Page 75 of Trapped Truth

“Nope,” I warble. “N-Not Axel.”

“Haven’t we met like this before?”

Floppy brown hair hangs over honey-rich eyes, far too sharp and calculating to belong to Axel. He isn’t here.

“I just ruined three guns to drag your ass out of a pool,” Gunnar seethes, swiping water from his face.

“What a-are you doing here?”

He casts a look around the room, nodding at someone.

“Saving your asses. I’m the backup.”

CHAPTER 13

WARNER

MAKE YOU ALRIGHT - SOMEBODY’S CHILD

It’s been a while since I stitched my own wounds. Sabre’s medics were too preoccupied with stabilising our rescued trafficking victim to treat a minor head injury, and I sure as fuck wasn’t going to ask the chopper to land on the hospital’s helipad for a few basic sutures.

Braced against the bathroom sink in my en suite, I’ve laid out all my supplies in preparation to close the three-inch gash across my forehead. Scalpel, small forceps, suture scissors and the all-important needle with dissolvable polymer thread.

Ten should do the trick.

Here goes nothing.

Threading the surgical steel hook to clasp between the scissors, a knock on the door halts me from tackling the freshly cleaned wound site. It creaks open to reveal Ember’s stormy blue-greys peering in. Damn, she looks as rough as I feel.

“I can still take you to the hospital,” she pleads without much hope.

“I told you I can handle it, Em. Just a few stitches. I tackled much worse in the army.”

“Not your own face, though. Can I help?”

“Do you know how to perform surgical sutures?”

She steps into the bathroom, clicking the door shut behind her. “Talk me through it. I have steady hands, and I’m a fast learner.”

I know for a fact that she won’t be deterred. My girl’s as stubborn as she is fiercely devoted. Once she’s washed her hands, I hand over the equipment, sighing as I sit on the edge of the tub.

“Use the forceps like this… Yes. Good. You’re going to hold the wound with these, then aim the needle at a ninety-degree angle, away from the edge.”

“Ninety degrees, okay. Got it.”

“Then rotate your wrist to follow the natural curve of the needle, threading it through the skin. You want to cross the incision site to exit the other side. We’ll close from there.”

She nods, eyeing my forehead closely. “You can seriously do all that yourself?”

“With practice, it’s easy enough. Have a go. You won’t hurt me.”

“Pretty sure it will hurt if I fuck this up.”

Cupping her waist, I guide her in-between my splayed legs, hugging her belly close. “I trust you.”

The sensation of serrated steel parting flesh isn’t pleasant. But after all these years of service, it’s more of a dull annoyance than painful. I think I lost my nausea for needles in a distant desert, piecing together wounded soldiers so they could be shipped home. Or what was left of them, at least.

“How’s it going?”