Chapter 17: Codename: Blackheart Chapter Seventeen

I’ve been mostly oblivious to the injury to my arm, but there are moments when I shift a certain way that I’m quickly reminded last night I took a bullet to the shoulder. The pain from injuries doesn’t really bother me, it’s just how much of an impediment they might become. But at least I’m still alive. 

I’m in the middle of packing my suitcase when there’s a fast series of knocks at my door. I can honestly say I don’t get many visitors… okay, I never get visitors. Especially at 10:45 at night. I walk to the living room, grabbing Crimson from the coffee table. Come on, I’m not going to fire a gun in an apartment building. Do I look like I’m trying to draw attention to myself? 

There’s another urgent knock as I continue moving towards the door. I look through the peephole, then proceed to unlock and open the door, “Didn’t I just get rid of you?”

“You were right. They tried to kill me,” Alec says, panting. There’s sweat on his brow, and his skin is a clammy, sickly colour. He’s leaning against my door frame holding his hand to his right shoulder; blood seeping through his fingers. He looks like crap. Man can’t even take a bullet; what a set of balls. 

I mean that as an insult by the way. I’d never call anyone a ‘pussy’ to imply weakness. Vaginas are sturdy as hell. Shit, a pussy can take a pounding and push out small humans. A set of balls, on the other hand, squeeze ‘em too tight and you’ll have a man crying for his mamma. I got shot last night; you don’t hear me being a big baby about it; yet here he is looking like someone cut off his leg. How dramatic.

Nevertheless, I pull the door open wider and usher him in. He walks in and I shut the door behind him. “Who tried to kill you?” I ask seriously.

“I didn’t see who it was, but it had to be someone working for Grigoras. I can’t… I can’t believe he tried to kill me. I mean, I kind of can but at the same time… fuck!” he groans in anger.

“First thing’s first, let’s look at that shoulder.” 

I help him to the couch and help him carefully take off his denim jacket which has a hole in the right sleeve and is stained with blood. He’s changed clothes since he was here and is now in black joggers, black Air Jordans and an army green tank top. The tank top is tight and shows off his very toned body. He doesn’t have Chris Hemsworth muscles, which is good. I don’t like men with too many muscles. His body is just right, with just enough muscle definition to show that he has them but not too much to make you think someone took an air pump to his muscles. 

I stop ogling him long enough to examine his shoulder. “It’s just a graze. Stay put while I get the first aid.” I walk off to the bathroom to grab the first aid kit and come back, sitting to his right on the couch. “I guess we match now,” I say with a smirk. 

He laughs silently. “I’ve never been shot before. It fucking hurts,” he says as he balls his hands into fists on his knees. I start wiping away the blood before I move on to cleaning the wound. As I’m working, I’m aware of him staring at the same injury on my arm that is hidden by the bandage. “You didn’t complain once. You didn’t even act hurt except for a groan when the bullet hit you. You must think I’m pretty weak and pathetic,” he says bashfully. 

“I suppose you’re not doing too bad for your first time,” I say with a smile as I continue cleaning the wound. He winces but clenches his lips together to keep from making noise. I slow down my movements trying to be more gentle with my gestures. Yes, I’m capable of being gentle. Don’t go making assumptions.

“You’ve been shot before?” he asks with nothing but compassion in his voice. It almost sounds like me getting hurt saddens him. I doubt he was sad when he agreed to help Grigoras put a bullet in me.

“A few times. You don’t exactly get used to it though,” I inform him.

“You must have a high pain tolerance then.” 

“I’ve just learned to block out the pain. You can do it too,” I encourage. He continues to watch me in silence, occasionally biting back a groan as I tape up his arm and then wrap a bandage around it. “All done,” I say as I turn to pack up the supplies.

“Thank you for helping me. I’m sure it’s the last thing you wanted to do; I just didn’t know where else to go. I was sure you’d send me away, but I had to try,” he says quietly.

