Chapter 15 Bruno
brUNO
“What the fuck?”
We hit the ground hard and something solid and heavy collides with my forehead.
My stomach lurches as a boot collides with my gut and whatever struck me the first time smacks into my head once more.
I roll over, raising my hands to my face to protect myself and fall down the curb onto the road.
Above me, a hooded figure with a mask stands over me, aiming their handgun right at me while a crowbar dangles loosely from their other hand.
“Bye-bye,” croaks a deep voice, and the entire world freezes.
Is this it? Is this really how I go out? Caught by surprise outside the safest bar in all of New York, shot in the gutter like a dog?
The gun goes off and I flinch sharply, waiting for the inevitable rush of life-ending pain somewhere in my body but oddly enough, it doesn’t come.
Instead, the person above me violently flinches backward, dragged by their shoulder and the crowbar clatters loudly to the ground.
Another gunshot goes off and they duck, then they’re sprinting away from me down the street like the hounds of hell are biting at their ankles.
“Bruno!” Saoirse sprints over from the other side of the street with her gun raised and while she glares after the retreating attacker, I’m relieved she chooses to help me instead.
As embarrassing as this is, I don’t want her chasing after an armed gunman by herself.
Holy shit.
Adrenaline dulls the pain from the blows but as I move to sit up, something hot and sticky pours down past my eye and blinds me. “Ah-!”
“What is it?” Saoirse’s recognizable hands clutch at my neck and wrist. “Shit, Bruno. Your head is split open.”
“What the fuck is going on?” yells Hazel as the front door to the Black Ox creaks open and the tell tale chug of a shotgun being loaded reaches my ears. “Saoirse, you alright?”
“I’m fine, Hazel. The fucker bolted. Can you call Cormac? He’ll want to know about this.”
“Sure, hon. Get him inside, through to the back.”
Their voices wash over me and I follow Saoirse’s guiding hands as she hauls me to my feet. As soon as I’m upright, pressure tightens in my head and a wave of dizziness follows but her arm is around my waist and she’s strong enough to support me as I sway.
“Come on, big guy,” she murmurs, tightening her arm around my waist. Saoirse leads me into the Black Ox while I do what I can to stem the blood flow pouring into my eyes with my hands.
“Should I call an ambulance?” comes Hazel’s voice to my left.
“No, no.” There’s a tang of copper on my tongue which alarms me until I realize the blood has trickled into my mouth. “I swear I’m fine.”
“Bruno,” Saoirse warns.
“Honestly, I feel fine. Worse than it looks.”
“You can’t even see!” She snaps but there’s no real heat to her words. The bar creaks, a door swings open with a swish and a light switch clicks as I’m guided about until Saoirse’s hands move to my shoulders and she guides me down to rest against a table.
“Here’s the kit,” comes Hazel’s voice. “I have 911 on standby so the second you think he needs it, just holler.”
“Will do, thanks Hazel.”
The door swishes once more and silence falls. Breathing in fills my lungs with the soft florals of Saoirse’s perfume and even with my eyes closed, I can track her warmth as she moves around me. Then her gentle fingers cup my jaw and she guides my head backward.
“Easy,” she says softly. “Let me look.”
“You’re not going to stab me, are you?”
“Depends.” She sounds close, so close in fact that her breath ghosts faintly against my cheek. “Can’t tell how deep it is. I’m telling you right now that if I see bone, you’re going to the hospital.”
“Okay.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Not right now.”
“Adrenaline.” She sucks briefly on her teeth and her fingertips press gingerly against my forehead. “Alright, don’t move.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She snorts in amusement as something plastic clicks to my lower left. More plastic rustles, glass bottles cling together and then warm, soft gauze swipes across my eyes and under my brows. It’s not enough to help me see again but I appreciate the effort.
“Hold this here,” Saoirse says softly and she guides one of my hands to hold the gauze in place.
“Since when did you become a doctor?”
“Please.” She scoffs with a chuckle. “For one, I’m Irish.
Growing up we scrapped all the time. And second, I’ve had my fair share of bar brawls and wounds like this usually come from a glass bottle so I’ve had practice.
” She suddenly presses in between my spread legs and if I breathe deeply, her body is almost perfectly aligned with mine.
Unable to see, the only way I can be sure of where she is exactly is to reach out to her. So I do. My hand rests against her waist and she doesn’t say a word, only hums softly in her throat while tenderly wiping at my wounded forehead.
“You’re lucky,” she murmurs and the tickle of her breath as she speaks sends a shiver down my spine. “I don’t see bone. Still, this is going to bruise like a bitch. What did you do to piss off that guy?”
“No clue,” I reply, biting back a wince as she applies gentle pressure on either side of the wound.
“Are you sure?” Paper tears and something falls down from above, brushing against my nose on the way past. “I think some butterflies will hold this but I can’t say for sure.
There is glue here.” Plastic rustles to my left and something scrapes lightly against the table.
“Are you a needle or a glue kind of guy?”
“Definitely glue.” I hate needles but she doesn’t need to know that, although my choice probably tells her all she needs to know.
