There were three bruises on Vic’s chest, dark black spots like hickeys where the bullets had hit. As he shrugged out of his shirt, Matt ran his hand over the discolored flesh, then kissed each one as if that alone made everything better. Then his lips closed over one ruddy n****e and Vic gasped. His shirt dropped to the floor, the faint rustle of fabric followed by a smattering of sound, like coins falling to the floor at his feet. “Sounds like I hit the jackpot,” Matt said, kneeling to see what Vic had dropped.
He picked up three thick metal disks from the carpet and held them out for Vic. “I think I found your bullets.”
Taking them from Matt, Vic frowned at the flat, silver slugs. They had gone through his shirt to strike his chest, then flattened against his skin. He couldn’t help b
