“Let me guess, I should see the other guy?” I asked.

“A joke, funny,” he said.

“You didn’t laugh. It couldn’t be that funny.”

“The other guy isn’t laughing. The other five men are not laughing.”

“Five? You were attacked by five men?”

He shrugged.

“Please tell me no one else was hurt.”

“You care more about people you don’t know than your husband, Aurora?”

“I care … about you.” I wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like we’d talked or anything.

He had given me one night, and in the past few days, I’d thought nonstop about it. About him. About us.

Sex wasn’t everything, and it had somehow dragged me into its mystical web of need. This shouldn’t even bother me.

“You do?” he asked.

“Yes, you know I do.” I filled the sink with warm water, grabbing a cloth to wipe away the dried blood. “You got shot.”

“How far does this caring go? I’m curious.”

I glanced into his eyes to find him watching me. “It’s nothing too serious. A lot of people care about each other. It’s not important.”

“I have a feeling you caring about me, Aurora, is important.”

“You’re my husband. I’m supposed to care about you.”

“No, you don’t. We both know your father gave you to me because he didn’t care what happened to you.”

I flinched. I couldn’t help it.

I was very much aware of what my father had done. “What does that make you?” I asked. “Willing to take a daughter who is only second best? He didn’t think you were good enough for his favorite daughter?”

Slavik reached up and touched the scar above my right eyebrow. It was a faint line and had happened so long ago.

“Your family strives on perfection. What happened to cause this little scar on a perfect face?”

“I’m not perfect.”

“Your face is flawless, Aurora. Smooth. Soft. You’re a beautiful woman.”

“I’m not beautiful.”

“Tell me about the scar.”

I’d never told anyone about my scar. No one had cared.

“It’s nothing.”

“I’m your husband.”

“And you’re demanding to know the truth?”

“Yes.”

I sighed. The excess blood had been cleaned off his body, and now I had to deal with the wound caused by the bullet. “Don’t you want to go to the hospital?”

“It’s a graze. I’ve got everything here I need.”

I slapped his hand away and started to rummage through the first aid kit, finding the sterile wipes.

“Tell me,” he said.

I got to work on cleaning his wound. The sight of it alone made me feel sick. If it was me, I’d be screaming and crying out in agony. Even as I cleaned it with the sterile wipe, Slavik didn’t seem to notice the pain.

It was kind of scary how he was able to take so much.

With the area clean, I looked through the kit and he took over, pulling out a packet with a needle, as well as something that looked like thread.