Arranged

Chapter Sixty One

01/02/2018

They walked upstairs to the meeting rooms, Ryder still supporting a lot of her weight as her legs were shaky.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Ryder asked her before the others walked into the room.

She knew he saw her shaking, but it was just her body reacting from what had just happened. The only reason she was okay was because she needed to attend this meeting and make a plan to stop the rogues.

"This is the last time I'm saying I'm okay," she firmly told him.

He nodded, and she took this chance to try lifting his shirt again.

"Don't," he stopped her again.

"Let me see," she demanded, making him let go so she could lift it up.

She tried to keep an emotionless expression as she looked at all of the blood surrounding a large gash. It was pretty deep, and also really big. It started just below his chest and reached down to his hip.

Without thinking, she reached out and gently placed her hand over his wound.

"Kristin what are you—" Ryder stopped talking suddenly, and gave her a weird look.

She realized what she was doing and pulled her hand away, it was now covered in his blood.

"Sorry," she said, confused, looking at her hand. She hadn't meant to do that. For some reason she had felt the need to touch his wound.

"Come here," he brought her down the hall to the nearest bathroom, still staring at her in a weird way.

She walked over to the sink and washed her hands, watching the red blood swirl down the drain.

She then searched the cabinets for a cloth and ran it under the water, feeling the need to clean up Ryder's wounds.

"Can I..." she held up the cloth, asking Ryder for permission so she wouldn't catch him off guard again.

He nodded, watching her with furrowed brows as she gently lifted his shirt again and brought the cloth to his side.

She tried being gentle as she patted the blood, trying to soak up as much as she could. She finally felt like she could breathe, despite her hands getting covered in Ryder's blood again. She knew it was because she didn't feel helpless in this moment. She felt like she was finally helping with something.

"Just take this off," she told him, pulling on his shirt. It was stained in blood and too dirty for him to be wearing with an injury.

He smirked at her, lifting it over his head, and she was momentarily distracted by his flexing muscles.

"This doesn't hurt?" she asked him, surprised that he wasn't wincing from her touching his gash.

She looked up when he remained silent, finding him still watching her face.

He shook his head, looking into her eyes with an expression she hadn't seen before.

She wasn't sure, but it looked like admiration and fascination mixed together? Apparently no one had cleaned his wounds before, since he was acting like this was crazy.