Who Do You Love - Dean Ambrose

Book 3: Love You To Death Chapter 1: Lock Stock And One Smokin' Husband

Because I had grown up in rural Wisconsin, I had never been caught up in a gunfight before, since the most exciting thing to ever happen in my hometown had been the time a loose cow had wandered into the church and eaten a box of communion wafers.

Gun crime had never been part of my world and so therefore neither had being chased through a high tech building by a gang of corrupt and generally all round bad cops, who had murdered my father, shot at my husband and then forced us into hiding beneath a desk in the lab.

One hell of a Monday it was fast turning into.

Line, oops —

"Here, let me take a look at that."

Following my gaze, Dean lifted his arm up to examine the part that was missing a chunk, or which looked like it was thanks to all the oozy ickiness and the puckered up skin and the red colored lumps. I literally had no clue what those parts were supposed to be. Congealed blood?

He shrugged,

"Nah, I've had a lot worse. I mean it's basically a flesh wound."

"Uh huh," I nodded back at him, but I pulled in his bicep nevertheless and then tried to remember the process I had been talked through while at the same time trying to look suitably scared. Which wasn't too hard. I had looked that way for weeks now.

What the hell was I doing there?

Me.

Lauren Ambrose.

Because oh, had I mentioned the fact we were married? Yep. Nine weeks exactly and god it felt good. Except for the running and the having to dodge bullets part. Not that we'd been given much choice about that.

Pulling a white lab coat from a hook in the cubicle, I tore the bottom hem into a bandage sized strip and then carefully looped it around the gross and bloodied bicep as my husband scrunched his face tight then winced up a storm.

Oooh god he was good. Like Robert De Niro, but messy headed and way cuter. I tied the final knot and then sat back hopefully,

"There, is that better?"

He flexed his arm then nodded,

"Thanks."

"Anytime," I purred back, which brought his blue eyes up to lock onto my brown ones and for a second we shared a tiny moment in the gloom, which had enveloped the building when the lights had been turned off. Well, with the exception of the ginormous big searchlight which was circling out beyond us.

Dean licked his lips.

Ugh —

I loved when he did that, or played with his mouth in any way and especially with that scandalous little lizard tongue of his. Most of the time he barely knew he was doing it, but other times he knew totally.

I leaned towards him.

Take me now.

Instead however there was a clatter from behind us and he reached out and put his hand over my mouth, while using his other one to make a shushing motion, even though it was also holding tight to his gun. It was kind of strange really, because for the most part I was a pacifist and weapons of any kind scared the bejesus out of me. But my husband with a gun was a whole other story.