Page 41 of Dane

He closed his eyes, opened them. The sky above us was bright and blue, the October clouds scattered and fluffy white.

Sirens cut through the dying chaos. More sirens, approaching from multiple directions, the sound building and overlapping. Tiny’s bulk appeared at the edge of my vision, moving toward the officers with his hands visible, palms out. I didn’t get the impression they considered Tiny a threat and the panic bubbling up inside me eased somewhat. At least maybe this whole thing wouldn’t turn into a bloodbath.

Dane’s hand moved under mine, covering my fingers where they pressed against his side. His grip was weak but deliberate. “Brielle.”

“Don’t talk. Save your strength.”

“Honey, I ain’t dyin’.” He grinned down at me.

“I didn’t say you were,” I snapped. “I simply think you should wait to decide you’re OK until a medical professional says you’re OK!”

“Listen to me, Brielle.” He reached for my hand. Blood made my skin slightly sticky, but now that I looked, the blood seemed to have stopped. “Brielle.” This time, he lifted my chin to bring my attention back to him when all I wanted to do was get him medical attention and know for one hundred percent certain his injury wasn’t life threatening. “Look at me, Brielle.”

I sighed heavily. “OK. Fine. I’m looking at you.” I met his gaze and held it. “I’m listening.”

“I love you, Brielle. And you’re going to wear my property patch.” He held my gaze, refusing to let me look away. “I wanted to give you time, but Goddamnit, I’m not taking the chance of losing you before I truly have you.”

I stared at him, my eyes wide, my mouth probably an “O” of surprise. “I… You what?”

His grin widened. “You heard me. I love you. And I’m not letting you run from me. So you’re going to wear the cut I got you, and you’re going to stay with me. Forever.”

“Where would I run?” I said, sounding as dazed as I felt. “You’re the only person who ever --” I stopped, because officers were approaching, and I didn’t want to discuss this in front of an audience.

The two officers hauled Sutton upright. His coat was dusted liberally with grime and damp, fallen leaves, the camel scarf dragged loose, the one side of his face scraped from the asphalt. The careful presentation was completely gone. Now, he looked small in handcuffs, his hair mussed. Sutton looked dazed, like he had no idea how he ended up in the situation he found himself.

He looked at me, and I held his gaze. I still tried to put pressure on Dane’s wound, but I didn’t look away.

“Brielle.” Sutton looked almost pleadingly as he tried to engage me. “Brielle, listen to me.”

“Don’t,” one officer said, pushing him roughly toward the cruiser. “Don’t talk to her.”

Sutton didn’t resist. He kept looking back, kept trying to make eye contact. I don’t know if he thought I’d cave like I always had and would rescue him, but that ship had long since sailed.

“You can suck my dick, Grant,” I called out. “Suck it until you fucking choke on it!”

Dane burst out laughing before giving a startled yelp with the sudden contraction of his abdominal muscles. Then he groaned in pain but continued to chuckle.

I glared at Dane who continued to smile at me. “I don’t see anything so Goddamned funny, Dane.”

“Suck my dick? Really?”

Feeling the sudden urge to laugh, I shrugged, pursing my lips to keep from smiling. “I mean, don’t knock it ‘til you try it.”

That got a startled chuckle from a nearby officer who’d come with a first-aid kit to help us. “Ambulance is two minutes out,” he said. “We can hold pressure until they get here.”

I moved my hands slowly, revealing the wound. Dane’s shirt was torn and blood-stained, but he wasn’t hurt nearly as badly as I’d first thought. The bullet literally carved a groove, stripping the skin off his side but not actually piercing the skin. A furrow, maybe four inches long, tracking along his ribs.

“I’m fine,” Dane said, waving off the officer. “Pain can do what he does in the clinic. Save the ambulance for someone else.”

The officer left us, speaking into his radio as he moved around the area, though there didn’t seem to be anyone else hurt.

Dane’s hand found mine again, and he laced our bloody fingers together. “Hey,” Dane said, pulling my attention back. His thumb moved against my palm, a small gesture, almost a caress. “You still got that panic button?”

I blinked. Reached into my pocket with my free hand. The disk was there, cold metal, untouched. “Well, fuck,” I muttered. “Guess the thing doesn’t do much good if I forget I have it.”

“I guess it doesn’t.” Dane didn’t look angry or annoyed. In fact, he smiled at me like I was the best thing he’d ever seen. I soaked up his attention, loving that look maybe more than I should. I also knew Dane was right. Life was too short for what ifs.

“Next time,” he said, bruising his thumb over my mouth in a tender gesture, “maybe try harder to remember. For my blood pressure.”