Easton ran his tongue around his teeth. “Nicked.”
“A bad nick,” she added.
“Hence why we need to go the hospital.”
“No.” She leaned into him. “You have a big first aid kit at home. Please.” She kissed his jaw.
Shit. He was a goner.
“I’ll call Ryder,” Hunt said. “He isn’t working tonight and he’s in the city. He can be here quickly.”
Ryder Morgan was Hunt’s brother, who was a paramedic, and also donated his time at a free clinic in the Tenderloin.
Ryder had also been an Air Force combat medic, not to mention, Vander used him for off-the-books treatments, if any Norcross guys got banged up, and didn’t, or couldn’t, go to the hospital.
Easton nodded. “Thanks.”
Hunt made the call. Several police cruisers screeched to a halt. Hunt directed the uniforms to deal with crowd and traffic control.
“Guys over there likely belong to Rhoda Pierce.” Vander nodded at the kneeling men. “And Hugo Durant was here.”
“Antoine Armand’s nasty piece of work cousin?” Hunt asked.
Harlow shuddered. “He’s the one who shot me. He tried to shoot Easton.”
A muscle ticked in Hunt’s jaw. “Now I need to know what the fuck is going on.”
“Talk to Vander,” Easton said. “I need to take care of Harlow.” He lifted her and carried her toward a Norcross SUV. Saxon appeared and tossed a set of keys at Easton.
“Scarlett?” Harlow called out.
“She’s safe,” Saxon said. “How about you worry about you right now, sweetheart?”
She nodded at Saxon and then turned her head, her gaze catching on the ruined Aston. “Oh, Easton, your car.”
“It’s just a car.”
“A really expensive car.”
He opened the passenger door of the X6 and set her down.
“I can replace it.” He cupped her cheek. Damn, his hand was a bit unsteady. “I can’t replace you.”
“I’m okay, Easton.”
“I hope you’ve learned your lesson about attacking men with guns.”
Her gaze met his, strong and steady. “I’d do it again.”
He felt those words deep in his gut. “Harlow—”
“I heard someone got hit and needs patching up,” a deep, gritty voice said.
Easton glanced back over his shoulder and then heard Harlow gasp.
The man standing there looked like a darker, edgier version of Hunt. He had a long, rangy body, a lot of scruff across his hard jaw, and light-brown hair in need of a cut. He had the same green eyes as his brother. He was in black jeans, with a tight, black Henley, and a battered, tan-leather jacket. He was holding a large, black bag in one hand.
“I got shot,” Harlow said.
The newcomer raised a brow.
“Nicked,” Easton said.
“It’s bleeding, a lot,” Harlow said. “And it hurts, a lot.”
The man’s lips twitched. “You find yourself a little wildcat, Norcross?”
“Yep,” Easton replied.
Harlow sniffed. “My name is Harlow.”
“And I’m Morgan. Ryder Morgan.” Ryder set the bag down, and Easton stepped aside to let him treat Harlow.
“Wow, you look like Hunt, but different.” She cocked her head. “You look like Hunt decided to go undercover, or turned to the other side of the law.”
Ryder’s lips twitched. “You are a sassy one.”
Easton crossed his arms. “She has no problem telling people what she thinks. Even her boss.”
Ryder raised a dark brow. “You work for him?”
“Temporarily.”
“I want to know, does he ever sleep?”
Her cheeks pinkened. “Yes.”
Ryder laughed. “Well, Harlow, I can assure you that I pay all my taxes, and I’m a law-abiding citizen.”
Easton snorted.
Ryder grinned and snapped on some gloves. “Hey, skirting around in the gray doesn’t make me a criminal.” He reached for Harlow’s arm. “Let’s see what we’ve got.” He looked at her shoulder, pulling her shirt down to bare her bicep. “Nick.”
Harlow rolled her eyes.
“It’s pretty bad as far as nicks go.” Ryder was still grinning. “It might need a couple of stitches.”
He started cleaning the wound and Harlow winced. Easton grabbed her hand.
“Didn’t you duck fast enough, Harlow?” Ryder asked.
“She didn’t duck,” Easton said. “She ran at the guy with the gun.”
Ryder shook his head, putting some ointment on the crease. “Why would you do something that stupid?”
“He was going to shoot Easton.”
Ryder’s hands stilled. “You jumped a gunman to protect Norcross? You do know he’s a former Ranger, right?”
“I don’t care if he’s Iron Man. He was in danger and hurt. That’s all I saw.”
Shit. Easton’s throat was tight. He squeezed her hand and their gazes met.
“Goner,” Ryder murmured under his breath. “Okay, Harlow. I’m going to numb the area, then give you a few stitches. I promise you my best work.”
She dragged in a deep breath. “Okay.” She squeezed Easton’s fingers harder. “Don’t let go.”
“Never.”
Chapter Eighteen
Easton was quiet as they drove the Norcross SUV back to his place. She felt a weird vibe radiating off him.
She now had a bandage on her arm and was the proud owner of two stitches.
“You okay?” she asked.
He didn’t look her way, just gave one curt nod. Ryder had given him a quick once-over as well, and proclaimed him fine, with the exception of a few small cuts on his forehead. He’d cleaned up a little, but there were still blood smears on his temple. That dark vibe seemed to swirl around him, getting denser.
Once he parked inside his garage, Harlow felt some of the tension drain out of her. She felt safe here. Easton was still quiet as they headed up in the elevator.
He turned on the lights and they walked into the kitchen. Harlow dumped her bag on the island. Her bloodstained coat was long gone, and she looked down at her white shirt. It was ruined. It looked like something from a horror movie set.
She turned, and saw Easton just standing there, staring at her.
“Easton?”
He pressed a hand to the back of his neck. “I said I’d keep you safe, and you got shot.”
“Nicked. You know I’m okay.”
“We were in a high-speed car chase, you got shot—”
“None of which is your fault.” It was like a light bulb going off in her head. All this dark brooding was guilt. “It’s Antoine’s and Rhoda’s fault, with a side helping of blame for my father.”
She strode to Easton. He stared at the blood on her shirt.
“I need to send you away,” he said. “Somewhere safe.”
“No. I’m not leaving. I’m not the main target here. Really, I almost got you killed.”
“What?” His brows drew together.
“I dragged you into this. Your car is wrecked. You’ve been shot at, you had to shoot at people. You should run, Easton. Far and fast.”