Page 70 of Fighting for Irish
Chapter Seventeen
“Oh my God,” she gasped. “You’ve been shot.”
Aiden didn’t bother looking at the gash in his side again. The thing stung like a son of a bitch, so he wasn’t likely to forget it was there.
“It’s just a graze, sweetheart.” He slid her a wry grin. “I’ll live.”
“But it’s from a bullet and— Oh my God, you need a doct—”
“Hey,” he said, cupping her chin and holding her gaze between glances back at the road. “Don’t go getting hysterical on me now. It looks worse than it is. I can fix this myself. I’m gonna be just fine, all right?” Kat’s eyes were wide and misty, but she blinked back the tears and nodded. He dropped his hand to her lap and threaded his fingers through hers, giving them a reassuring squeeze.
“So now what do we do?”
Her voice sounded small and uncertain like she had when this whole thing started. Over the last couple of weeks, when she’d thought the danger was gone, Kat had shed that scared persona and become a vibrant woman who smiled easily and laughed often. And now that woman was gone as though she’d never existed. Just another reason to end every motherfucker who had a hand in threatening her.
“We’re meeting up with Xander to trade cars. He’ll drive yours in the opposite direction and stash it somewhere so they’re thrown off our trail. We’ll hole up in a motel for the night.”
She nodded again and remained silent until they met Xander at a busy truck stop on Highway 10. Xan had followed Aiden’s instructions and stopped at Kat’s to grab her some clothes and Murphy. He didn’t know how long they’d be on the lam until he could figure out how to rectify the situation for good, and the last thing she needed was to worry about the kitten.
Xander got out of his Nova holding Murphy. As soon as she saw his gray fur, she flipped into Mom-mode and scooped him into her arms. While she was busy cooing over the fur ball in the passenger seat, Aiden and Xan moved to the trunk where Aiden’s duffel was stored.
“Holy shite, mate, what the fuck happened to you?”
Aiden unzipped his bag and took out the pair of athletic sandals and the black wifebeater he’d worn to the arena earlier. Reaching into the front of his shorts, he removed the protective cup from the crotch of his compression shorts, essentially turning them into nothing more than boxer briefs, and dropped it into the bag. Then he carefully slipped his feet into the sandals and tried to ignore the stinging from the cuts he’d gotten by running full-speed over gravel.
“Bullet grazed me. Mostly their aim sucked, but I let them get too close when I made a detour to shoot out their tires.”
Xan whistled and opened up the large first-aid kit to grab the things needed for a quick patch job, something fighters were used to doing themselves instead of going to the doctor for every little thing. Once the blood was wiped clean, they smeared the wound with antibacterial ointment and taped a bunch of gauze over it. He’d have to do better than that later, but it’d do the trick until then.
Aiden pulled his tank on, hissing through the pain when he lifted his right arm too far. He gathered more alcohol wipes, ointment, and a big Band-Aid, then tossed the kit in his duffel before taking it with him.
Xan closed the trunk. As they rounded the side of the car, he said, “Your wallet is in the glove box along with an envelope of cash. There’s a couple grand in there, so don’t go doing anything daft like using your credit cards.”
“Thanks, man, I owe you.”
“Just don’t get yourselves killed.”
“What a coincidence,” Aiden muttered. “That was my plan, too. Do me a favor, will ya? Grab some bottles of water and snacks. I don’t know if she’ll feel faint after this, but if she does, maybe getting something in her will help.”
Xan clapped him on the shoulder and headed to the gas-station-slash-diner. Aiden took a deep breath then slid into the driver seat, setting his duffel next to him.
Kat looked up from petting a napping Murphy in her lap. The peaceful grin melted from her face when she spotted the supplies he held. He resented the need to bring her back to reality, but every minute they delayed put them that much closer to being caught.
“We gotta take out the tracker, sweetheart. You ready?”
She swallowed hard but nodded bravely. He riffled through his bag and retrieved a large pocketknife and the towel he would have used to dry off with after the fight.
“First a gun then a knife. You really come prepared, don’t you?”
He smiled, hoping it appeared more genuine than it felt. “Recent events have had me thinking more like a Boy Scout, I guess.” After laying the folded towel on the bag between them, he got to work sterilizing the blade with the alcohol wipes. “Okay, put your arm on the towel. You want something to bite down on?”
She shook her head. “Just hurry and get it over with,” she said through a clenched jaw. “I want the fucking thing out.”
Aiden steeled himself as he peered at the small bump on the underside of her forearm. He wasn’t typically squeamish when it came to blood or gaping cuts, but that was when they were on him or his friends. They were used to sucking up the pain and dealing with shit like that. But the idea of the woman he loved having to deal with it, much less that he would be the one to inflict the pain, was enough to make his stomach twist in knots.
“Okay, baby, listen to me. I want you to keep your eyes on Murphy. I’ll do this as fast as I can, and then we’re outta here. Deal?”
Again she nodded and then cast her watery gaze downward to where the kitten was still snuggled in her lap. He used the fingers of his left hand to hold her skin tight over the oblong tracker no bigger than a grain of rice. Then he guided the tip of the knife to make a small incision over the top. A tiny whimper escaped her throat, but he wouldn’t let himself look up to check on her. If he did that, he’d want to stop, and that wasn’t an option.
