Chapter 44 In his house

Chapter 44 In his house

Travi's p.o.v

I had purchased this place the first day I landed in America. For emergency purposes or anytime I get overwhelmed.

Now this is the first time I would use it.

I twisted the knob of the door and pushed it open, then I stepped aside for Nyx who was glancing around the environment.

She glanced at my shoulder for a second and walked into the house. I followed.

“This…this is beautiful.” She commented as she stood in the middle of the room, her eyes glimmering with admiration.

I hummed in response.

I need to take this blade out, there's only so much I can take. But I need to clean her up first. Her wound isn't deep

I moved toward the cabinet near the wall and pulled it open, grabbing the first aid kit I barely ever touched. The box felt heavier than it should, or maybe it was just the throbbing in my shoulder messing with my senses.

Turning back, I walked toward her.
Nyx’s eyes flicked to the kit, then back to my face, suspicion immediately settling in.

“What are you doing?”

I didn’t slow down. “Cleaning your wound.”
The moment I reached for her arm, she pulled back sharply, her brows drawing together.

“Don’t,” she said.

I stilled, my jaw tightening slightly. “Nyx…”

Before I could finish, she grabbed my wrist and gently but firmly pulled me along. “Sit.”

My eyes narrowed. “I’m fine.”

“Sit,” she repeated, more insistently this time, guiding me toward a chair in the middle of the room.

She let out a quiet breath, already irritated. “It’s just a scratch on you. That…” she tilted her head toward my shoulder. “...is worse. I can handle it.”

She stopped in front of me, her expression softening but her grip not loosening.

Slowly, she raised her hand and pointed at the knife lodged in my shoulder.

“Then tell me how to remove that.”

I went still.

“Nyx…”

“You always do this,” she cut in, her voice quieter now but laced with something deeper. “You’re always the one taking care of everything… taking care of me.”

Her fingers tightened slightly around mine before slipping away.

“Now it’s my turn.”

I shook my head lightly. “I don’t need…”

“Yes, you do.”

The firmness in her tone caught me off guard.

For a second, neither of us spoke.

Then she stepped a little closer, tilting her head just slightly as her eyes met mine soft, pleading, but stubborn as hell.

“Please…” she said, her voice dropping into that tone I knew was dangerous for my resolve. “Uncle.”

That did it.

A slow exhale left me as I dragged a hand down my face, already feeling my resistance crumble.

“Damn it,” I muttered under my breath.

Her lips twitched, like she knew she had won.

I sank into the chair, leaning back slightly. “Fine.”

Her shoulders relaxed immediately, relief flashing across her face.

“But you listen carefully,” I added, my voice turning serious as I met her eyes again.

“One wrong move and you’ll make it worse.”

She nodded quickly, already moving closer.

“Tell me what to do.”

I gestured toward the kit in her hand.

“Open it.”

She did.

My gaze stayed on her as she fumbled slightly before steadying herself, her fingers brushing over the supplies.

“First,” I said, my voice low but controlled despite the pain pulsing through me, “you’re going to need to stop the bleeding the moment it comes out.”

She swallowed but nodded.

“And Nyx…” I added, my eyes locking onto hers.

She looked up.

“Don’t hesitate.”

Because if she did… it was going to hurt a whole lot more.

“You want me to pull it right? I got it.” she said but I could hear her breath pick up pace and see her chewing tight on her lips.

I heaved. “I guess I should do this myself,” I said, her eyes widened. “I'm used to this.”

She frowned, “What do you mean by that?”

Shit.

I squared my shoulder, not betraying any emotion that would give out suspicion. “I mean, I always tend to wounds. It's my job as my mom's only so…”

Shit shit.

She straightened up. As she opened her mouth to ask questions obviously. I cut in. I was losing blood and if I kept talking I would spill every drop of my secret.

“Just take this out, Nyx. I'm fucking dying.”

“Okay.” Nyx said, but I could hear her breath pick up pace. Her teeth sank into her lower lip so hard I thought she might draw blood.

I heaved a low breath, pain radiating down my arm like liquid fire. “I should do this myself,” I muttered, already shifting to reach for the knife with my good hand.

Her eyes widened instantly. “No!”
She stepped closer, hovering over me, her small hands trembling as they hovered near the hilt. “I… I can do it. Just… just tell me exactly what to do.”

I studied her for a second the fear flickering in those beautiful eyes, the way her chest rose and fell too fast, the stubborn set of her jaw that refused to back down even when she was terrified.

