She blinked at me. Mouth open. Like she hadn't expected me to speak. Like the corpse had just sassed her.
"W-what?"
"You talk like you were raised by squirrels on Red Bull." I leaned back against the pillows, wincing when the pain in my side clawed back in like a bitch. "I'm the one with a bullet in me, and somehow, you're the one hyperventilating."
Her jaw dropped.
Then she scowled, barely. It was cute. In a tragic, completely ineffective kind of way.
"Excuse me," she said, trying to sound tough and only managing vaguely annoyed, "but you were dying! I dragged your giant body all the way up the stairs and tried to keep you alive, so maybe don't be a dick?"
I gave her a slow look. "Right. And who's the dumbass that dragged a half-dead man into her apartment instead of calling literally anyone else?"
"You begged me not to!"
"You listened."
"You had a gun!"
"And you still brought me home." I grinned, all teeth. "I don't know if that makes you brave or brain-dead."
"You're unbelievable."
"And you've got panties on your doorknob, sweetheart. Maybe let's not cast stones."
Her mouth opened. Closed. She looked around like she just remembered she lived in a chaos den and wanted to die about it.
I tried to shift again, to sit up more, and that was a mistake.
The pain slammed into me like a train. My vision blurred, breath catching. I clenched my jaw, biting back the groan.
"Hey—hey, no, stop moving! You're not okay," she said, all the sass instantly dropping into worry. "You need to see a doctor—like, real help. I just did what I could, but there's still a bullet in you!"
"No shit." I gritted out. "Where's your phone?"
She blinked. "What?"
"Phone. You know, that thing you were gonna use to call the cops on me last night? Get it."
She hesitated, wide eyes flicking from me to the nightstand and back. "Why?"
"Because unless you've got a surgical team hiding in your closet, I need to make a call before I bleed out on your floor. Again."
She didn't move.
I arched a brow. "What, you think I'm gonna steal it? Run a Ponzi scheme from your Contacts app? Phone, lady."
Reluctantly, still clearly skeptical, she reached for her phone and handed it over, watching me like I was gonna pull a knife from under the pillow.
Which, honestly, wasn't a bad guess.
But I was too busy staying conscious to pull any fast ones.
"Thanks," I muttered, already opening the keypad. "You've been so sweet. Real Florence Nightingale, just with more yelling and drool."
She glared at me.
And I smirked.
She stared at me, and I could see the gears turning behind those wide eyes of hers, still half-blown from the adrenaline and the absurdity of the morning.
Then she gasped.
"Oh shit—I'm gonna be late!"
The words tumbled out of her in a panic-stricken breath, and suddenly, she was flying off the floor like she'd been electrocuted. I watched, amused, as she practically dove headfirst into the tiny closet across from the bed, yanking it open with the desperation of someone searching for Narnia instead of a damn blouse.
Clothes spilled out.
She flung a pair of office pants over her shoulder, grabbed a random shirt, inside-out, of course. Her bun was coming undone, toothpaste already squirted on her toothbrush as she did this wild Olympic routine of brushing and picking a dress at once.
I couldn't help myself. Still squinting at the phone, trying to remember the last digit of Kyle's number, I muttered, "You know, for someone so concerned about saving lives, you live like a damn raccoon."
She froze mid-brush, foamy toothpaste smearing at the corner of her lip as she glared at me. Genuinely tried to look intimidating.
It was… adorable.
Like a wet kitten trying to hiss.
I snorted and finally tapped in the last number. The line started ringing.
She grumbled something under her breath, collecting more of her chaos, this time her underwear, which were somehow everywhere. Hanging off the chair. Draped on the lamp. One tucked under my arm, apparently.
"Really?" I asked, holding it up with two fingers like it offended me on a molecular level.
She yanked it out of my hand without a word, cheeks flushed pink, and gave me a glare so unthreatening I almost felt bad.
Almost.
The phone kept ringing in my ear.
Then a click.
"Hello? Who the hell is this?" came the voice on the other end.
She opened her mouth again, maybe to give me another half-hearted threat but I just raised a brow, and she paused, clenched her jaw, and dramatically pointed at me. Like I was on time-out.
Then she spun on her heel and stormed out of the room, hair still half-falling out of her bun, toothpaste on her cheeks.
I sighed through my nose and finally brought the phone to my mouth.
"About time," I said, voice flat. "It's me. Kieran."
A beat of silence. Then...
"Jesus fuck—Boss!—where the hell have you been?" Kyle's voice sharpened, crackling through the line like static.
"Trying not to die."
"Holy—what happened last night? Where are you boss? Everyone's freaking out. Some of the Capos think you're dead, others say you ran—there's no body, no signal, nothing."
I leaned my head back against the wall and let my eyes fall half-shut, my fingers twitching around the phone.
"Relax," I muttered, "If I was dead, you wouldn't be hearing my voice, would you?"
"That's not funny," he snapped. "Jace is dead. Devon too. The others—fuck—I don't know who's loyal anymore. We haven't been able to trace what the hell went down. It's chaos."
"Chaos is normal." I glanced at the blood seeping slowly through the wrap on my side. "Now shut up and listen."