Chapter 44 Chapter 44 "There won't be a next time." ...

131.

I cried my heart out in Gin's arms, and my tears soaked his windbreaker.

It hurts so much, it really hurts. The greatest pain I have ever felt in my life was when Gin threw me on the training ground. But there is a difference between bleeding and not bleeding!

Moreover, I really believed that Gin was not just showing mercy and letting the water go, but was completely letting go of the Atlantic Ocean.

At least no matter how horrible my injuries looked at the time, at least there was no bleeding and no broken bones, and at least Gin didn't shoot me.

But this weakness that he indulged in Gin did not last long.

Gin's body was always tense, and even when he was hugging me, his attention was never really diverted from his surroundings.

The night wind carried the stench of gunpowder and blood, and in the distance, I could hear the faint sound of a commotion. I could feel his chest vibrating as he let out a low, breathless sound, like a sigh, or perhaps a silent command.

He paused, and the hand that was pressing on the top of my head moved down slightly. Maybe it was my illusion, but he patted the back of my head with a bit of reluctance (?), and then let go.

He opened the car door with one hand, then leaned over, put a strong arm through my knees, and easily picked me up sideways. His movements were not very gentle, but extremely steady. He carefully avoided my injured left shoulder and placed me in the spacious back seat of the car.

After he used the medical kit in the car to stop my bleeding temporarily, he showed signs of wanting to leave.

I subconsciously wanted to reach out and grab his windbreaker.

He had already stood up, his long silver hair brushing against my cheek.

His gaze passed me and turned to Vermouth outside the car. His dark green pupils were as sharp as an eagle in the dim light.

Vermouth had been standing silently by, her hands pressed tightly against her side. Her face was pale from blood loss, but her eyes, which had always been full of affection and charm, were now as calm as water. She met Gin's gaze and nodded with a solemn and affirmative expression.

She opened the car door and got in the driver's seat. As she adjusted the rearview mirror, her eyes fell on me, leaning against the car window, tearfully trying to find Gin.

"Okay, Yingzi," she said. Her voice was devoid of the usual lazy, frivolous teasing, and she no longer called me "cutie." Instead, she spoke in a tone she hadn't used before, almost serious. "We need to get to a safe place first. Your wound needs immediate attention."

Before she finished her words, she had already stepped on the accelerator. The engine roared and the car shot out like an arrow.

I was like an abandoned little animal, pressed against the cold car window, looking out in vain.

But outside the car, there was only a blurry street scene rapidly receding and the thick night. Gin's figure had long disappeared. He left cleanly and neatly, without even looking back, just as quickly as he put me in the car.

It was as if the embrace that briefly allowed me to rely on was just an illusion caused by severe pain.

...Look.

Gin is indeed gin.

He won't stop for anyone.

There will be no such emotion as heartache.

132.

I just said no!!!

I buried my head in Vermouth's shoulder and cried like a pig being slaughtered.

How can Gin still have the nerve to complain about my poor bandaging skills?

Is his technique good???

133.

Fortunately, my body, which has always valued life, was not only alert to impending danger, but also reacted quickly when I was about to die, without even having to think.

The angle at which I blocked Vermouth was very clever, and the bullet neither hurt Vermouth nor did it hurt my shoulder.

Simply put, the bullet did not remain in the body and no surgery was required.

When it comes to injuries like gunshot wounds, most hospitals or street clinics will call the police. So, generally, when injured, members of the organization tend to treat themselves, and if that's not possible, they'll go to a hospital or clinic, which, of course, is usually affiliated with the Black Organization. This is partly to avoid attracting police attention, and partly because, naturally, in vulnerable situations like injuries, members tend to trust their own people more.

This is also the reason why the first course for members of the Black Organization, whether they were born in the organization or joined later, is medical class.

My medical class is notoriously bad. After Gin was bandaged by me once, he harshly commented that I might want to kill him more than the enemy. Later, when he found out that my bandaging skills were equal to everyone and I was even more cautious with him, he sent me back to retake the course. When he found out that retaking the course was ineffective, he completely deprived me of the opportunity to bandage him.

I've digressed. The point this time is that when Vermouth helped me out of the car, she checked my injuries first. After confirming that they were just scratches, she breathed a sigh of relief, and so did I.

That’s great, no need for surgery to remove the bullet!

Vermouth helped me sit down on the sofa and was about to continue to carefully examine the injury on my shoulder when footsteps were heard at the entrance.

I don't know how they did it, but Gin and Vodka appeared at the door of the living room almost at the same time.

Gin's tall figure almost blocked the entire door frame. A few strands of his long silver-white hair fell on his cold and hard cheeks. His dark green pupils were like the deepest cold pool. The first time he entered the door, he accurately locked onto me and the glaring dark red on my shoulder.

As Gin strode over, he didn't even look at Vermouth. In her slightly surprised look, he took the medicine box from her very naturally.

"Brother?" Vodka followed behind him, standing there a little at a loss.

Gin ignored me and knelt on one knee in front of me. This posture forced him to look up at me slightly, but the oppressive feeling in his eyes did not diminish at all.

He opened the medicine box skillfully and quickly, and the metal instruments made a slight clinking sound as he took out the disinfectant, cotton swabs and gauze.

"Bear with it." His voice was low and hoarse, and no emotion could be heard, but the tone of command was unquestionable.

