Sweet Touch of Venom (Lethal Love #1)

18. Ronan

Chapter 18

Ronan

Fancy a bit of blood

A nita tosses her binoculars into the truck before slipping into the seat, shutting the door, and keeping her hand raised to control the bleeding.

It’s not helping.

I sigh heavily as I nearly tear open the first aid kit. Does she think I care more about getting drops of blood in my car than making sure she’s okay? Am I giving off this impression?

Maybe she is just being considerate, but I don’t know why that makes me upset. All I know is it irks me the wrong way, and I’m even more bothered she hurt herself.

I push the thought away and lightly grip her wrist. It’s dainty and small, which makes me want to handle her like a glass doll. I clicked the light above us to get a brighter view. My stomach twists into knots. I like blood, but coming from her in this way, apparently not. Yes, I just had my knife to her eye, but I wasn’t going to actually stab it.

My body becomes rigid, but I continue assessing the damage. “I’ll need to clear the blood to see how bad it is.” My tone is clipped—my agitation is evident.

“I can do it myself,” she says, attempting to snatch her hand away, but my hold is strong.

“Don’t move before you hurt yourself some more,” I snap.

She scoffs lightly, glancing the other way.

I really am upset. It’s triggering me seeing her this way. It’s bringing back unwanted memories from Carter, from my mother when they left her bleeding to death, and I couldn’t do shit about it.

Now here she is. Bleeding profusely and the difference is I can help her, but it doesn’t take away the anguish in my chest at seeing her hurt. It’s a pain you can’t control, the inner turmoil you get because you can’t take away every element and constituent on this damn planet. But I swear if I could, I would destroy every fucking rock and sedimentary segment, so this doesn’t happen again.

I use my one hand to hold hers upright while I dig into the kit quite roughly as I look for a large swab to wipe away the blood. I pull one out and tear it open with my teeth.

“You’re not going to put on the gloves?”

“What? Do you have any diseases and infections I don’t know about?” I ask as I swab the threaded cloth over the area, avoiding the cut.

“No. I just figured you wouldn’t want blood on you.”

“I'm not concerned about that. My only worry is making sure you’re okay,” I grit, narrowing my eyes to ensure I don’t graze the wound.

She stays quiet after that, and I’m fine with it because it infuriates me that she cares more about other things than herself.

My jaw tightens into a stiff grip as I near the end of the cleaning.

“Why are you so upset?” she asks in an undertone.

I guess she can sense the heat emanating from me, like I’m my own inferno. “Because you really are clumsy. And if you can do this now, then I worry about how you are out in the field.”

She stiffens under my touch, and I don’t need to look at her face to know her lips are probably parted, disbelief written all over it. “I only tripped. It happens. Also, Mr. Inspector Alvarez, if you haven’t noticed, it’s dark out here; these rocks are deadly. And as for the mission, you don’t need to worry about that. I can handle myself.”

“Handle yourself?” My head snaps up, cocking my brow at her. “I can’t have a liability on my hands if you’re tripping and falling to hells nowhere.”

Her brows furrow, and I can spot all three expressions riding on her. Embarrassment, anger, insult—even when she tried to mask it. “Screw you.” She moves her arm, yanking her hand away, but I latch onto it. Not too hard, or that would cause more blood to form and pour out, but enough to keep her hand in the middle, so I can continue patching her up.

“Stop moving your hand. I need to clean it and put a bandage around it.”

“No, screw you,” she repeats with a snarl to her upper lip. “I’ll be glad to fix myself up so I don’t become a hindrance and a futile liability.”

Promise me you’ll take care of her.

My throat clogs with a weight I never asked for. But I’m glad to take it on if that means she’ll be okay.

I grind my teeth as my shoulders slack. My breath draws out slowly as I process the words. I glance back down at her hand. “What I mean is, I need to be focused when I’m on a mission. I would like to be less worried about your stability than the opposite of that.” I jumble my words, and I make no damn sense, but that’s the best I can do. Her arm relaxes in my hand, and I take the opportunity to dab the laceration.

