Wrong Kind of Love

But he’s too busy dialing a number to listen to me. He presses the phone to his ear, swerving around a car with a busted taillight. “Marney, get someone to kill John Douglas. Bastard didn’t pay, and now he’s really pissed me off.” He tosses the phone to the floorboard as we careen through a red light.

“Bullshit,” he mumbles, pressing a hand to his thigh. There aren’t any street lamps around, but the glow of the dashboard gives just enough light that I can see a dark stain on his jeans. I slam my palm over the interior light switch and startle at the sight of blood covering his hand.

“You got shot?”

“No, I didn’t get shot.” His tone is almost mocking. “Just stabbed…”

“Oh, is that all?” Jesus Christ, I can’t with him. I glance at it again. I can’t tell how bad the cut is, but I'd say pretty bad based on the amount of blood. “Pull over, Jude.”

He shoots me a look of absolute defiance, then shifts the gear.

“You’re a dickhead, and you’re going to bleed out,” I swear to God, he has a screw loose.

“Feel like dying tonight, Tor? Because if I pull over, that just might happen.”

I glance at the speedometer. We’re going one-hundred and ten miles per hour down this empty highway. “You keep going, and you’ll pass out and crash this car.”

“It’s just a cut. I’m not bleeding out, for fuck’s sake.”

“Are you a doctor?”

“Last I checked, you weren’t anymore.”

Oh, this bastard. “You know what, Jude. Fuck you. Fine. Die. I don’t care, but I’m not going with you.” I scramble for the gun that’s now on the floorboard somewhere and point it at him. “Stop the car.”

The bastard smiles. He smiles at me because I’ve pointed a gun at his head. “Well, now the blood flow is definitely going somewhere else,” he says.

“You’re sick.” Seriously, what is wrong with him? And despite my fear of death, why the hell do I like this crazy rush? He speeds onto a ramp, merging onto a busy interstate. Of all the stubborn, reckless assholes in the world… I toss the gun back to the floor, yank my shirt over my head, and wad it up. A stream of curse words falls from his lips when I apply a decent amount of pressure to the wound.

“Stop being a baby,” I say, fighting a smirk.

He grabs my ponytail and yanks me over the console. “It fucking hurts!”

“I think you should consider a career change.”

He swerves into another lane, whizzing past an eighteen-wheeler, evidently not amused with my comment.

Twenty minutes later, he pulls into his drive, parking beside Caleb’s truck. Thank God Caleb’s back. Maybe he can talk some sense into the idiot.

When Jude gets out, he takes my bloodied shirt and chucks it at me. “Put that back on. My brother’s not seeing your tits.”

He’s worried about me covering myself with a bloodied shirt when he’s been stabbed. I shouldn’t find it hot, which is probably exactly why I do. Still, I’m not putting it on. I dump it in the trash while I watch him hobble up the stairs. By the time I get inside, Jude’s on the couch, and Caleb’s running into the room with a medical kit.

Jude glares up at me as I round the couch. “Go put on a shirt, Tor.”

“Really, Jude? That’s what you’re worried about.” I sink to my knees and take the kit from Caleb, swatting Jude’s hand away when I go for his belt. “Let me stitch you up, you fucking idiot.”

Fifteen minutes and a whole lot of bitching later, Jude’s wound is closed, and we’ve moved him to his room and dosed him with some pretty heavy painkillers they had on hand—how and why they have them, I’d rather not know.

“That accent of yours makes my dick hard as shit.” He rubs a hand over the growing bulge in his boxers.

“You just got stabbed, Jude. And you’re drugged up and—”

“And surprise fucking surprise, my cock still works.” His hand clamps over the back of my neck, and he yanks me forward, imprisoning me against his chest. Then his warm lips slam over mine, demanding and unforgiving.

“I couldn’t live without you,” he whispers while his fingers tangle in my hair. Oh yeah, those drugs have really kicked in because this is so not Jude. “Promise me you won’t leave.”

A guilty sense of satisfaction spirals through my chest. I don’t know if he means don’t leave right now, or don’t leave ever, but if he remembers this in the morning, he’s going to be so pissed. “I’m right here. I won’t leave you, Jude.” I stroke his jaw.

“Shit…” he laughs. “I think you made me high…” His lips are on mine again, soft then hard. He kisses me to the point of breathlessness, then pulls away. “You deserve better than this.”