My little cat. Brave even when she was shaking.

“Alright,” I said, voice low and steady, the kind of calm I used when things were about to get bloody. “Listen to me, baby. Eyes on mine. Don’t look at the knife until I say so.”

She nodded quickly, locking her gaze with mine. Her pupils were blown wide with adrenaline and worry.

“Good girl,” I murmured, the words slipping out darker than I intended. A faint flush crept up her neck despite everything. “Now put one hand on my shoulder right here, firm. Brace me. The other hand wraps around the hilt. Grip it tight. Don’t twist when you pull.”

Her fingers brushed my skin, cool against the heat of my body. She placed her left palm flat against my chest, just below the wound, steadying me. Her right hand closed around the handle of the knife. I could feel her pulse hammering through her fingertips.

“I’m scared, Travis,” she whispered, voice cracking. “What if I hurt you more?”

“You won’t.” I reached up with my good hand and cupped her cheek, thumb stroking slowly over her soft skin.

“Because you’re mine, Nyx. And I trust you with every fucking part of me even the parts that bleed.”

Her breath hitched. Those big eyes shimmered with unshed tears, but she didn’t look away.

“On three,” I said, voice dropping into that rough, commanding tone that always made her listen. “One… two…”
On “three” she pulled.

The blade slid out with a wet, sickening sound. White-hot pain exploded through my shoulder, blinding for a split second. A guttural groan tore from my throat before I could stop it. Blood immediately welled up, hot and fast, soaking my shirt darker.

Nyx gasped, her whole body jerking, but she didn’t let go of me. Her hand stayed pressed hard against the wound like I’d told her, trying to stem the flow even as tears slipped down her cheeks.

“Travis… oh God, there’s so much blood…”

“Shh. Breathe, little cat.” I kept my voice low, controlled, even as fire licked through every nerve. “Press harder. That’s it. You’re doing so good for me.”

She was shaking, but she obeyed, leaning her weight into it. Her forehead dropped against mine, our breaths mingling in the small space between us.

“I’m sorry,” she kept whispering, over and over. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey.” I tilted her chin up with my good hand, forcing her to meet my eyes again.

The pain was brutal, but the way she looked at me raw, terrified, and still so full of love cracked something deep in my chest. “Look at me. This is nothing. I’ve had worse. But you… you’re the only thing that matters right now.”

I leaned in despite the agony and brushed my lips against hers soft, slow, a promise wrapped in blood and adrenaline. She melted into it, a tiny broken sound escaping her as she kissed me back like she was afraid I’d disappear.

When I pulled back, I rested my forehead against hers again.

“I’m going to find the bastard who did this,” I said, voice dark and velvet-rough, the mafia heir in me slipping through the cracks. “I’m going to hunt him down, Nyx. And when I do… I’ll chop his fucking hand off and make him watch while I feed it to the dogs.”

For a second she just stared at me, lips parted.

Then, unexpectedly, a soft, watery chuckle bubbled out of her.

“You’re crazy,” she whispered, still pressing the gauze I’d somehow guided her to grab against my shoulder. “Chop off his hand? Really?”

I smirked through the pain, even as fresh blood seeped between her fingers. “You think I’m joking, baby?”

Her chuckle faded when she saw the dead-serious glint in my eyes. The smile slipped, replaced by something darker understanding, maybe even a flicker of thrill she didn’t want to admit. She swallowed hard.

“Oh… you’re not.”

“No.” I brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, my thumb tracing the shell of it slowly.

It occurred to me. She thinks I've never killed.

“Tell me Nyx,”

She arched her brow.

“Are those the same men who followed you the other day.”

She looked up, as if trying to recall the past few minutes.

“They aren't but they were dressed just like those men.”

“Just clean me up.” I said in a tone that commanded authority.

She worked quickly after that, following every instruction I gave her in that low, guiding tone. She cleaned the wound with careful, gentle strokes, her touch turning reverent.

When she wrapped the bandage around my shoulder, she was so close I could feel the warmth of her body, her breath fanning across my neck with every loop of the gauze.

Her fingers lingered on my skin longer than necessary, tracing the edge of the fresh bandage like she was memorizing the feel of me alive
, breathing, still hers.

When she finally tied it off, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she climbed carefully into my lap, mindful of my injury, straddling my thighs as her arms looped gently around my neck.