Page 11 of Stay Little Fighter

Neither of the guys that marched us down here says a word before they disappear up the stairs, leaving us alone in the freezing cold basement.

At least they left a light on, I guess.

“How are you doing, Duchess?” I murmur, pressing a soft kiss to her temple.

“It hurts,” she whimpers.

“I know, baby.” I suck in a calming breath, but it does little against the raging fire in my chest.

Helpless is not an emotion I’m intimately familiar with, but as I carefully pull the sweater from Chloe’s stomach, my heart sinks at the sight.

There’s so much blood I can barely believe she’s awake, let alone talking, and it doesn’t seem to be slowing despite the pressure we’ve applied.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?”

I swallow past the lump in my throat. I don’t want to lie to her, but what good is the truth going to do?

“You’re going to be okay.” The words slip out before I can stop them, the need to comfort her beating out the part of me that doesn’t want to give her false hope.

As carefully as I can manage, I move the layers of clothing out of the way to get my first proper view of the wound.

Schooling my features, I press gently around the site.

Chloe whimpering makes me flinch, but I keep working in slow, gentle movements. The least I can do after she took a bullet for me is not cause her any more pain than I already have.

“You’re doing good, Duchess,” I murmur, doing my best to ignore the blood coating my hands.

In any other circumstance, I would revel in it, but not when it’s hers. Not when Chloe is bleeding out and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.

I glance around the dank basement, hoping to see something, anything, to slow the bleeding, but when I come up empty, I turn my attention back to the woman I’ve spent the last fifteen years convincing I hate her.

“I need to roll you for a second.”

She shakes her head, fear and pain warring in her pretty green eyes.

“I’ll be as quick as I can, but I need to check for an exit wound.”

Nibbling at her bottom lip, she gives me a jerky nod.

As gently as I can manage, I roll her to the side, trying and failing to ignore the hiss of agony that escapes her.

“You’re doing so good, Duchess,” I praise as I shove the sweater up and bite back a curse when I find clear skin.

No exit wound.

Fuck.

“Damon?” Her voice trembles as she tries to look over her shoulder at me, but I hold her steady. Twisting is only going to make it hurt more, and that’s the last thing she needs right now.

“Just a second, Chlo.”

I brush my fingers over her back, making sure I’m not missing anything, but the longer I search, the more my stomach rolls.

There are too many ways a stray bullet in the body can kill her, and it’s all my fault.

I should have protected her.

I should have made sure she was safe like I promised I would.