Safe House Seduction by Ramona Richey

Author:Ramona Richey [Richey, Ramona]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2024-04-12T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter fourteen

Silver Linings

Zoey

The cold, wet concrete seeps through my clothes as the stench of the dumpsters is almost enough to make me gag. The pain from the bullet in my hip causes me to want to scream in agony, but no. No matter what, I tell myself to hold it in, to lay still, to hold the needle just right in order to sell the illusion I’m dead.

“Zoey? Zoey!” A familiar voice calls out. As it gets closer, I can see the man behind the voice.

“Zack?” I say as loud as I can, but the crushing weight of the trash I’m buried in makes it hard for me to yell. “I’m over here,” I say as I struggle against the bags.

I nearly panic when I see another pair of boots closing in on me, but when bags are being lifted, I can faintly make out Zack’s face as he takes me by the arm and lifts me from my concrete grave.

“Are they gone?” I ask before a yelp of pain escapes me when Zack holds me close to him.

“It’s just us,” he insists. “What hurts?”

I look down at the hand covering my hip and nearly pass out when I see how much blood is coming from the wound. Zack puts my hand back to it and presses it tightly, causing another wave of pain to wash over me.

“Don’t release the pressure until we get back to my place,” he says as he wraps one arm around me for support.

“Your place? What about the hospital?”

“It’s not safe. My place is a few minutes from here.”

I’m not sure how; maybe it was a blur of pain that made time move faster. But before I knew it, Zack walked me into a small apartment. Minimal furniture and even less decorating. A true bachelor pad.

“You wait here,” he says as he lays me on his couch. “I’ll be right back.”

He disappears behind a corner where I hear rustling noises of cabinet doors and moving things around until he appears again, armed with all the first aid supplies he could need. He slips on a pair of latex gloves and lays out bandages, antiseptic, and a few other bottles I’m unsure of.

“You’re not going to like me for about ten minutes or so, maybe longer,” he says when he lifts my shirt to get a better look at the gunshot wound.

“I’m getting blood all over your couch,” I say when he starts cleaning it up. He pauses and looks at me.

“Do I look like a man concerned about stains?”

“No, not really,” I admit.

He goes back to work swabbing and cleaning until he swears under his breath.

“What?” I ask.

“No exit wound,” he says when he feels around my lower back. “You’re really going to hate me,” he says when he hands me a rolled-up towel.

“What’s this for?”

“You’re going to want to bite down on that while I try getting the bullet out.”

“Fucking perfect,” I say as I bite the towel, turning my eyes away to save myself the gruesome sight.

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