Chapter 4 - The Stitching of Scars
The estate's underground medical bay was state-of-the-art, but the cartel doctor was forty minutes away.
"I can't wait that long," Julian ground out, sitting on the steel examination table. He looked at me, pale and sweating. "Clara. You're a nurse, aren't you? It was in your file."
"I was a pediatric nurse, Julian! Not a trauma surgeon!"
"It's a clean through-and-through," he gritted his teeth. "Just stitch it."
My hands shook, but the adrenaline took over. I sterilized the wound, my fingers brushing against the heavy, faded scars that crisscrossed his chest and back. A violent history carved into his skin.
As I stitched the wound, the proximity between us was overwhelming. I could feel the heat radiating off his body. I could hear his steady breathing.
"Why did you jump in front of me?" I whispered, my eyes focused on the needle. "You're the boss. You're supposed to protect yourself."
"You are keeping my son alive," he said.
"Is that the only reason?" I challenged, finally looking up into his eyes.
The air in the room thickened. Julian lifted his uninjured hand and cupped my jaw. His thumb traced my cheekbone, wiping away a smear of blood that wasn't mine.
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"No," he murmured, his voice a gravelly whisper. "It’s not the only reason. And that terrifies me."
My breath hitched. In that sterile, bloody room, the dynamic between captor and captive completely disintegrated. There was only a man, a woman, and a dangerous, magnetic pull that neither of us could fight.
