Page 2 of Leave Me (Touch of Death 2)
“Where’s Adelina?” she asks.
“Gone.”
“Figures.” She nods. “They just stopped shooting suddenly. They must have gotten what they came for.” Her head jerks toward two more guys, both sitting on the floor with their backs propped against the glass French doors. “She shot them to get out.” Both men clutch wadded up, blood-stained kitchen towels to their left thighs.
Anger has me struggling for words, so I simply nod in acknowledgment. Una turns back to the guy she was dealing with. “The doctor is on his way.” She slaps him on the back and straightens, walking over to me. “You, come with me.”
I turn and follow her. “What do you need?”
She walks down the hall, stopping to grab a blanket out of a storage closet before she goes into the living room. The blanket is tossed on the couch before she steps back and places her hands on her hips.
“Pants off,” she commands.
I lift a brow and begin stripping my weapons, laying them all on a side table. I do as Una says but wince as I struggle to step first out of my boots and then my clothes.
“Lie down.”
I comply, and she takes a seat on the edge of the couch to inspect the bullet wound. Her hand slides beneath my thigh. “No exit.” Great. This’ll be fun. “You want to wait for the doctor?”
“No, just do it.”
She shrugs one shoulder and pushes to her feet. “You put far too much trust in me,” she says before leaving the room.
Una has no formal medical training, but she’s stitched up more bullet holes than I care to remember. The scars aren’t pretty, but I care little for appearances.
A few minutes later, she’s back with supplies. The pain has intensified, and I’m struggling to block it out now that all the adrenaline has left my bloodstream. I drop my head back against the couch cushions and try to focus on anything other than what Una’s about to do to my thigh.
Spots of light scatter over the ceiling as they pass through the chandelier’s crystal droplets. And the fire crackles a few feet away, the only sound in the room except my ragged panting.
Una takes a seat and places her hand on my thigh. I flinch involuntarily.
“Hold still,” she mumbles as her fingers dig into my skin.
A breath hisses through my clenched teeth as excruciating pain tears through the shredded muscle. Blood gurgles up through the hole as though my body is physically trying to purge the agony along with the foreign metal. Una changes position, perching on the edge of the sofa and turning her body at an angle to block my view. The subtle smell of burned gunpowder drifts off her black shirt, blending with the overwhelming metallic scent of blood that’s filled the room. She presses my leg again and then reaches over to the side table to pluck from a little metal tray what looks like a pair of giant tweezers.
I try not to tense, but I’ve had enough bullets removed from my body without anaesthetic to know how much this will hurt. The more rigid I become, the more intense the agony will be. I could wait for the doctor, but I need to get back on my feet now.
I close my eyes in an attempt to center myself and block out the pain. The second I do, my mind drifts, and the last half an hour plays through like a bad movie. I’m sorry. Those words—so simple and meaningless on Adelina’s lips before she pulled the trigger. She had no intention of killing me; I know that, but I protected her, fought for her, trusted her. I thought she trusted me, that we understood one another. It seems I was wrong. Her betrayal stings, though I know, it’s hypocritical of me. My jaw aches from tension, and I inhale a ragged breath in an attempt to grasp my usual distanced calm, but it’s nowhere to be found. In its place is festering anger, wild and untamed. Completely irrational. I’m torn from my thoughts by the blinding, stabbing pain of Una trying to extract Adelina’s little parting gift. My teeth grind together so hard that I’m sure I’ll crack one.
“Nearly done.” Una grunts, digging the instrument even farther into my leg, while bile rises in my throat, and my vision dots, threatening to blackout. “Got it!” she announces, victoriously holding up the bloodied bit of shrapnel. Finally, the pain retreats to a general ache, and my muscles relax. Stepping away, she drops the mangled bullet onto a small metal tray with a clink and strides across the room.
Adelina could have at least gotten a clean shot and gone straight through. I drop my head back against the sofa cushions once more and close my eyes as a wave of exhaustion washes over me.
