I hug him tighter, and when he flinches, I pull back and study him. “What the fuck?”
He winces and pulls up his T-shirt. I check over his abs, which look delicious but fine, then farther up until I reach his chest. I yank my hand back at the feel of new stitches. “Oh my god!”
“I’m fine, Valentina,” he says, putting up his hands as if to calm me down. “I just got a little stabbed.”
I freeze. “You just got a little stabbed ?” I yell, making air quotes with my fingers. “What the hell, Ardan? Why are you not in the hospital?”
He sighs and runs his hand through his hair. “One of my brothers, his woman was in some shit. He was gone on a run up north and I was keeping an eye on her just in case anything happened. Well, shit fuckin’ happened, and I got stabbed in the chest trying to fix the problem.”
I place my arm on his shoulder and look at where the wound is, now covered up. “Can I get you anything or do anything to help?”
He shakes his head. “Right now I just need you and sleep.”
I swallow and nod my head quickly. “Come on.”
We walk hand in hand to bed, and I slide in first, lifting the blanket up for him. When he gets comfortable and pulls me closer to him, I resist a little because I don’t want to hurt him.
“It’s on the other side, darlin’. You can hug me; it’s fine,” he says softly, his accent sounding more prominent than usual.
“Are you sure you’re okay? What did the doctor say?” I ask him in the darkness. “You did see a doctor, right?” My voice turns high-pitched by the end of the sentence.
He runs his hand over my stomach and says, “The club doc came and saw me, just stitched me up a little, but it’s not too deep, so it’s all right. Just said to keep an eye on it.”
“Does stuff like this happen a lot?” I ask, closing my eyes and trying not to worry about him so much.
“Not all the time,” he says softly, clearing his throat. “But sometimes, yes. If my brothers need me, I have their back, and they have mine if I need them. Sometimes we win; sometimes we lose.” I can hear the smile in his voice when he adds, “But we usually win.”
“You’re insane,” I whisper, puffing out a breath. “Thank God you’re okay, though. I don’t know what I would have done if something happened.” I pause, and then add, “Something more than what you seem to think is a casual stabbing.”
He chuckles, then groans. “Now is not the time to make me laugh.”
I groan back and then kiss his shoulder. “You need to stop getting stabbed, babe.”
“I’ll try my hardest,” he says, sounding tired.
“Good night,” I say, yawning.
“’Night, darlin’.”
I’m half asleep when I hear him say, “I’m not going to let anything happen to me, not now that I have you.”
I must have been dreaming.
“Are you angry at me because I got stabbed? It was hardly my choice, and not like I volunteered for it,” he growls, shaking his head in disbelief. “Stop being angry.”
I purse my lips. “I’m not angry; I’m just worried about you, and yes, maybe it’s coming out as anger. Sorry, but I’ve never really dealt with a situation like this before, you know.”
His voice gentles when he says, “I know, Valentina, I know. And I’m sorry you have to deal with it at all. But it happened, and I’m fine, you have nothing to worry about. Now come and sit next to me before I have to carry you over here, and then I will be in pain.”
“Blackmail,” I grumble, sitting down next to him. “Are you hungry?”
“I’m hungry for you,” he says in a husky tone, running his hand up my bare thigh.
“We’re not having sex,” I repeat for the fourth time.
Ardan scowls and mutters, “I’ll kill that bastard again, the cock block.”
I roll my eyes at his joke. “Very funny. Now do you want to eat? I made that pasta, and I’m going to have some.”
“Okay,” he says, sounding like a surly little boy, which makes me snicker. I serve both of us, then return to the couch with the plates.
“Thanks,” he says, taking his and digging in before I can pick up my fork.
“See, you were hungry,” I say before taking a bite.
“Sex beats food,” he says, grinning. “At least sex with you does.”
“Stop being cute,” I say, chewing and swallowing. “Do you think I don’t want to? Because I do, I just don’t think we should be fucking a few days after you got stabbed in the chest.”
He opens his mouth to speak, but I hold my hand up. “Come on, that’s fair. At least wait until tomorrow or the day after, please.”
“Tomorrow,” he says, his tone demanding no argument. “And this pasta is amazing, thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I say, happy to be appreciated. It’s something I never really experienced in my last relationship. I remember once I made a simple dinner for Darren, some toasted sandwiches, and he threw it on the ground in a fit of rage and said it was shit. It actually makes me feel weak to think about everything I put up with. But then I remind myself I got out, and there’s no point looking back.
“Do you want to go out for dinner tonight? There’s a place I want to take you that does the best ribs in the city.”