Chapter 9 Selene
Chapter nine
Selene
After the events at the gym, we got dressed, took a picture, and he said his media team would handle the rest. And that was it! Since I don’t have my phone, I can’t tell what’s going on. But I can imagine the headline in the news.
The city’s billionaire finally gets married to…to what now? To a stunning young woman? Or more like, to a dancer at his club? Or even a stripper?
No, that’s too degrading. Cortez’s ego wouldn’t even allow that. It’s probably something prim and proper. Whatever it is, the stakes are now higher for me.
Every enemy…potential enemy—just because I bear the Vasquez name—will hunt me down. I gulp, reminding myself that I have the best protection anybody could have.
I wonder how foolish I must have sounded when I asked him if I could at least work. Of course, his response was no. He stared me dead in the eyes and said, ‘For protection reasons, you will not be allowed to leave the mansion or work.’
I scoff. I can’t work, roam, or call. I’m getting tired of this shit. He has to know.
Maybe if I waltz into his office and cause chaos, he’ll make an exception.
“Stupid rules, wicked don,” I mutter, rising from the bed.
With words on my tongue and fight in my veins, I swing the door open, about to head to his office, when I’m met with the greatest shock of my life.
There in front of me stands Cortez, but instead of his usual deadpan expression, his face is contorted into one of pain.
It’s when he shifts slightly that I notice blood trickling from his thigh. And he’s still standing like it’s a random Tuesday.
“Your fucking boyfriend isn’t giving up,” he grits and stifles a groan, but I’m not deaf.
“Y?you’re hurt,” my eyes narrow on his left thigh.
“I am?” he replies almost dryly. I bring my gaze to his face, and it’s as straight as a ruler. Is he really being sarcastic right now?
“You should go to the hospital or somet—”
The words are barely out of my mouth when his lips twist in a scowl and he pushes past me, limping into the room, blood staining the marble floor.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I eye his tense back momentarily, wondering if he hit his head, too. He should be on his way to a clinic or have a doctor attend to him.
“It’s my mansion, whatever I want.”
Pressing my lips into a tight line, I fold my hands against my chest, watching how he takes in the room like he hasn’t seen it before. Even while in pain, he’s still cocky. I hope he bleeds to death!
He turns to me sharply, then winces and staggers to the bed. “Fuck!”
I hold my breath, watching how he sits on the edge of the bed and straightens out his leg with the help of his blood-stained hands. His fist clenches, and he turns, giving me a once-over before dropping a small bag I didn’t realize he was holding.
“Come here,” his voice is low and gravelly as he gestures at me like a parent would a toddler. I don’t want to answer, but my feet involuntarily respond to the pain in his eyes.
“There are bullets. Remove them,” he commands.
My eyes widen.
“I’m an accountant!” I gasp. Even when Dad or Luca would come home injured, I was never allowed to give first aid. They had a fucking nurse.
He bites his lips in pain and retorts sarcastically, “Thought you were a dancer?”
“Are you serious r—” I shake my head, stretching my palm out to gesture at his bleeding thigh. “Do you want to die?!”
He shoots me a pointed stare. “I’ve been through worse. Get on your knees.”
I scoff in irritation. I don’t know if it’s because of the memories it brings or how the hair on my nape stands at his words.
“You seem to like that command.” I don’t know when I blurt the words.
He smirks, eyes running from my short skirt to my exposed legs. “Only when you’re on the other end of it.”
My cheeks flush as a wave of something I refuse to name washes over me. The swirling pride in his eyes taunts me. I roll my eyes at it.
“You need stitches. I’d lower my ego if I were you.”
His jaw flexes, teeth clenched tight. “Talk to me like that again, and I’ll bend you over that dresser and show you exactly what needs lowering.”
I clench my thighs at the edge in his voice. Fuck. All it really takes is one word from him, and Niagara Falls doesn’t compare to the flood between my legs.
In one motion, he unlatches the belt above the wound and lets out a sharp hiss as blood rushes from the wound.
“Get to work,” he growls, throwing the small black bag that falls at my feet.
I shake my head in one last attempt. “I?I only know how to dance.”
He plants a stormy gaze on me. “Take out the damn forceps and sterilize.”
Forcing saliva down my throat, I pick up the bag and move closer, getting on my knees. He parts his thighs and gestures to me to move closer with a brief move of his head.
I oblige, feeling the heat from his stare and body as I unzip the bag with shaky hands, unwrapping it so that it rolls out to display the items within.
The blood oozing out reminds me of the need for urgency, so I grab the forceps.
He rips the fabric around the affected area apart. “Disinfect the wound.”
I move to work, sterilizing the forceps with a small bottle of spirit and pouring it over the wound.
He grunts sharply. “Now you dig for the bullet.”
Sweat trickles down my temples, and something behind my fingertips beats erratically. Pulse? Heartbeat? No, maybe it’s just nervousness.
Focus, Selene.
My hand hovers above his thigh for the longest second, one hand clasping just below the wound.
When I finally brace myself up to dig in, he asks, “Why does Ramirez want you?” The words leave his mouth thick, edgy, and heavy.
Can’t he see I’m trying to work here?
“I’m trying to focus here,” I snap.
Before he pushes again, I dig in, the sound of flesh and blood swishing into my ears. Nausea instantly forms in the pit of my stomach, and bile rises in my throat. I’ve seen injuries like these more times than a toddler has seen his mother’s breast.
But it’s a different thing to play doctor when you have no idea what you’re doing.
He hisses sharply as I push the forceps deeper. My heart leaps when it hits something hard.
One bullet found!
There’s silence as I work. I want to tell him to stop breathing loudly, but that’d be a distraction. Heck, I want to tell him to stop staring. His gaze is heating up my body in ways I don’t like.
“Don’t make me ask again,” he rasps. I feel his heated gaze on the side of my head, but I don’t look up.
“Because there should be an alliance—a promise from my father.” I lick my lips.
It’s a lie. Ramirez believes my father left behind a fortune, so marrying me would help him secure it.
Just another don that believes I have the answer to what he’s looking for.
Ramirez wouldn’t let me off the hook even if I told him the truth.
“Bullshit,” he sneers, and I swallow, finally removing the first bullet. I throw it on the floor beside me, then sneak a look at his face. There’s something dark in his eyes…indecipherable and distinct from anything I’ve ever seen.
I clear my throat, quickly digging the forceps into the wound again. “Because like you, he thinks he can do anything he wants,” I say quietly.
I feel him tense beneath my fingers, but he doesn’t say anything. My heart flutters, and I become increasingly aware of how close my hand is to his dick. I swear, if whoever shot had aimed a few inches higher, I’d nickname him ‘No-Dick’ Cortez.
No! I hate him, but I wouldn’t want that!
My fingers brush it when he moves a little. I hold my breath, and he moves again. A thick tent is forming in his pants already, and he releases a groan. My throat betrays me, clenching hungrily as I look into his eyes.
“Grab it,” he says, and I freeze.
“Eh?”
He scoffs. “Grab the damn bullet, Selene.”
Oh.
Embarrassment flushes my cheeks as I plunge my head down and remove the second bullet, listening to further instructions on how to stitch and wrap the wound.