Chapter 9 - THE HEALING
Getting Dominic inside was a nightmare of blood and exertion. I managed to drag him to the large dining table. My hands, normally so steady in the ER, were slick with his blood.
"Claire," he rasped, his eyes glassy. "The baby. Did they hurt you?"
"I'm fine, shut up and let me work!" I snapped, tears blurring my vision.
I went to work. I was ruthless in my efficiency. The bullet in his shoulder had passed clean through, but the graze on his side was deep and jagged. I sterilized the wounds, packed them with hemostatic gauze, and began to stitch him up right there on the dining table. I didn't have anesthesia. I only had a bottle of whiskey, which I poured over the wounds and forced down his throat.
Dominic gripped the edge of the table until his knuckles turned white, but he didn't scream. He just watched my face.
"You saved my life," he whispered hours later, lying in the enormous king-sized bed, pale but stable.
I sat in the chair beside him, exhausted, my scrubs ruined with his blood. "You saved mine first."
He reached out with his good arm and took my hand, pulling it to his lips. "When I recover, I am going to tear the city apart. I will eradicate the Falcone family. I will make sure no one ever dares to look in your direction again. And then, Claire, you are going to marry me."
May you like
I looked at the brutal, beautiful, broken man in front of me. I knew what he was. But I also knew who he was to me.
"Okay," I whispered. "Just don't die on me."
