Darkest Sins (Perfectly Imperfect #9)

“Then why?”

“Because I almost fainted. And because your cut looks even worse after my ‘help.’”

He looks down at his left arm. The uneven line of raw, puckered flesh that I clumsily stitched together is an ugly, screaming-red sight. “Looks fine to me.”

I shake my head. “It’s sepsis waiting to happen.”

“Antibiotics will take care of that, cub.”

My heart leaps, as it does every time he calls me by that nickname. No one has ever called me anything but Nera before. “Why do you call me tiger cub?”

“Because it fits you.” He reaches out and brushes the tip of his finger along the back of my hand. “Will you help me again, if I come?”

I bite my lower lip, leaning slightly forward. It might be crazy and stupid, but I would like to see him again. Soon. “Yes.”

“Why? You don’t know me. Why did you help me before?”

“I couldn’t let you bleed out. Do nothing. It’s not who I am.”

“Some people may deserve to bleed to death.”

“Do you?” I ask.

The touch on my hand disappears, and for a few moments, he simply watches me. I glance down at his lips, where a few red stains mar the corner of his mouth. Probably from when he kissed my fingers.

“Yes,” he rasps.

“No one deserves to die in such a way.”

“You’re very naive if you believe that.”

“Maybe.” I take a clean piece of gauze from the cart and reach out to wipe the blood off his lips. His gaze stays focused on my hand so intently, as if he’s expecting a punch from a flying fist. I pause just an inch away from his mouth. “Um . . . You have blood on your face. I’m just going to . . .”

I slowly press the gauze to his lower lip, then move it to the corner of his mouth, letting the material soak in the red. His eyes hold mine, like two magnets, not allowing me to look away.

“I told my sister that I took a stranger to my place of work and extracted a bullet from his hip,” I whisper. “She called me crazy because you could have been a serial killer or something.”

“Serial killers kill their victims to satisfy their inner urge to inflict pain. I don’t have such compulsions. But your sister was right about the first part.”

“She also told me to turn and run if I ever see you again.”

“Wise advice. She must have been the one wearing a long brown dress at the place where you went to sing.”

I blink. Karaoke night, three months ago. He was there? Self-preservation kicks in, and I take a step back.

“I guess I shouldn’t have said that.” He cocks his head to the side. “Don’t be afraid of me.”

“You just told me you’ve been stalking me. Isn’t that a good reason to be scared?”

“I wouldn’t call it stalking. Your safety is important to me, so I drop by from time to time.”

“From time to time?”

“Once or twice a month. Just to make sure you’re okay.” He shrugs.

“Why?”

“You helped me. I’m reciprocating.”