When the cold disinfectant touched the burning wound, I still shrank back in pain, gasped, and tears welled up in my eyes instantly.

It was a sharp, burning pain. Although the bullet only grazed him, the feeling of his skin being torn apart was still terrifyingly clear.

Vermouth immediately hugged me, using her uninjured shoulder for me to lean on. She patted my back gently with one hand and soothed me softly, "It's okay, it won't hurt soon. Gin is very quick..."

Her embrace was warm and soft, with a faint scent of perfume. This gentle comfort made me feel even more wronged. I simply buried my face in the crook of her neck and sobbed, my body trembling slightly from sobs and pain.

Gin's movements were continuous as he cleaned the wound, applied medicine, and covered it with gauze. Every step was precise and neat, with an almost cold efficiency.

But as he wrapped the bandage, I could feel the warmth of his fingertips occasionally brushing against the skin of my shoulder and neck, and the strength he deliberately controlled so as not to suffocate me.

However, I was so absorbed in crying in Vermouth's arms that I hardly noticed that his hands had stopped moving.

Suddenly, a cold hand grabbed my uninjured right arm and pulled me out of Vermouth's soft embrace with a little force.

I looked up through tearful eyes, only to meet Gin's face, which was so close to my face. His brows were slightly furrowed, his dark green eyes revealing no emotion, but his tone held a subtle hint of impatience: "Such a noise."

I choked, my cry caught in my throat, and I hiccupped. He just looked at me, one hand still holding my arm, the other hand neatly tied the bandage into a knot to secure it.

Done. The bandage was done professionally and neatly, textbook perfection. If you took the test for me, I'd definitely get an A+.

But, but, it still hurts! ! ! !

Gin, bad!

Vermouth’s embrace was so nostalgic that I cried out and wanted to rush back to Vermouth for comfort: “It still hurts! Wuu ...

Gin didn't let go, and the hand holding my arm even tightened a little, preventing me from rushing over.

Vermouth was stunned at first, then, as if understanding something, her lips curled up in a knowing, playful arc. Far from reaching out for me, she leaned back lazily on the sofa, ready to watch the show.

Gin looked over and asked meaningfully, "Aren't you going to take care of your injuries?"

134.

I rested for the whole night - actually I couldn't fall asleep for a long time because of the pain. It was only after Gin stuffed a painkiller into my mouth with a cold face that I fell asleep.

I felt like I was barely asleep when Vermouth dug me out of my warm bed. With remarkable swiftness, she tucked me into a loose skirt. I kept my eyes closed the entire time, letting her manipulate me like a puppet, my head nodding back and forth until I was about to fall asleep again while standing.

The clamor of the airport's people and announcements finally dispelled some of the sleepiness I felt. I stood at the security checkpoint, one hand still subconsciously tugging at the corner of Gin's black windbreaker.

I tilted my head back, trying to open my sleepy eyes wide enough to look at him.

"Brother, even if I leave, you must never forget to avenge me!"

Well, when Gin takes action, there's no need to think about anything else. I'm not some philanthropic saint who gets shot and then has to worry about someone getting killed by Gin. I'm actually pretty mean and vindictive, which is pretty typical of a Black Organization member.

Besides, the people who hurt me were not innocent. I heard last night that it was another criminal organization that had a grudge against that American organization and wanted to rob me.

So, they deserved to be killed by Gin.

Why didn't the FBI bust them all? They're such losers! It took my big brother Gin to do something about it!

He only uttered a low syllable from his throat: "Hmm."

He didn't promise to avenge me. Well, it's okay. I believe he will definitely not show mercy. After all, what happened last night was a provocation to the Black Organization. It would be strange if Gin could tolerate it.

I was injured, and what happened afterwards had nothing to do with me. In order to prevent me from affecting their ability to show their talents in the United States, Gin asked Vodka to send me back to Tokyo first.

I don't know if it was because the vodka wasn't good enough or because the seats were tight, but we flew back in business class. Of course, business class is more comfortable than economy, but...

Woohoo, Vermouth, I miss you so much in business class...first class.

135.

Instead of sending me back to the bar, Vodka sent me to Gin's house and took care of me without complaint.

At night, the effect of the painkillers gradually faded, and the excruciating pain in my left shoulder, as if being repeatedly cut by a hot blunt knife, woke me up from my sleep.

I curled up in pain, my brows knitted together, and unconsciously reached out to the painful spot—

But suddenly, a warm and large hand grasped her wrist.

I opened my eyes blankly and looked in the direction of the force.

The cold moonlight poured in like mercury through the half-drawn curtains, outlining a tall and familiar silhouette beside the bed.

Gin's dark green eyes looked like a dormant cheetah in the darkness, staring at me without blinking.

"Brother?" I murmured in surprise, my voice muffled by pain and sleepiness, "When will you be back..."

"Don't move." He interrupted me, his voice low and with a barely noticeable hoarseness.

He gently tucked my hand back into the quilt, his fingertips brushing the skin on the inside of my wrist, stroking it lightly, stirring up a subtle shiver.

He still looked at me like that, his eyes dark.

I have to admit that gin does have a kind of magic that makes people feel at ease, at least it makes me feel at ease.

The severe pain in my shoulder made me feel blurry again. I tilted my head in his direction and almost fell asleep again.

Just as I was about to fall asleep, I heard him say:

"There won't be a next time."