tell her, trying not to laugh and she scowls at me. “Cress.”

“There’s nothing I can do if it’s a fracture,” she warns.

“Is it life-threatening?” Rafe asks, her eyes never leave mine as she shakes her head.

“Okay,” I grunt as I push from the chair. “I’m going to bed.”

As I’m about to walk toward the house, the Skyline rips into the gravel driveway and both Murphy and Birdie are charging toward me with wide eyes.

“Fuck,” Birdie huffs.

“Here.” I pull the tape and the piece of car interior out of my pocket sluggishly and hand it to Murphy who stares at the bruise on my chest. “And that,” I point to the open door of the car and he turns to see the knife with a small nod.

“You can’t just go to bed!” Cress storms after me as I start to walk gingerly away. The stairs look like their own form of hell, but I get up them and inside.

“I am.”

“What if you’re bleeding internally? We’d have no idea. You need to see a doctor!” Cress continues to argue as we wander through the house. The door to my room is off the living room, and the second I enter her voice stills, her footsteps stop, and I know that it’s the one place she won’t come.

“You’re a nurse.” I turn to her, frozen in the doorway. Our chests brush together, the heat that comes off her is vicious but it’s also intoxicating. I missed it and it makes me want to say stupid shit to her just to watch her blush like I used to. “Am I going to die if I sleep?”

“Maybe,” she says tightly.

“Are you going to kill me in my sleep?” I rephrase my question.

“I’d be honored.” She narrows her eyes.

“Cress, is it going to kill me?” I ask her again, stepping back only for her to retreat and create space between us. I deserve that.

“If we’re lucky,” she growls at me.

I chuckle and the pain explodes again.