“Came to the right place.” I get up, heading back to the bathroom.

“I should get going,” he tells me when I walk back into the room. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

“You think you’re safe out there?” I ask folding my arms and leaning on the doorway frame. 

“Probably not,” he sighs. “But what else am I meant to do?”

“For all you know, they could have followed you here,” I point out, as he rubs his face anxiously. “You can crash here.”

His head snaps up to look at me, shock written all over his face. “You’d let me hide out here? For how long?”

“As long as you need,” I shrug, “But I still don’t trust you, so I’ll stay and keep an eye on you. Plus, you don’t seem to know how to take care of yourself,” I say mockingly. 

He narrows his eyes at me and gets up, stepping towards me, towering over me. His soothing cologne hitting my nostrils. “I can take care of myself just fine, thank you very much,” he says acerbically. Well, this is a new side of him. I rather like it. 

I smirk up at him, “Not from where I’m standing. Last night you got kidnapped, tonight you got shot. Not doing so good,” I say casually. 

He crosses his arms, but his arms slacken a little after he winces. “As I recall, one of those incidents was your doing,” he tells me through gritted teeth.

“Doesn’t change the point. You’re a magnet for trouble.”

“Two mishaps hardly makes me a magnet,” he scoffs.

“You’re also forgetting being dragged into a con to assassinate an assassin. I’m sure we can find more examples.” Teasing this man is becoming my new favourite hobby. 

“Sounds like the root of all my problems is you. I was dragged into this because of something you did, and I was kidnapped by you. If anyone’s a magnet for trouble it’s you, not me,” he says as he backs me into the door frame. His tone is harsh, there’s anger in his eyes and I think even hurt underneath. His face is flushed, the veins in his neck are protruding, and his breathing has picked up speed. My insides clench in need at his sexy display of dominance. I misjudged him it seems and I’m scolding myself for making such a rookie mistake. He is a gentle soul but there’s something darker under the surface. 

As tempted as I am to see just how dominant he can be, I’m not stupid enough to let him think he has even the tiniest upper hand on me. I reach up and press my thumb into the wound on his arm, causing him to immediately cry out in pain and drop to his knees. He groans and tries to yank his arm away, but I tighten my hold even as blood seeps through the bandage. 

“I wasn’t the one who dragged you into this. You’re a grown-ass man, you made your own decisions that brought you here. You have no one to blame but yourself, so don’t put that shit on me. So far, I’ve spared your life, fed you, freed you, patched up your wound and offered you sanctuary, which I think is incredibly generous of me given the circumstances. You don’t want my kindness? Door is that way,” I say, jutting my chin towards the door as I let go of his arm, pushing him away. He drops a little and clutches his arm, seeing the blood that has seeped through. His face is contorted in pain, but I don’t feel bad. He refuses to look at me while he sits on the floor looking conflicted. “I owe you nothing and I don’t have to help you. So, by all means, leave.” 

He’s quiet for a minute before he lets out a deep breath. “You’re right, you… you’ve been pretty nice to me all things considered. I didn’t expect it. Honestly, you’re the first person to show me even a hint of kindness besides my mum,” he says sorrowfully. The tone of his voice makes my stomach flip. I’m not sentimental towards people I don’t know well, but for some reason, I feel bad hearing he’s experienced so little kindness in his life. I’m a professional killer, for God’s sake, but even I have a loving family waiting for me at home. Then there’s this guy. He’s soft-spoken – for the most part – and has manners and morals – to an extent. There’s anger in him sure, but I don’t sense any malice, so I can’t help but feel a little bad for him. Despite my better judgement. “I have nowhere else to go. Please let me stay,” he begs as he looks up at me. 

He looks so lost. It makes me feel something I’m unfamiliar with. But this isn’t Alina he’s talking to, this is Blackheart, so I bury my compassion and roll my eyes. 

“Fine. Just don’t bleed on my furniture,” I say as I go into my room, putting my suitcase back in the closet.