Chapter 63
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
BELLATRIX
Istepped around the empty room. It was no surprise that it was empty. I expected it to be that way when I got here.
I’d been closer to losing a hand than I had been to taking the fucker out, so I knew he wasn’t dead. He was just having trouble patching up the hole he couldn’t reach, while I was having trouble keeping upright. And not because I was squeamish.
Obviously I had no problem with blood. It had a problem with me. My own blood did anyway.
It didn’t like staying in my body. Which meant I knew I was fucked the moment I felt the blade catch on something metal and slip across my pinky finger. And then I’d started bleeding.
It didn’t stop until I’d made it back to Gabby’s room, dripped all over her floor, and passed out. Wasn’t sure if I had crashed or lost too much blood. Either way, I woke up on her bed, a few dark stitches where the tip of my finger had been and an IV in the opposite arm.
She’d made me go through the entire bag and then another before she would let me leave the house. I couldn’t blame her. I’d seen how pale I looked in the mirror she’d left out on her nightstand.
It was just something else I had to watch for since the first time I got a paper cut on one of my old picture books. The excessive bleeding.
You would think it would make me nervous around sharp objects. It didn’t. It made me more interested in them, in the thrill of using them, the danger of possibly getting nicked and proving I could handle myself.
It was the first time I’d lost a body part, though. Even if it was only a bit of nail and finger meat. Enough of it was gone I wasn’t sure it would grow back.
I felt better now, after the IVs, if you didn’t count the whole having to piss every five seconds thing.
At the very least, I was properly hydrated.
And I’d also figured out how Adrian got Casper out of that chair, assuming he was the one to do it.
He’d created a bionic man, who I wasn’t entirely sure could be killed.
Whether I did it nine times or a million.
I’d just dropped down on the bed, which was stained with a mixture of both our blood and smelled like a bag of pennies, when the door was swinging open and Casper was walking in.
I hadn’t heard him come up the stairs but I couldn’t say I’d been really paying attention.
I was more focused on the throbbing in my hand and the odor of rotting food coming from the trash.
At first, I thought Bobby had let it pile up outside again, but then I realized the window was shut and I’d left the place a pigsty.
Casper quirked a brow in my direction, his eyes more blue and less red and bulging than they were the last time we’d met like this. “You’re here,” he said.
“You’re alive,” I countered.
“And kickin’, baby girl.” He grinned, quickly slamming the door behind him.
Couldn’t be sure if he expected me to jump. But I didn’t. Instead, I crossed an ankle over a knee and leaned back on the mattress. My bandaged finger splayed out on one side immediately catching his attention.
His lip twitched and then he was reaching into his pocket and pulling out a rolled-up piece of tissue paper. He took a step forward, his palm extended as he peeled back the paper to show me what was inside.
Whatever drugs he’d been on, it was clear he wasn’t on them right now. Or they had worn off a bit. He was definitely more easygoing.
I leaned forward to get a better look at his hand. Why? Fuck if I knew. It was one of those things you did without thinking about it. Out of habit.
“Is that… my finger?” I asked, my nose scrunched at the shriveled lump of skin.
It looked like a dried-up potato chip. Except it was more crinkly than that. Like cornflake cereal or an old chicken tender that fell under the car seat and you forgot about it until a week later. My finger was only hours old, though.
Casper nodded before he snatched his hand back, shoving the tissue paper deep into his pocket again and dropping his gun on the nightstand. “Not quite as sensitive as dick skin but it’ll do.”
“You’re keeping it?”
“Unless you want it back?” he offered, and I shook my head.
“No thanks.” I know it was sort of the pot calling the kettle black for thinking that was weird, especially considering I had part of my sister’s skull burning a hole in my own pocket.
But still, that was weird. Skin rots. Bone doesn’t.
Without saying anything else, Casper nudged my leg with a knee.
Gesturing for me to scoot over on the bed before he plopped down beside me.
The remote in one hand while the other was propped up behind his head.
The blood on the sheets wasn’t even completely dry yet and he was already flicking through the channels looking for something to watch.
He glanced in my direction when he saw me staring. “What? Don’t like comedies?” He pointed the remote at the screen.
“I tried to kill you,” I reminded him. Though I wasn’t really sure why. I guess it just seemed like he’d forgotten about it.
“The key word is tried, babe.” He settled on some movie that was halfway over but it didn’t matter because it was so predictable you already knew what happened beforehand. “Once again, you weren’t very successful at it.”
I wanted to argue with him. But the asshole was right. I was starting to think I needed to get into a different line of work.
Then I remembered I’d never tried to kill a bionic man before…