I plopped down into my seat, tears still streaming down my face. But I didn't make a sound other than an occasional sniff. Damian looked at me for a long minute, and I could see Nick glancing into the rearview mirror every few seconds, concerned.
Danté's hand was on his wounded side, blood dripping over his fingers. His pants and the seat beneath him was soaked with blood. His eyes looked tired when they met mine. "Good acting back there, it was totally believable. I don't think they'll suspect you now," he said with a smirk. I didn't know if that was a compliment.
I took his hand away from his wound to inspect it.
Danté winced. "What the f*ck are you doing?"
"Checking your wound. You're losing a lot of blood, but the bullet doesn't seem to have hit any vital organs," I said in a hoarse voice. "But you'll need to have it removed and you'll need stitches. I suggest you get to a hospital as soon as possible."
Nick raised his pierced eyebrow, "What are you, a f*ckin' doctor too?" He swatted my hand away. "I'll be fine. I've had worse."
"Hospitals are out of the question," Damian said. "Especially now that the cops will have more eyes out there."
"Fine," I responded. Then I lifted Danté's hand from his wound again, and placed my own hands there, applying pressure. He was about to swat me away again, when I shot him a look that could kill a thousand men. He blinked, taken aback.
"I don't suppose you guys have a first aid kit in here?" I asked them.
"Nope," Nick responded nervously. "But there should be one at the Boss' house, which is where we're going now."
"We need to stop as much of the bleeding as we can NOW. Or he'll bleed out," I told them. My first aid training taught me that this much blood coming out of a person is dangerous. Life threatening, even.
I wracked my brain for a solution. I needed something sanitary to cover his wound, and it had to be absorbent enough to soak up all the blood leaking out of Danté's wound.
"Nick, do you maybe have a sanitary pad?" I asked. I thought that Nick would be a nice enough person to think about the possibility that there would be a girl in his car that could possibly need a pad. It was still a shot in the dark, though. Because what single guy would just have a pad in their car for no reason?
Damian fought to hold in his laughter, while Danté openly cackled. "Yeah, Rider. Do you have a pad? Or have you used it for when Aunt Flow came to visit you this month?"
"You guys aren't funny at all. F*ck you," Nick said, looking irritated at their teasing. "Check the cubby, Damian."
Damian did as he was told, and after digging in there a bit he pulled out a pink square with tiny purple hearts and butterflies printed on it.
Damian looked at Nick in disbelief. "What the actual f*ck? Why do you have a pad in your car?"
"I actually have several pads in my car. Because I'm a gentleman, unlike you sexist f*ckers. And," Nick pointed at Danté, who was pale with blood loss, but still managed to laugh until he had to wipe tears, "you never know when you'll end up in another kind of life-or-death situation like this one."
"Yeah, well, we have a mafia boss bleeding out back here. So, when you two could stop going back-and-forth, I would like that pad now, please." I interjected in a sarcastic tone. I wasn't in the mood for jokes.
But I almost wanted to kiss Nick for making me believe that there were actually men out there that cared. I was so glad that I thought about the possibility that he would have sanitary pads in his car and that he proved me right.
And this was not just any kind of pad, it was of a luxury brand. I confirmed it when I opened the pretty packaging and took out the soft cotton pad, which even had wings, and I could smell a feint baby powder-like aroma. The back had pretty butterfies on it, and was framed by a light swirling pink line.
I was surprised at Nick's attention to these kinds of things.
"Wow, you really know your stuff," I complimented Nick, impressed. I put the cotton side of the pad on Danté's wound.
"I've heard that brand was good, so I thought I might as well get those. I can't let you -- I mean, girls -- use a cheap brand that could cause a f*cking rash or something." Nick blushed as he spoke. Damian just stared at him with a twitching brow, then rolled his eyes.
I chuckled at Nick's cuteness.
Then I got serious again as I looked at Danté. "Take off your shirt."
"Woah! F*ck, Princess. At least buy me dinner first," Danté said with amusement in his sapphire eyes. But I could see that he was in pain.
"I don't have time for your shit witty jokes," I said, putting Danté's hand on the pad that covered his wound. I did it a bit too harshly, because he grunted.
Then I ripped his shirt off.
Damian and Nick's eyes widened.
Danté himself was shocked at my behavior. I mean, I would be too, if I was me from yesterday and someone told me that I was going to rip the shirt off the leader of The Inferno.
I was furious at Danté for so many reasons and I hated his guts. But his life was at risk. And I wasn't going to let anyone die when I could something to save them. Even if they were a cold-blooded murderer.
I ripped his shirt again, so that I had a long piece of cloth to tie around the pad and wound. I did so, jerking the two pieces of cloth tightly into a knot, causing Danté to flinch and grunt in pain.
I didn't apologize.
A few minutes later, a little ways outside of town, we arrived at the gates of a long driveway, stretching over fields and gardens, leading to an enormous modern mansion. Security at the the gate was tight, but they immediately recognized Danté and the other two men, and let the SUV bolt through.
Seconds later, Nick and Damian carried Danté into the mansion through giant glass doors.
They put him on his bed in his big room, decorated in dark colours.
Danté was beaded with sweat, and his breathing was hitched.
Damian ran to get the first aid kit from the kitchen.
"Bring a needle and thread, or better, fish line if possible!" I yelled after him.
I looked at Nick, whose blue hair was wet with blood and sweat. "Could you please get something that will help him with the pain?"
"Would strong whiskey help?" Nick asked. He was ready to run.
I nodded, and he bolted out the room.
Glancing at Danté, I saw him smirking at me.
"What are you looking so smug for?" I asked him, examining my makeshift bandage.
"I just find it funny that you're doing all this to save a man that's eventually going to kill you. Foolish Princess," Danté said in a husky voice.
I loosened the knot I made. "It is funny, actually. But at least I'd rather die than let others die. I'd rather save lives."
"And that's why you'll never be like your father." For a second the mischief left Danté's eyes and he looked at me with seriousness.
I studied his face. What did he mean? Was he talking about my father being a killer again?
Damian and Nick rushed into the room. Nick handed me a bottle of fine strong whiskey that probably cost as much as my salary for a whole year. He had already opened it for me.
I handed the bottle to Danté. "Here, drink this. It'll help with the pain." I helped him sit up so that he could drink the alcohol.
He chugged almost half the bottle, before handing it back to Nick, who took a swig to calm his nerves.
Damian helped me to clean Danté's wound and remove the bullet. Danté braved the pain by balling his fists around his bed covers. After I removed it, he relaxed. I bandaged his wound and he fell asleep soon after.
Damian disappeared, making phone calls to other gang members, and Nick went to get some hot towels.
Danté looked vulnerable as he slept. He almost looked like a little boy, sleeping peacefully without a care in the world.
For a second I wondered what he was like as a little boy, and what happened to turn him into the monster he was today.
Suddenly he lightly grabbed my hand. I blinked, flustered.
He was clearly in deep sleep, and I didn't know if I had to rip my hand from his grasp or just stand there and let him hold it.
"Thank you." Danté said in a sleepy voice.