“Just wrap up my hand and don’t ever touch me again,” she says, adjusting her body as if that’ll keep her far from me. “And I don’t need you to worry about me. I’ll be clear-headed. I do my job well and have never fucked up a mission. So, take your worry and gear it towards your own safety. Not mine.”

If only I could.

“Oh, I have no doubt about your ability to conquer a mission.” I am no longer spewing my delivery. I could lash back at her because she’s infuriatingly rude. She talks to me in a way that I would never allow. I’m tempted to grip her throat and fill her mouth with something that’ll keep it shut until we’re back, but I calm myself and continue tending to her hand. The cut appears to be no longer than five inches. And thankfully, it’s not deep and will heal in a matter of days.

After a couple of minutes of silence, I wrap one more time with a swipe of my fingers over the tape to keep it secure.

“Tudo feito. I don’t have a lollipop to give you for being such a champ, but you should be good as new soon. You can go to Dr. Rio to get it re-wrapped.” I glance at her as I stuff the supplies back into the kit. Dr. Rio has been our on campus doctor since the beginning. He was in the Medical field in the Marines until he was discharged. I found him in his home, surrounded in a pool of blood and sliced bodies. After they killed his wife and daughter.

She lowers her hand slowly, avoiding eye contact. “Thank you.”

I zip up the bag, then I toss it to the back. “It’s no problem.”

“I’ll clean up the mess when we get back.” Her tone is lower as she points her hands through all the spots that have her now dried blood.

“Don’t bother.” I flick off the light, start the car, and drive off.

She clears her throat, muttering something in French before flipping out her phone. Which reminds me that I need to catch up on the language, not if she’ll be around throwing threats and talking shit. Mental note: buy a French book.

“What’s the plan once we get back?”

I switch positions, resting my elbow on the window frame. “We gather the team, map out the blueprint for invasion. You, me, Mal and Boone will infiltrate it. Simple.”

She nods, putting her phone back in her jean jacket, and she turns to me. “And if shit goes left?”

I lower my brows. “What do you mean?”

“The mission never goes as planned; sometimes it’s more people than we expect or something else unexpected. It’s imperative we have a Plan B and Z.” She emphasizes pressing down her palm.

“Shit never goes left. In and out and that’s that and if it does, we will have it handled.” I lower my hand on the armrest, turning the corner and driving down Black Forest Road.

“How confident of you,” she mocks, facing forward. “If you say so, Headman .”

I despise when she calls me that. I don’t mind the crew doing it, but with her an irritated bubble settles in my stomach and I don’t like it.

I ignore the twist and continue heading back home. It’s an eerie silence between us, and I can tell she’s still stewing in the earlier altercation with her hand and likely what I said. Truthfully, she’s not a liability—far from it. I’ve always had a problem with thinking before I speak; it’s a thing my mother always told me. And it’s bit me in the ass too many times to count. Many times, I didn’t give a fuck. But tonight, it’s the opposite.

As I ride down the narrow pathway to get to GenCre, I tighten my hand on the wheel, ignoring the clench in my throat.

“About earlier, and what I said. I didn’t mean it.” I swallow it through.

She doesn’t respond, and I wonder if she heard me or not. “It’s fine. I can take it.” I peer over at her as she turns to face me with a faint, dead smirk. “I won’t cower in the corner bawling my eyes out. Your words will never truly affect me to that point. They have no meaning behind them. It packs no punch. No ammo. Nothing,” she says almost robotically, with a slight squint that comes off chilling. “So, take your useless apology and shove it back down your throat.”

Well shit. That’s an even worse response than I would’ve given.

I resist the temptation to grin at her blades she just threw at me. She’s so far gone and emotionally void that it does something unfathomable to my gut. The shift appears on my lips, and I turn to face the road. That shit is appealing to me. Placing a few tingles under my ribs and down to my toes.

Because so am I.

*Tudo feito - All done