CHAPTER FOUR WORTHLESS WIENER
CHAPTER FOUR
WORTHLESS WIENER
LUNA
“No, you were,” I said with a pointed look to his cheek. Though with the clearer angle, I couldn’t see an actual cut.
Rhys swiped his fingers through the smear of red and glowered, his words forced out through his clenched jaw. “That’s your blood.”
No reason to be a dick about it. I didn’t purposefully bleed on you.
I ignored him as I turned, only to narrowly miss slamming into Matthews. I stopped short and kept my balance, but large hands gripped my hips from behind anyway.
“Shit, shit, shit,” Matthews rushed out before I could ask what the hell had taken him so long. He scanned me, his eyes going wide when he reached my hair.
Wow, way to also be a dick. Sorry my hair isn’t perfect after getting shot at.
His cursing chant grew more flustered as he slowly rotated around and around like a worthless old hot dog in the convenience store warmer.
It was making me dizzy, which didn’t help with my nausea.
He finally stopped before opening his mouth. I wasn’t sure if he was going to ask if I was okay, explain where he’d been, or maybe even lie about it. He must not have known either because an unintelligible croak was all that came out.
I didn’t give him the chance to try again before saying, “Notebook.”
Miracle of miracles, he actually did as I said instead of trying to use his phone.
I listed off everything I could remember about the dark sedan, including the partial license plate number.
“I don’t have a lot of hope that’ll give us much since either the plates are hot or the whole car is.
And my guess is it’ll be a lot hotter by the time we locate it.
I hope their torching skills are as bad as their aim. ”
“Their aim’s clearly not that bad,” Matthews said as Rhys bit out some low curses behind me.
I didn’t need their concern. “Stay here.”
Matthews listened.
Rhys did not.
I only made it a handful of steps before his large hand wrapped around my upper arm. “Just hold still. You were fuckin’ shot.”
“I wasn’t,” I said. Though when I swiped my burning forehead, I pulled my hand away to see it was smeared with a lot more blood than the flecks on his cheek.
That’s inconvenient.
I took the wadded-up fabric he shoved at my head and used it to wipe the blood before it could drip down into my eye.
Sirens cut through the commotion, and more of the looky-loos took that as a sign they should haul ass. They didn’t make it far since the Rye bouncers were doing their best to keep everyone contained, but the unintentional crowd dispersing allowed me to confirm my first assessment had been accurate.
No one was bleeding.
Well, except me.
With back-up close and no emergency assistance needed, I stayed halfway between the group and the corner where Matthews was preserving the scene. I split my focus between both, not really trusting either.
Taking advantage of my stillness, Rhys crowded closer. “Let me see.”
“I’m fine.”
“You got shot in the fuckin’ head. What the hell were you thinkin’ rolling on top of me like that?”
“That I was doing my damn job.”
“Sorry, did I miss where that makes you fuckin’ bulletproof? Because I know you aren’t wearing Kevlar under that suit, and even if you were, it wouldn’t do a shit-ton of good when you were shot in the motherfuckin’ head.”
“I told you, I wasn’t. I know what that feels like, and this isn’t it.
I’d assumed the assertion that I hadn’t been shot would get him to back off, but it didn’t. His focus stayed locked on me as he shoved the fabric at my forehead again.
Belatedly, I realized that it was his balled-up flannel. It had looked worn and soft while he’d been wearing it, but as it rubbed against my skin, I discovered it was made of sandpaper. Or maybe that was the bits of whatever I could feel inside my wound.
“Shit,” he muttered, picking up on the discomfort before I could tell him to knock it off. He stopped wiping and just used it to put pressure on the cut, but I took the bundle and did it myself, leaving one of my eyes with a clear view of his anger.
No.
His rage.
Everyone dealt with shit in different ways.
I’d seen big, burly men weep at a broken bone from a minor car accident.
I’d seen kids handle traumatic shit with barely a blink.
Worrying about me had probably offered him something to focus on other than himself.
Without that, the reality of the situation was likely sinking in.
And considering he’d been shot at outside of his bar that he obviously cared about, his fury was understandable.
That didn’t mean I wanted it to erupt in an impulsive action he couldn’t take back.
Like punching the wall and getting a broken hand for the effort.
Or something worse that would land him in cuffs.
Based on the way his fists were squeezed so tight, his knuckles were white, it wasn’t a reach to think he was close to that point.
The tension also flexed his exposed upper arms, and that was the part I focused on.
Not how muscular and impressively toned his arms were—though that was true.
Not how beautiful the blend of colorful and grayscale tattoos that covered his arms were—though that was also true.
And not even how appealing the veins that were prominent on his inked forearms were—though that might’ve been truest of all.
I focused on the tight fit of his dark gray tee. Specifically, where it squeezed the thickness of his biceps.
“I like your shirt,” I said.
His confused gaze darted from the flannel I still held to my head and then down to meet my eyes.
“No, that one.” I tipped my head toward him. “Does it come in men’s sizes or just kid’s?”
He startled, his head going back as a bark of laughter pushed out. “You really giving me shit about my wardrobe right now?”
“It’s a safety concern. I’m worried that you’ll get trapped when you try to take it off.”
His brow lifted. “You thinkin’ about me shirtless?”
Well, now I am.
“No,” I lied. “I’m just wondering if I should call in the fire department for the jaws of life now to save time.”
