Chapter 15 #2
I grew up privileged; I never had to see where my food came from, how the meat on my plate had to be slaughtered and diced before it was beautifully presented with sauces and garnish.
“Hop up, girl.” Gawel tapped on the only clean table, nodding at me.
I looked at Warwick.
“Can’t find a doctor, you go to a butcher.
” Warwick led me over. Twisting me around, his hands grabbed my hips, and I hissed in pain as he set me on the table.
His body was between my legs, his hands brushing dirty strands of hair away from my face.
“They know how to dig out bullets, sew up flesh, and marinate the meat.”
“Marinate the meat?”
Gawel let out a short chortle, pulling a flask from his apron and handing it to Warwick. Warwick took a long pull, his eyes watering. “Damn, I always forget you Polish fuckers know how to drink.”
Gawel almost looked as if he might smile. Then it was gone.
“You have to undress,” Gawel ordered, grabbing a pair of pliers and wiping them off with rubbing alcohol. “I need to check out and clean the wounds.”
Warwick’s eyes were heavy on me as he set down the flask, his fingers gliding down to my hips. “Take a deep breath.”
I did as he carefully tugged at my gray pants, crusted with dirt and fluids.
Biting my lip, I lifted my hips, the pain in my thigh causing sweat to trail down my temple.
He pulled the disgusting prison pants down my legs, dropping them to the floor.
His eyes held mine for a moment before stripping off the filthy, blood-soaked top, leaving me in my underwear and sports bra.
“That too,” Gawel grunted, motioning at the bra. The bullet had gone through it, probably infecting the wound with sweat and dirt.
A rumble came from Warwick. His face was impassive, but a nerve in his eye twitched.
Sucking in, his fingers slid underneath the elastic band, tugging it up over my bullet wound. I cried out in pain as he drew it over my head, ripping it off like a bandage and tossing the material next to the pants. His gaze moved down to my bare breasts, his eyes flaring, jaw clenching.
In utter pain, my nipples still hardened, my skin still tingled as his gaze trailed over me. The link was burnt out, but we still had a connection that hummed in my body. A bond that went past magic.
It was just us.
“I could try to heal you right now.” His voice was so low, it dragged over the ground, sending shivers up my spine. His fingers glided down the sides of my ribs. “Fuck you on this table.”
“Fae bullet.” I breathed out heavily. “We both need to get them out before they poison us.” Goblin metal was poison if it got into the bloodstream.
“If I wanted to watch people fuck, I’d go downstairs. Want my help or not?” Gawel snapped.
Warwick nodded, grabbing the flask off the table and unscrewing the lid, taking a gulp before handing it to me. “Drink up, princess. There’s no sedatives here.”
Blowing out, I tipped the flask into my mouth. The burn had my eyes watering, but I swallowed down as much as I could, coughing between sips.
“Damn. I’m impressed, girl.” Gawel said, though his voice sounded indifferent. “You chugged Bimber.”
My forehead furrowed.
“Basically, Polish moonshine, princess.” Warwick smirked, his hands flattening on either side of my hips.
“Very potent and very illegal.” Leaning in close, he slowly slid his lips over mine, letting me taste the potency of the alcohol on his before backing away.
Taking a swig, his gaze was on me, but he spoke to his friend.
“You’d be awed by what this girl can take. ”
Gawel’s gaze darted from Warwick to me, an eyebrow raised in surprise, but he didn’t say anything. He leaned in, inspecting my two gunshot wounds.
“Not gonna lie; this is going to hurt,” Gawel said bluntly. “Are you a screamer?”
Warwick snorted, his eyes dancing with heat. “Fuck yeah, she is.” He leaned into my ear. “I can’t take away your pain right now.” Warwick handed me back the flask. “So, drink until you can’t feel your legs.”
I tipped the flagon back, pouring the burning liquid down my throat, gulping and swallowing almost the whole thing.
“Whoa, whoa! This isn’t water, girl. This shit is hard to get, and it ain’t fuckin’ cheap.” Gawel growled, swiping back the bottle.
My chest and throat burned, the room already spinning, their voices a little more distant.
“You have to keep her quiet. I can’t have anyone hearing her.” Gawel primed the pliers between his fingers. “Here.” He handed Warwick an object.
“Kovacs?”
I blinked, looking up at Warwick, and swaying from the alcohol and blood loss.
“Bite down.” He pressed something leathery against my lips right as Gawel dug the pliers into my shoulder.
My mouth opened in a guttural scream, and Warwick shoved the leather strap into my mouth.
