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My mind flips like a switch, and both my training from hundreds of trauma calls and a terrorizing fear from this situation take over. I’ve never had to hold a bleeding man who just put himself between me and a bullet.

“Marco…” His name tears out of me, raw and desperate. My hands are already searching for the wound. “Talk to me. Where did it hit?”

“Get down.” He grabs my shoulder, pushing me lower against the wall as another crack rings through the structure. He speaks in a tight, controlled tone, but the clear effort still bleeds through. “They’ll keep shooting, so stay behind me.”

Footsteps echo somewhere below us and then, like a miracle in human form, Nico materializes from between two parked SUVs.

“Car.” Nico throws Marco’s arm over his shoulder. “I’ve got a first aid kit.”

Ten seconds later, we’re in the back of a black SUV, peeling away from the hospital. Marco leans against the upholstery beside me, his jaw set tight. I strip off his jacket to examine the wound. Part of my mind replays the haunting image of him shielding me with his body, while the other half guides my hands off my muscle memory as a trauma doctor.

My stomach drops at the sight of the crimson oozing through his shirt.

“Hold still.”

He grins. “Not planning a dance routine.”

I ignore him and push the fabric aside.

The wound sits high in his shoulder, with a clean entry point and no major arteries or muscles torn. I check his back, and relief knocks air out of my lungs when I spot an exit wound.

I confirm it to him and perhaps myself. “All the way through.”

Then, I press two fingers to the exit wound and guide his hand over it. “Maintain pressure.”

I reach under the seat, where Nico tells me he keeps a first aid kit. I pull the kit out and open it, which is stocked with an impressive level of competence that makes me wonder how often these men get hurt.

Marco watches me with an intensity I’m not used to when I’m stitching someone in a medical setting. “I said this before, and I need to say it again. You were stupid for coming. You should have stayed at the villa.”

His scolding grates as my hands thread the suture needle and tie a knot. But when I look at him, relief washes through me again. My next actions are unplanned and impulsive.

I grab his face with both hands and squeeze his jaw between my palms. Stubble rasps against my skin as I kiss him.

The raw, irrational want hits before I can suppress it. I’ve barely even desired another man since Mason, but Marco fries my brain.

I kiss him desperately, needing proof that the worst-case scenario didn’t actually come to pass.

Marco kisses me back, bringing his good hand to cover both of mine against his jaw. In the front seat, Nico coughs and switches the radio on, and I immediately pull back, my face flushing as TLC’s “Creep” drifts through the speakers. The slow bassline fills the silence in the car, taking away the need for awkward conversation.

Though Marco’s still applying pressure, his shoulder oozes blood. His eyes meet mine, and I read two emotions at once. A quiet fury, undoubtedly over my reckless decision to trail him, and devastation, as if that kiss ruined him as much as it did me.

I rest my forehead against his good shoulder, count to three, and then straighten.

“Nico, can we go somewhere sterile so I can examine his injury, like a hospital you guys work with?”

Nico glances back with a smirk and nods. “We’ve got a medical clinic at the compound.”

Again, given how they live, that shouldn’t surprise me. Regular brushes with death makes a clinic essential. That and maybe a cemetery.

“Take us there.” I steal a glimpse of my patient and realize his eyes are closing in agony. “I need proper equipment.”

“Already on the way, Doc.”

Twenty minutes later, Marco’s phone rings. He fumbles before I help him pull his hand out of his pocket. He gives me a little smile and answers the call on what must be the fourth ring. His face freezes into a blank look as he tries to keep me from deducing the contents of the report he’s receiving.

“How many men?” He pauses for a couple of seconds. “I’ll call back.”

He hangs up and stares out the window for a moment. Then, he turns to me.