Page 117 of Gravehouse

He finds the right kit, muscles rippling as he tears it open.

Stay focused.

“You shot me.” Shit flies everywhere and we both ignore it. “In the same fucking spot, Asher!”

He digs the gauze and antiseptic off the floor, a pair of tweezers out of the tub.

“Here,” he mutters, kneeling in front of me, peeling my fingers off the wound, gentle even though I’m still pissed.

Air hits it and I hiss, wincing.

He ignores my pain, dabbing antiseptic onto a cotton pad and cleaning the entry point. I let him move me however he needs while he inspects every part.

“You’re good at this,” I say, voice flat. “Almost like you’ve done it before.”

He catches the sarcasm, his mouth twitching. “Snowboarding’s a brutal sport. Fractures, gashes, concussions, you know.”

His hand closes around the tweezers, and I’m about to ask what the exact fucking plan is when the needle pinches my wound.

“Ash,” I heave, sweat dripping into my eyes, everything going dark at the edges. “Stop fucking around. There’s no gentle way to dig a bullet out.” Seconds that feel like minutes later, pressure pulls like a band around my belly, then he flashes the small metal nub with a smirk.

I glare at him.

He drops the bullet into the sink, finds a needle, and leans back in close.

I pull away. “Is this your first time on a girl?”

He threads the suture with one hand, the other steadying my skin. “If I said no, you gonna shoot her too?”

My eyes narrow, and he smirks up at me from below. “I’m playing, Venom.” When I won’t give him the satisfaction of letting it go, he grips my chin with his bloody hand and forces me into a kiss.

I melt, because I’m fucked. And weak.

Before I can recover, he pierces the skin with the sharp point of the needle. One stitch. Two. The thread pulls taut, sealing me shut.

“You wanna ask me something, just do it.” He doesn’t stop, his fingers working like it’s his job. “Don’t dance your sexy ass around the question.”

I reach out before he can finish, my fingers brushing the thin white line across his throat. It’s barely there, a shallow crescent from ear to ear.

He freezes, hands going still. “Ivy...”

“Nah uh...” I shake my head. “I’m done.”

His eyes fly to mine. “You don’t know what you’re doing...”

“I don’t?” I tilt my head. “Pretty sure you’re the one who just signed our death warrants...”

I drop my hand, but the contact lingers, electric on my skin.

“The bathroom’s safe. Punk left it out on purpose, but the rest of the house...” His pupils dilate. “She cracked the servers wide fucking open for him.”

“So they also witnessed what happened before,” I wave a hand around the room, “all of what just happened?”

Asher nods. “Yeah, and clearly our little plan wasn’t fucking working because we happened, so...”

His argument is valid. It took us less than ten minutes around each other for bullets to fly and bodies to drop. And that’s leaving out the sex.

“...so...” I whisper, gulping. “So now we’re fucked.”