Page 121 of Riot’s Revenge

I nodded. “I know.”

Her eyes dropped to the blood soaking through the side of my shirt. “But first, sit your ass down before you bleed on my floor.”

Despite everything, the corner of my mouth twitched.

There she was. My nurse. I sat, but only for her.

47

MARIA

I wanted to believe him—God, I wanted to—but wanting to believe something and actually being able to were two completely different things, and there was still too much hurt sitting between us. Too many nights spent staring at the empty side of our bed. Too many conversations that had ended before they even really started. So, I’d pulled away.

Riot lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, and the movement made his face tighten. I caught it despite how quickly he tried to hide it.

“Shirt off.” I turned away and busied myself with the supplies because looking at him was too hard. Gauze. Saline. Steri-Strips. Gloves. Things I understood, things I could fix without thinking too much about it. When I turned back, he’d managed to get his kutte and shirt off, leaving them in a pile beside him. My stomach clenched at the sight of him.

His left eye was already swelling, angry purple bruising spreading beneath it. His bottom lip was split. Both hands were scraped and bloody, his knuckles torn open, and a shallow gash ran across his ribs where it looked like a bullet had grazed him.

It could have been so much worse. That thought had been going around and around inside my head since they’d come through those gates. It could have been so much worse.

I pulled on my gloves and stepped between his knees. “Look at me.”

His good eye lifted to mine and the familiarity of it almost broke me. How many times had I said those exact words to him over the years? How many times had this stubborn bastard sat in front of me bleeding while I cleaned him up?

I soaked a piece of gauze and touched it carefully to his lip. He hissed.

“Sorry.”

“Had worse.” He shrugged then winced again.

“I know.”

I cleaned the dried blood from his face in silence. Riot stayed unusually still beneath my hands, his gaze following me as I worked. I could feel it even when I wasn’t looking at him. Usually, he’d make some stupid comment by now. Tell me I was enjoying bossing him around or ask if he was still my favorite patient.

I moved to his eye, gently touching the skin beneath it before checking his pupil. “Any blurred vision?”

“No.”

“Headache?”

“Little one.”

I gave him a look.

His mouth twitched, but it disappeared almost immediately. “Okay. Maybe a big one.”

“Thought so.” I grabbed fresh gauze and moved lower. The cut across his ribs wasn’t deep. The bullet had caught him enough to break the skin but hadn’t gone in. Another inch and we’d have been having a very different conversation.

My fingers stopped and I stared at the wound. Another inch, I could’ve lost him. The second time we’d been at odds, and I could’ve lost him.

“Maria?”

I blinked and realized I’d been standing there with the gauze pressed against his side without moving. “I’m fine.”

“Bullshit.”

I looked up sharply.