“Brody,” he said as he yanked off his T-shirt, pulling it right over his head.
“This might hurt,” he warned and used the T-shirt to apply renewed pressure to my arm.
He had tattoos. A lot of them. In fact, his completely shredded body was covered in them. They ran over his chest, down the impressive wall of abdominals, and across his shoulders. He had a vine that wrapped all the way down one of his arms and ended just above his wrist.
It was sexy. Probably the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. So sexy that it distracted me from the bleeding gunshot wound in my arm.
He grunted, applying more pressure, and I hissed a breath between my teeth. Sweat broke out over my forehead and my body resumed shaking.
“I’m going to get you outside¸ to the ambulance,” Brody said as I watched the way the tattoos rippled when his muscles shifted.
My vision dimmed for a second, his figure swimming before my eyes. His fingers wrapped around the underside of my chin and he held my face, staring down. “Taylor, stay with me. Look at me.”
“That won’t be very hard,” I murmured.
He smiled.
His body was shoved from behind and he jerked forward, slamming his hands into the floor on either side of me, using himself as some sort of defense for my injured form. Brody’s entire body was like a solid piece of granite caging me in, protecting me.
“Look at this,” one of the men called out.
Brody swore softly and I glanced up, meeting his eyes. “Call me Slater,” he whispered.
Didn’t he say his name was Brody?
Several of the men (including the one who shot me) leaned over us, staring down intently at something.
“Where’d you get that tattoo?” one of the men demanded.
The muscle in Brody’s jaw jumped and a sort of coldness cloaked his body. He didn’t give me another look when he pushed up and around to face the question. “I earned it.”
“If you earned it, then why haven’t we seen you around here before?”
“Because I earned it down the coast, not here,” Brody replied.
What the hell were they talking about? I was lying here bleeding, these men were trying to steal millions, and here they were taking a timeout to discuss a tattoo?
Maybe blood loss was making me delirious. Or maybe these men were world-class idiots.
“Where?” demanded the man with a gun.
“I ran with Pike’s crew. Before he got busted.”
“You ran with Pike?” The man seemed skeptical.
“Indirectly. I was part of his crew in supply.”
“Hell-O,” I said, “I’m bleeding over here.”
“Hang on, Tay,” Brody said over his shoulder.
“You know her?” the man demanded.
“Yeah,” Brody said tersely.
“Oh shit!” the gunman said. “Did I shoot your girl?”
“Yeah, and I gotta tell you, I’m pretty pissed off about it,” said Brody… or Slater (I had no idea), folding his arms over his chest. It stretched out the skin across his wide back and I was able to see the tattoo that everyone was so worked up about.
It was circular, probably the size of my palm. It was all in black ink with an intricate filigree pattern making up the entire circle. In the center was something red, but I couldn’t make out what it was.
“Shit,” the guy swore, snapping my attention away from the design.
Oh, what? Suddenly he was having an attack of conscience now that I was Brody’s girl.
Brody’s girl. That had a nice ring to it.
Yep. I was definitely delirious.
“We got company!” yelled the guy manning the entrance to the bank. I breathed a sigh of relief. I needed a really big Band-Aid, and I was sure the police had one.
“Send the hostages out,” Brody said tersely.
“You crazy?” the man yelled. “The hostages are the only thing keeping them out right now.”
“If you send them all fleeing from the building, it will create a few minutes of chaos and will give your team time to slip out the backdoor.” Brody reasoned.
Why was he letting them get away?
“You giving us a hand even after I shot your girl?”
“We’re brothers. They don’t give these tats to anyone.”
The man grunted. “Look, man, I’m sorry I shot your girl.”
“Shit happens.”
Shit. Happens. Really? That’s what he had to say about me being shot? Shit happens? If I could’ve, I would totally kick him. Then stomp on his foot.
“Business has been slow as shit since the busts,” the guy went on.
What the hell was this, an interview?
“Yep.” Brody agreed, glancing at me, his eyes flocking over my arm and torso.
“I’m going to make it up to you. The bullet in your girl, the suggestion you gave us. We’ll cut you in. A couple mil sure will help with the dry spell.”
“That’s decent,” Brody said, offering a fist so they could bang them together.
Men were idiots.
“Everybody out!” ordered the man with the gun. “Run before I change my mind.”
There was a momentary lapse of silence when I swear no one breathed. It was like people were trying to decide if they should listen or if it was a trick.
“I said out!” he roared.
People burst into action, racing across the floors. I couldn’t see them, but I sure could hear them. Brandy ran by without so much as a glance at me.
I saved her life, yet she was willing to let me lie here and bleed to death. There went her promotion.
I certainly wasn’t going die here, so I struggled to sit up, breath wheezing out of my lungs as I struggled into an upright position. I looked down and noted that there was red everywhere. Large dark puddles that saturated my clothes and splattered across the tile like this was some kind of bad horror movie.
The shirt Brody had on my wound started to slip and I reached over to apply pressure and keep it in place. I couldn’t stop the whimper that tore out of me.
Brody was there instantly, scooping me up into his arms and cradling me against his bare chest.
As the hostages ran out, screaming and shouting, the men with the duffle bags raced toward the emergency exit at the back. My cheek fell against Brody’s chest and he turned to carry me to safety.
“Hey, you coming?” someone yelled behind us.
“I’m taking her to the medics.” Brody said.
The sound of a cocking gun drew him up short. He turned. “You got a problem?” he half growled.