Death of Me | Now Published to Kindle and Paperback!

Looking Forward

Chapter Forty-Two: Looking Forward

The overhead light was blinding when I could open my eyes.

Cursing the pain in my head, I tried to sit up only to get pushed back down. Startled, I whipped my head up and locked eyes with Vincent. Relief flooded his face as his hand constricted around mine.

"Thank fuck," he murmured, leaning forward to rest his forehead against mine.

My brow furrowed. "Well hello to you too," I said.

"Do you even know what happened?' he asked, pulling back from me to sit down. It was only then that I recognized the walls of his office. Though, now that I looked around, I realized it was trashed. Everything that normally sat on his desk was in a heap on the floor as if someone had shoved it there. Considering I was laying on the desk, there was a high possibility that was exactly what had happened. "Juliette?" he called, reminding me he was waiting for an answer.

"No, I don't. I just remember shoving you out of Sebastian's line of fire."

"And putting yourself right into it," he snapped. My eyebrows rose at his tone. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "You took the bullet he had aimed at me."

As if his words were an incantation, pain blossomed outward from my shoulder. Wincing, I looked to the source of the offense. My stomach rolled at the sight of the blood-soaked bandage, not to mention the bruising creeping out from beneath it. Memories of how I had felt when I saw a similar bandage on Vincent's stomach made me even more queasy. Raising my opposite hand, I prodded at the dressing and flinched at the immediate throb of pain.

Okay, so moving was probably going to be difficult. Raising my arm had taken way more energy than I was expecting. And training was definitely out of the question for a while.

"Brandon dug the bullet out and stitched you up," Vincent said, calling my attention back to him. "It's not the prettiest and it'll scar, but at least it will heal. And you won't die." He shook his head before walking around the desk to the chair that sat in the far corner. There was a flannel draped over it that I could never in a million years picture Vincent wearing. He picked it up and tossed it to me.

Raising my arms to catch it on reflex, I cried out when my shoulder protested against the sudden movement. Before I even had a chance to drop my arms back to the desk, Vincent was there. His hands hovered around me as if he didn't know what to do with them.

Which would be a first.

"I'm fine," I ground out.

I could almost feel him roll his eyes at me. "Let's just get you dressed."

Glancing down, I blushed to find I was only in my bra. Locating the shreds of my own shirt on the floor, I knew that Brandon must have had to cut it off me in order to get to the bullet wound. Sighing, I allowed Vincent to help me ease into a sitting position. His fingers were gentle as they drew the fabric up and over my shoulders. He traced the opening of the shirt to the first button, before making sure every single one was fastened. When he was done, he took me by the biceps and turned me to face him. His eyes were an even darker green than normal as they searched my face. The stubble adorning his sharp jawline was thicker than I had ever seen it.

"Something wrong?" I asked, raising my good arm to cup his cheek. Even that was a strain.

"You mean besides you getting yourself shot? Not at all," he replied, leaning into my touch.

"If I wouldn't have been there, it would have been you. You would have broken your promise." He raised his brows. "You promised to come back to me."