“Kidding! Just kidding,” I said, pushing him back on my own.
He grimaced before yelling. “Fucking shit!”
“So being shot hurts, who would have guessed.” I pressed gently on the wound around his upper shoulder.
“Your sarcasm has been noted, Helen,” he grumbled, closing his eyes, and I wished I could do the same. If only he knew that sarcasm was the only thing keeping me from staring at his perfectly sculpted body. It was marble. I wanted…dreamt of running my hands over it a dozen times and of course here was my chance, but it was because of bullets and blood.
“This is going to hurt. You sure you don’t want anything for the pain?”
“I’m already buzzed, go ahead,” he said softly and put his arm over his face and inhaled, though he stopped because of the pain.
“Okay.”
“URGH!” He hissed through clenched teeth as I poured alcohol over the wound.
“What happened?” I questioned, pressing my hands on his skin, again hoping to distract him.
“The Governor got a little emotional when I told him I had his wife killed.”
My head snapped up like a rocket, only he hadn’t shifted. I sighed, shaking my head. “Brilliant, now I’m going to be stuck working on the winter ball with Fatimah Gupta—”
“She’s most likely dead, too—ah fuck-Jesus-cunt-damn careful, Helen!” He looked at me as I tried to dig the bullet out.
“So you killed the governor’s and the mayor’s wives tonight, that won’t be a mess at all,” I muttered, though internally I was happy as I got a good grip on the bullet. It wasn’t too deep, and the bullet wasn’t strong…nor did it shatter. For a man with no luck, he sure had some fucking luck.
“I found out that the Chicago PD stole product from us. Those assholes only have those positions because we gave them the positions. In return for that power, they protect our interests. If they fail, they have to be punished.”
“That makes sense,” I said as I leaned in closer. “What I don’t understand is why you didn’t wear a bulletproof vest, at least when going around seeking vengeance.”
He didn’t answer that question and instead asked a question of his own. “Ethan wouldn’t have made such a dumb ass mistake, would he?”
Taking the bullet out, I glanced back up to him. “I will never understand why you and Ethan have this damned complex with each other.”
“What?”
“It’s out. What else do I need to do?” I asked, putting the bullet to the side on one of the open plastic seals near the first aid kit.
“I got this part.” He said sat up, pressing a bandage to his shoulder. “What do you mean? Ethan doesn’t have a complex toward—”
“Are you insane?” He really didn’t see it…what am I talking about? Wyatt was the king of obvious. “Wyatt, he let himself get shot, let Boston spiral into chaos because of you. He did that because—”
“He wanted me home. I get that. Everyone wanted me home. Even you.”
Idiot. Goddamn sexy idiot. “When you came back in the brief moment before Ivy died, Ethan was happy. He was annoyed about Gabriel. But he was happy. All he has ever wanted was for the two of you to be working side by side. He’s always wanted to be the best older brother, so you could count on him. But the better he was, the more you resented him. And that pissed him off because he couldn’t fail for you—for the same reason you couldn’t let anyone see you’re hurt. Everyone is always watching this family, especially the Ceann Na Conairte. If he slipped up, people would think he is weak and they’d hurt you or the rest of the family. He had to be strong to protect everyone, and you hated him for being strong. He’s always been stuck in this no-win situation because of you. Add that, on top of the fact that you two have vastly different personalities, he can’t speak to you without you misunderstanding his words or thoughts. He honestly just wants your attention and company, because he’s lonely.”
“Woah! Whose side are you on? You’re my best friend, not his.” He stared at me wide-eyed. “When did you become the Ethan-whisperer?”
“You’re so childish.” I shook my head, standing up. “I know Ethan because I speak to Ethan. He even comes to hear me lecture sometimes.”
“He does what now? And why haven’t I gotten any invitations to these lectures?” He questioned as he started to stitch his own damn shoulder. The man was made out of something outside this world.
“You weren’t invited because you were in Boston,” I said, heading to the kitchen to wash my hands and get a clean towel, along with a bowl of warm water.
“Yeah, sure you would have. Then you would have made jokes about it for the rest of day and left before you had to meet family.” When I didn’t hear his reply, I turned back around worried maybe he’d passed out from blood loss or something. But instead, he was just staring at me. “What?”
“Have I always been such a shitty person to you?”
There were a great many things to hate about Wyatt Callahan, but what really irritated me was his ability to look so innocent and sincere even with blood all over his shoulder, and confessing to murder. It was sick how he’d mastered that look.
“Wyatt, you killed my father,” I reminded him. I moved to sit next to him, taking the clean towel out of the bowl of warm water.
“Your father is Declan Callahan, and he’s alive and well,” he muttered and looked away from me, cleaning his hands in the bowl between us.
“Do you have any shame?”
“I haven’t checked recently, but I do have spicy mayo.” He lifted the burger bag for me. Because I was closer now I could smell it and... “Mr. Chi opened up just to make this for us. You shouldn’t let it go to waste. It would be rude.”
“Said the motherfucking king of
