Quit Bein' Ugly (The Southern Gentleman 3)

I wanted to thunk my head against the mat. I would have had she not sounded so utterly confident in her words.

Was this woman serious?

“Why did he shoot me?” Croft asked, his eyes going to something over Karen’s shoulder, then back down.

“Because you pissed him off. Took his girl.” Karen shrugged. “He has a crush on the ugly duckling, too. I’m not sure what in the hell there is about that woman that draws everyone’s attention, but it’s really getting old.”

I rolled my eyes.

To have Alfie’s attention fixed on me wasn’t a good thing.

Not after learning that he was an almost-murderer. Would have been an actual murderer had he been a better shot.

“But that’s neither here nor there…” She squeaked when she was all of a sudden tackled to the ground.

That’s when I saw Schultz make use of the mat that usually was reserved for passing out on. Not tackling women on.

That was also when I saw the gun that she had in her waistband.

“She has a gun, Schultz!” I called out.

Schultz, having no idea where I was, ultimately listened and went up onto his knees. He easily pulled the gun free of her waistband and tossed it in the direction of the wall.

It hit with a resounding thud.

Flint went over to it and kicked it farther into the corner while he watched.

I stayed exactly where I was until Schultz was done and moving off the mat. And even then I stayed because I didn’t want to startle him.

“You can come out now, baby,” Croft said softly.

He stepped onto the mat and held out his hand.

I took it, and he hauled me up as if I weighed nothing.

“Why do you think you’re able to move better than I do when I’m not hurt?” I grumbled under my breath. “I just seriously watched you do thirty minutes on that assault bike, using only your legs. You should be dead right now.”

He chuckled, but then pressed his face into my neck and blew out a deep breath. “That could’ve been so bad.”

I silently concurred. I didn’t agree, though, because I really didn’t want him to know that I’d been deeply scared.

“You have blood running down your neck, sis,” Flint said.

Croft pulled back so fast that I stumbled.

“What?” he asked, concerned.

“I’m okay,” I promised.

“You’ve got blood,” he growled. “That doesn’t mean you’re okay.”

I sighed. “I was cut by the glass. Don’t freak out.”

Except, apparently, I was a little more hurt than I realized, because in the next second, I passed the hell out.

Luckily, I had a big padded mat to break my fall.

CHAPTER 19

Hit me baby one s’more time.

-Text from Carmichael to Croft

CROFT

Seeing her pass out in my arms, I thought, was the scariest thing that had ever happened to me.

“I’m okay!” Carmichael growled.

“I know,” I lied. “But we’re getting you checked out anyway. I think that cut on the back of your neck needs stitches.”

There was no thinking about it. Just looking at it I knew that she did.

“I’m. Fine,” she hissed as she tried to pull away from me.

I gently placed both of my hands on either side of her face to force her to look at me, and she stilled.

“Baby,” I growled. “You have a gash on the back of your neck that’s so big I can see your spine.”

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t that big. But it was freakin’ deep, and I hadn’t actually looked too closely at it once I had the gauze in place. I didn’t want to.

Seeing her skin broken open like that was nauseating. Not because I wasn’t able to handle that kind of thing, but because I couldn’t handle seeing Carmichael hurt.

“Listen, Mikey,” Flint said. “Don’t be a little bitch. Go to the hospital. Get checked out.”

Carmichael rolled her eyes. “I was going to go before you called me a little bitch, thank you very much.”

“Good,” Flint snapped. “Now go.”

“What about class?” she asked.

I caught her by the hand.

“This place will likely be a little busy for a couple of classes. I’ll hold them outside once the morning hits,” he said. “And you don’t have to come tomorrow. I have it handled.”

“Of course, you do,” she grumbled. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”

It was only when we were at the hospital that I realized what the problem really was.

She didn’t like needles.

“How did I not know that you don’t like needles?” I asked as she was poked for the third time as they numbed the area.

She shot me a disgusted look. “I don’t like to advertise.”

“You are so adorable,” I grinned.

She flipped me the bird, and the doctor pressed the needle into her flesh one last time.

“We’ll give that fifteen minutes to work,” the doctor said. “Then I’ll be back.”

When he left, I was left staring at my girl.

“You know,” I said. “I think I changed my mind.”