KICK ASS: A Boxed Set by Julie Leto

picture. She was mad—and there was no negotiating with her when she was pissed off.
    “You don’t really want to go there with me, Marisela,” Frankie warned, “Not now.”
    She wavered, despite her balanced stance. If the rusty stain on her jacket was a true indication, she’d lost a lot of blood. And seeing him again likely hadn’t helped. Goddammit. Maybe if she passed out, he could dress her wound without dealing with any lip.
    “I want to know what the hell is going on,” she insisted.
    “I’m trying to stop your bleeding. Two minutes ago, I was hoping to take care of you before you fainted, but now I’m thinking a little unconsciousness would be a good thing.”
    “Why? So you can cop a feel?”
    At this, Frankie laughed. “Yeah, Marisela. That’s it. Entertain yourself with that thought if the fantasy makes you feel important, but verdad , I’ve never stayed in such a nice room before. I’d rather you not bleed all over my carpet.”
    Furious, she took a step forward and nearly lost her footing. He caught her and helped her to the corner of the bed. She shook her head, but he knew the action wouldn’t clear the fog from her brain as much as a good wound dressing and a belt of tequila.
    “Why were you meeting me? Where is Blake?” she managed, forcing out the words while she stretched and gingerly unfolded herself out of her jacket.
    “Blake’s around. I told him I wanted to talk to you first. Before you boarded and heard him out.”
    “He told me not to talk to you.”
    “Yeah, well, after his goons picked me up, there was a change in plans.”
    She winced and hissed while he wiped away the blood, but otherwise contained her agony. He examined the wound as she balled the denim in her lap. It wasn’t the worst gunshot he’d ever seen, but pain was pain. The bullet had torn a gulley through her skin, luckily leaving the muscle and bone unscathed. Too wide to stitch, she’d just earned herself another scar. Still, she’d recover relatively quickly, a good thing in their current circumstances.
    He fished a square of cotton and gauze out of the kit, then doused the sterile pad with antiseptic.
    “This might sting.”
    “It already stings.”
    He applied the sopping square to her arm. If not for the fact that he held her down with his other hand, she would have leaped right off the bed.
    “Shit, Frankie!”
    “I warned you.”
    “I ain’t never been shot before.”
    “All those years with las Reinas and this is your first bullet?”
    “It’s an experience I tried to avoid.”
    “Smart thinking,” he quipped.
    “You think? Then why’d you get me into this?”
    Her voice was barely a whisper, but her question punched through his chest and wrapped cold fingers around his heart. Did he really want to drag Marisela back into such a dangerous life? Did he have a choice?
    No. Not any longer. From the minute she stepped foot on the deck of Blake’s boat, the choice became entirely hers. “You’re right for the job.”
    “Tell me more about this kid I’m supposed to rescue.”
    He shrugged. “Not my place. Blake will fill you in on the details.”
    “Can you at least tell me why you thought I was so right for this work that I’ve had to face down killers for the second time since Thursday? How do you know Blake anyway?”
    “From prison.”
    “Blake was in prison?”
    He didn’t like the way her voice sounded so disbelieving. “Blake and Titan contract with the DEA, FBI, and CIA. They’re a private investigation firm, but they’re also independent contractors, so to speak.”
    “Mercenaries?”
    “Nothing so skanky. They contract out their agents to do some of the dirty work the government can’t. I was working a sting for the DEA when Titan sent operatives into the prison. They were my backup. I met Blake when he came in to check on his men.”
    Frankie gingerly lifted the saturated gauze and tossed it into a nearby garbage can. He applied a new strip, then directed her free