Then, I scoop her up in my arms, lifting her as gently as I can. She hisses when I first touch her, but something in my eyes must convince her to not fight me.
I carry her back into the house and up to my bedroom before realizing that putting her back in the bed where she was tied up and almost raped probably isn’t the best idea.
“It’s okay,” Liesel says when I start to turn back.
“You sure?”
She nods.
I set her gently on the edge of the bed, and then I run to the bathroom, popping open a panel in the wall where I keep my emergency supplies. I grab the first aid kit. It’s more like a wound healer kit, though. The only thing the kit is good for is dealing with bullet or knife wounds.
I carry the bag out and set it on the bed. Then I take the scotch bottle from her and set it on the nightstand. My eyes don’t leave her now. I can’t stop looking at her.
“Do you want me to call a doctor or do you want—”
“You—I want you to do it.”
I nod.
“Painkillers or more scotch?”
The corner of her mouth lifts at that. “What do you think?”
I smile lightly and grab the bottle of scotch from the nightstand. It’s the most expensive bottle in the house, over $30K. This isn’t exactly the situation I imagined using it on. She’s not going to take the time to savor the thick peat and sherry cask finish.
But right now, I’d give Liesel the world if I could.
I pop the bottle open and take a quick sip myself to steady my nerves before I hand it to her. She takes it, but I realize now it’s a mistake. The bottle is heavy and hard to lift with her injured shoulder.
I hold the base and help lift it to her lips. I keep holding it until she gets enough down to ease her pain.
When I remove the bottle and set it back on the nightstand, she lifts an eyebrow. “I may already be drunk, but that was the best damn scotch I’ve ever tasted.”
I smirk. “Don’t get used to it. That’s a thirty thousand dollar bottle.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “If you’re paying, I could definitely get used to it.”
I shake my head and then move closer to the bed.
“I’m going to sit behind you so I can get the bullet out, okay?”
She nods.
I’ve removed plenty of bullets before—out of my buddies, my coworkers, my employees, but never out of Liesel.
I gather my supplies, trying to think of her like any other person, but as I hold the tweezers up to her back, I hesitate.
“Oh, don’t puss out on me now. If you can’t pull a bullet out of my back, how am I supposed to believe that you’re going to kill me?” Liesel teases.
But I hear the underlying fear. She knows there is a difference between hurting and killing her. When you kill someone, you don’t have to deal with their pain and agony. Pulling this out is going to hurt like a motherfucker. I know, I have scars all over my body to prove it.
“Hold still. Scream, yell, cry if you have to
, just don’t move, understand?”
“Yes,” she hisses.
I wish I could hold her hand as I do this. Not that that really helps, but at least I’d feel like I was doing something for her.