The Pink Pistol [Girlxgirl]

Chapter 22

(Daisy's POV)

"Is this an interrogation, Detective Wolfe?"

The question had been posed in a playful manner, but Riley's face was set hard like stone. Carefully, she pulled at the suture woven into the very lip of my wound, drawing the outermost edge of the broken flesh together. I couldn't help but notice that her movements were almost methodically slow. Painfully slow. She intended to drag this whole thing out for as long as she could, then. After all, she was right. I couldn't exactly go anywhere while she was performing minor surgery on me.

"You must have known this was coming," Riley guessed.

More and more, she was starting to sound like the officer of the law she once was. It must have been like slipping into a second skin for her: the commanding voice, the abrasive attitude, even the way the muscles in her jaw clenched when she looked at me. All we were missing was a one-way mirror and a pair of handcuffs.

"I knew," I said. "I just didn't expect you to corner me on the operating table, so to speak. I admire the tactic."

"You admire the tactic," Riley paraphrased under her breath. The shake of her head was indistinct. "Something you might have done if the tables were turned?"

"Perhaps," I shrugged my shoulders nonchalantly, side eyeing Riley as I spoke. "Does that bother you?"

Riley's hands stilled. She took a break from stitching me up to lean back in her seat and study my face, like she was trying to read something written in a language she didn't understand. I cocked a querying eyebrow, prompting her to voice aloud what was running through her mind while she sat there analysing me.

"You really have the fucking gall to act smug with me right now?" Riley chided, catching me off guard with her reflexively irate reaction. "Really? After everything?"

My mouth opened. I had every intention of firing back, of jumping to my own defence and reminding Riley that "everything" included me saving her life several times, and a little gratitude might even be appreciated. Nevertheless, before a single syllable could find its way onto my tongue, I stopped myself. I abruptly closed my mouth. Riley, I realised, was right. I might have come to her rescue a couple of times but we both were all too aware that she wouldn't have even needed rescuing had she never met me. Now here she was in the middle of nowhere, marching headfirst into mortal peril simply because Isabella and I required it of her. For all intents and purposes, Riley was my hostage, so what right did I have to be facetious?

"You're right," I conceded. "My bad."

Riley's rigid features faltered. Had she been anticipating a fight? Had she wanted one? It wouldn't bode well for either of us if all Riley wanted to take away from this was a reason to hate me; she would find a thousand, and Riley was not the kind of person who dealt with anger or resentment in a healthy manner. I hoped she was telling the truth when she told me she still cared about me, but even if she was, that seemed liable to change when she uncovered more about me than she ever wanted to learn. When she found out about all the atrocities my hands had committed and all the evils I had remorselessly enacted, would our temperamental truce succumb to a bitter demise?

"What exactly do you want to know, Riley?" I asked warily.

She worried her bottom lip between her teeth and considered her answer. For a minute there I thought maybe she had changed her mind and realised that no matter how I chose to respond to her questions, it wouldn't change what I had done or who she perceived me to be. Except she was just as trapped by her decision to mend my wounds as I was. Even if she had wanted to run, there was a needle in her hand and a deep red hole in my side that demanded her to sit tight and finish what she had started. Which is what she did.