“Chicken,” she teases. “But seriously, did you recognize them?”
“No.” Very slowly I crack open one eye, then blink rapidly to try and clear my vision. Saoirse’s early wipe did wonders to help and while some blood lingers in the corner of my eyes, stinging as I open them, I’m finally able to see. “They wore a mask and had their hood up.”
“Fucker,” she mutters.
I’m face to face with her breastbone. Her throat bobs slightly as she talks and the swell of her breasts pushes upward each time she stretches slightly while she works.
I try to avert my gaze, to look anywhere other than the teasing crevice of her cleavage but it’s right there and she fills my whole field of view.
Not that I’m complaining.
“Thank you, by the way. You shot him and saved my life.”
“It’s nothing.”
“No, Saoirse.” I grip her waist harder and while she doesn’t look down from smearing glue over my wound and pinching the skin together, she does lean an inch closer. “I mean it, thank you.”
“You would have done the same.”
My reply catches in my throat. I don’t know if it’s her assumption, or the trust behind it but it makes me feel…
odd. Like something is pressing down on my chest. She trusts me to look out for her.
Is that because she cares about me or just because we’re working together?
I can’t ask, that would be weird but it sits on the edge of my mind.
The glue warms quickly under Saoirse’s delicate touch and soon she’s pressing one butterfly stitch after the other all across the wound.
I lose myself in the hollow of her neck, simply watching each subtle shift as she talks me through what she’s doing, each rise of her cleavage as she breathes, and map out the subtle freckles I spot that have escaped my notice before.
Finally, she steps back with an antiseptic wipe in hand and sighs. “It’s not pretty but it’s effective,” she says. Our eyes meet and she frowns. “You okay?”
“I need a date,” blurts out of me with zero thought.
Her eyes widen and a dusting of pink rises across her cheeks. “Huh?”
“Sorry. What I meant to say is I was thinking about Rocky and Sarah’s wedding next month and I need a date because I don’t want to turn up alone. I’ll know basically no one so I was hoping you’d want to come with me.”
“Is it the knock to the head that’s got you asking?” Her smile teases me and she pats my cheek while cleaning away the rest of the blood.
“No, I’m genuinely asking.”
“Hmm okay.” Her smile widens. “Sure, I’ll be your date. I was already invited so it means I won’t have to show up solo and field a bunch of crazy questions.”
“Thanks.” The word sounds lame to even my own ears. “And thanks for this.” I motion up to my forehead.
Saoirse shakes her head and sets aside the wipe, then she pulls a compact mirror from her pocket and holds it up to me. “Don’t thank me until you’ve seen it.”
The stitching is nearly applied over a three-inch slice on my forehead, sealed with glue and her careful touch. A few streaks of blood still linger but given how heavily it was bleeding earlier, this is a vast improvement. “I stand by my thanks.”
“Sure.” She reaches into the medical kit beside me and pulls out a sticky gauze strip, then leans in and applies it carefully over my wound. “Are you sure you’re not in any pain?”
“Positive. Well, there’s a distant ache but I think adrenaline is working wonders right now.”
“Thought so. Here.” Finished with the gauze, she pressed two painkillers into my hand and offers me a small bottle of water from under the table. She still hasn’t stepped back but the shelves of alcohol behind her head tell me we’re in Hazel’s store room.
“Look at you taking such good care of me.”
“Don’t get any ideas,” Saoirse remarks as I pop the pills and chase them with a mouthful of water. “I need you alive, that’s all.”
“Oh, you need me?” I tease, closing the water.
“Yeah, because—” She catches my gaze and quickly rolls her eyes. “You’re insane.”
“Am I?” Having been so close to her for the past half hour while she treated me kinder than anyone has in years, there’s only one thing on my mind and it’s the perfect way to thank her.
Saoirse catches on to my intention when I gently switch our places and press her up against the table with a long, slow kiss.
She hesitates for a second then leans into it and clutches at my shoulders to keep me close.
But as much as I enjoy kissing her, this isn’t where I want to spend my time.
I nibble her lower lip, lazily kiss her jaw and then sink to my knees in front of her while pulling her leggings down at the same time.
“What about Hazel? She could walk in!” Saoirse gasps, clutching the edge of the table with one hand.
I silence her the second I press my mouth to her panties and suck over her hidden pussy.
Her free hand flies over her mouth to silence herself and whatever doubts or apprehensions she has about me going down on her vanish the moment I pull her panties aside and bury my face against her pussy.
Her hand moves from the table to my hair but her touch is much gentler than it’s been previously.
I’m just happy she’s touching me either way.
I focus on her clit with my tongue, kiss her slowly and eat her out with determination to bury myself as firmly against her as I can.
Her thighs tremble, her juices flow and her fingers flex desperately in my hair as I lick, suck and kiss her closer and closer to the edge.
I switch between flat licks and pointed flicks, kiss and suck on her clit and lips, then delve my tongue as deeply inside her as I can. And when she falls apart and comes all over my face, she makes the most beautiful muffled sounds I’ve ever heard.
Perfect.