Chapter 61

Homme backed up a step, his hands raised. “I’m sorry. I brought the stretcher, and Femme wants M. Vincent in the infirmary now.”

“All right.” I slipped my gun back into its ankle holster and dried suddenly damp palms on my thighs. The wound on Mark’s arm seemed to have stopped bleeding, but the makeshift bandage on his thigh had soaked through with blood. “I’ll take his legs, you take his upper body. Be careful of his arm.”

Homme collapsed the stretcher until it was a few inches above the floor and angled it so it was parallel to Mark. He eased his surprisingly large hands under Mark’s torso.

“Whenever you’re ready, M. Mann.”

I put too much pressure on Mark’s leg, and he moaned. I flinched and swore. “I’m sorry, babe,” I murmured. “Ready, Homme?”

“Ready.”