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Tempers Flair
Jase
“What were you thinking, getting shot?” Ransom yells at me as I attempt to staunch my bleeding shoulder.
I glare at him for daring to use such an indignant tone with me, acting as if I purposefully got shot to inconvenience him. “Watch it, Hound,” I snarl at him, already enraged about being shot in the first damn place. Then I look at him and see the large patch on his eye. I searched him for other wounds, but I couldn’t tell underneath the long-sleeved black shirt, bulletproof vest, and black cargo pants with combat boots on his feet if he was injured anywhere else. I touch his face with a bloody hand over the patch.
“You can give a thorough inspection later, Daddy. Right now, we need to get out of here,” he says with a suggestive wink, causing my dick to tent my black jeans.
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