He shook his head. “It was my last clean tee, and I didn’t realize it’d shrunk till I put it on. By that time, it was too late to do anything, and I didn’t think anyone would be seeing it.”
“Hey, you don’t owe me an explanation. What you wear is between you and whatever you used to paint it on.”
The distraction worked for both of us, but only for a minute. His expression and mood both sobered as he watched me. “Getting shot at a common occurrence for you?”
“It happens less than you’d think.”
“Enough that you know what a bullet wound feels like,” he tossed back.
I didn’t respond since he had a point. Instead, I checked to make sure Matthews was doing his job. Shockingly, he was. He was doing it while looking like he was going to have a panic attack, but whatever. Yet another small victory.
Rhys turned to follow my line of sight before muttering, “You caught a lot of details in that clusterfuck.”
“I’m good at my job.” It wasn’t a brag. It was a fact.
But a lot of people bristled at any sign of confidence. They expected women—no matter what field they were in or how accomplished they were—to be humble.
“I see that,” Rhys said without a hint of disdain or surprise. Like my words, his were said matter-of-factly.
When the sirens reached us and organized chaos descended, I slipped seamlessly back into my role. “Wait here.”
Moving away, I started giving orders as I ran the scene.
The ambulance showed shortly thereafter, and I flagged them down before returning to where a cluster of men now stood with Rhys.
Ignoring the security guards, I spoke to him.
“EMTs are going to look you over, and then someone will take your statement.”
“Don’t need to be looked over. I’m not the one bleeding.”
I wasn’t, either. Mostly. At the very least, it’d slowed, so it was clearly fine.
“It’s a precaution,” I said.
“It’s a waste. They should be checking you out. I tried to cup your head to soften the landing, but part of it still hit hard.”
My throbbing skull and I didn’t need the reminder. I hated to think how much worse it would’ve been without the buffer.
A buffer that was as stupid as it was brave.
“Rhys—”
“No more Mr. Walker?” he cut in.
“We survived a drive-by together. I think that puts us on a first name basis.”
He was about to say something, but the EMTs arrived before he could. They took over with him—something he didn’t look thrilled about—and I resumed my lap. It was short-lived because a familiar SUV blocked the street.
Murdoch.
Fuck.
Rhys wasn’t the only one with a long list of enemies. I had my own lengthy one, and my top spot of dishonor didn’t go to a criminal. It didn’t even go to the man who’d shot me. It went to Murdoch.
Detective.
Misogynist.
Certified asshole.
He climbed out and looked around before his gaze landed on me. He strolled over like he was out for a relaxing walk. “How’d you manage to turn a softball call into this mess?”
His tone was light like he was joking, but he wasn’t. It didn’t matter that I hadn’t done anything. If there was even a single perceived misstep in how I’d handled the night, he would pounce on it.
I wasn’t worried since I hadn’t fucked up, but that didn’t mean I wanted to deal with any of it.
“I’ve got this handled,” I said. “There’s not much to be done.”
“You know you can’t run the scene when you’re involved. You need to hand over your weapon and wait for your union rep.”
“I didn’t return fire, so there’s nothing to clear.”
Matthews approached in time to ask, “Why not?”
Because this isn’t a TV drama, and I’m not stupid enough to blindly fire at a moving target in a busy area.
Murdoch looked just as ready to give me shit, but he caught himself.
At his show of restraint, I knew who was behind me even before I looked over my shoulder to see our captain approach.
Rather than taking in the scene, his focus was zeroed in on my face. “Shit, Oscar, why haven’t you had that looked at?”
“It looks worse than it is.” I didn’t know if that was true because it was starting to burn like a bitch, but I could still function, so it could wait.
“What happened?” Cap asked.
I gave a recap, including the details I’d already shared with Matthews.
“Any idea how many were in the car?” Cap asked.
“At least two, driver and passenger. They were wearing masks.”
He looked at my temporary partner. “Did you catch anything different?”
In the flickering streetlight, it was easy to see the color drain from Matthews’s face. A face that suddenly resembled a deer caught in the headlights.
I could’ve let him flounder for a few seconds, but I didn’t. “The woman caught in the fake complaint was shaken. He was escorting her to her car.”
I didn’t include that the simple task had taken a lot longer than it should’ve since he’d likely been shooting his shot with her while whoever was shooting shots at me.
Captain Talbot jerked his head toward the bar entrance.
“Matthews and Murdoch, see if patrol has any witnesses yet. And see if you spot any security cameras aimed this way.” He beckoned more officers over as he stabbed a finger toward the other side of the street.
“I want every piece of footage we can get our hands on.”
The older detective didn’t look happy about canvassing the party crowd, but he went as Cap kept doling out orders to others, taking control of my scene.
I used the opportunity to glare at Murdoch’s retreating back like I could give him a nasty case of jock itch telepathically.
Matthews took a step before hesitating. His gaze was aimed my way.
If you fess up and tell him I withheld details, I’m going to kick you in the shin.
But he wasn’t trying to clear his conscience. “You…” He gestured to my forehead just as blood reached my eye. “You really need to get that looked at.”
Fuck.
If glaring is going to reopen the wound, this sucker is never going to heal.
“Later,” I said, opting to press the shirt back against it until it slowed again.
He lifted his chin and jogged over to Murdoch, leaving me to follow after the captain as I walked him through the night again, going slower than before.