“Bite down like it’s me you want to tear into, princess.” He breathed in my ear. “Just focus on me.”
My teeth dug into the strap, my eyes on him, tears rolling down my face. Screams rolled around in my chest and clawed at my throat, but I didn’t stop looking at Warwick, his gaze trapping me, holding me as pain tore through my nerves.
Gawel dug in again, and my body reached its limit, exhausted, tortured, and drained of so much blood over the last few days, it broke down and let the darkness pull me under.
“Do I dare ask?” A man’s deep voice spoke, stirring me to consciousness.
“No questions, you know that.” Warwick’s resonance thrummed through me, yanking me further from my peaceful slumber.
“You show up here after years . . . with her,” Gawel replied. “I know who she is, Farkas. She’s in every Leopold paper.” A pause. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“You don’t understand,” Warwick rumbled.
My lashes flicked open. I was still on the butcher table, but a cloth was now wrapped around my chest, covering me, my wounds stitched up.
It wasn’t the injuries hurting as much as my head did.
The grain alcohol pounded so hard through my veins I could hear it echo in my ears.
I flinched at the pain, and the slight movement had every muscle screaming in protest. As much as I wanted to close my eyes again and disappear from the pain, his presence commanded me to stay with him.
The man was breathtaking, wearing only pants, his arm bandaged up now, his tan chest a blanket of tattoos, scars, and muscle.
Gawel scoffed. “You think you’re the first to get into a mess over some pussy.”
In a blink, Warwick slammed Gawel against the wall, his face only an inch from his, his hand knotting into the butcher’s apron.
“You say one more thing about her like that, and you will be the gutted pig.”
Gawel blinked.
“Jasna cholera.” Holy shit. Gawel muttered in Polish, staring at Warwick. It wasn’t fear which flickered over his expression but shock. “Are you in love with that girl?”
Warwick snarled but let him go, strolling away, his head shaking as if he was trying to shake off the claim.
“I’ve known you for centuries. The reason this place even exists is because of you. But not once in all that time have you ever let a woman close. No more than a steady fuck every once in a while.”
“Shut the fuck up, Gaw.” Warwick ran his hand over his head, squeezing the back of his neck.
“Warwick.” Gawel pushed off the wall. “What the fuck are you thinking? Her, of all people? The princess of HDF? She’s a fucking human! And one of them.”
“You have no idea what you are talking about.” Warwick snapped, his teeth showing. “She is not one of them. Just stay the fuck out of it.”
Gawel exhaled, tugging on his beard. “I knew you were a crazy son of a bitch, but I didn’t think you were masochistic.”
Warwick scowled at him.
“Yeah, actually I knew you were into that shit too, but fuck . . .” He started ambling for the door, his head wagging in disbelief. “You can stay for only one night.”
“It’s all we need.”
“You remember where everything is?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.” Gawel snipped with annoyance. “Just stay out of trouble down there and maybe keep a low profile. I don’t need this place being busted up because of the bounty on your head.”
“What’s it up to now?” Warwick smirked.
“Almost enough to turn your ass in myself,” Gawel spouted from the door, swinging around and stomping out.
“He doesn’t seem to care for you very much.” My voice cracked on a hoarse whisper.
Warwick turned to me. A slight twitch tugged up the side of his mouth. “He doesn’t like anyone.”
Pushing myself up, my body revolted at the idea. I grit my teeth in a groan.
“Go slow.” Warwick was right there, his palm cupping my neck and face, helping me up.
“I can’t believe I passed out. How embarrassing. You’d think my body would find getting shot to be old habit by now.”
Warwick’s other hand gripped my other cheek, centering me in a sitting position, his gaze meeting mine.
“I’m pissed your tally is one higher than mine now.” He moved in, his lips brushing mine, taunting me.
“I didn’t know this was a competition.”
“Everything . . .” he growled in my ear, “is a battle with us, Kovacs. Constantly challenging and pushing each other. But we both know I will always win.”
“Oh, really?” I lifted a brow.
He drew back; a smile of mischief hinted on his lips.
“Then I challenge you to get rid of this headache. Actually, all my aches.”
“Done and done.” He curled his hand around mine, helping me off the table. “Follow me.”
“Think I need some clothes.” I wobbled when I slid off the table, tucking the thin towel around me tighter, the fabric barely hitting my upper thighs.
“Don’t worry, where we’re going, no one will notice . . . and you might be overdressed.”
That didn’t ease my tension at all.