Chapter 13
“Ouch,” Brian hissed, wincing when Makayla pressed the cloth with iodine against the deep cut on his arm.
“Sorry,” she muttered, frowning while she cleaned the wound.
Her gaze moved over his forearm. It was a lot more muscular than she remembered. In fact, his whole body was more solid than she recalled, an observation that was making her task more than a little distracting.
He had been lucky. The bullet had cut a slice through his upper arm about an inch from his shoulder. If the bullet had been a half-inch further to the right, it would have torn through flesh and muscle; possibly shattering the bone of his upper arm, or even worse, it could have pierced his chest.
She carefully cleaned the wound, making sure there were no fibers from his shirt in the abrasion before pull
