I shake my head. “She died two years into remission.”
“Cause of death?”
I look at my brother on the floor, helpless.
“Car accident.”
He scowls. “Shit, that’s right. Guess we’re doing this the old-fashioned way. Charlie, I need a needle and thread. Since the house is so close, see if we can get someone to bring my bag.”
“Need me to go?” Hopper offers, one of the dogs sitting peacefully at his feet.
Anders shakes his head. “Someone from there will bring it over right away.”
Charlie sends him a small salute and grabs his phone, walking into the other room.
I turn to Anders, confused and a little fucking agitated. “Why would anybody bring you a needle and thread?”
“I’m a surgeon,” he says, pulling a silver case from his pocket.
I snort, waiting for a punchline that doesn’t come.
“Bullshit.”
Charlie dips his head back into the room, the phone to his ear. “He’s not lying. I’ve seen his work. Which is good because we need to try to avoid hospitals. We show up with a guy with a bullet wound, and it’ll cause some serious issues.”
Anders shrugs. “Eh. I have privileges in Fredericksburg, and we could have our folks work their magic, make the record disappear. But I’m telling you, this is not that bad.”
Turning back to the guy I just saw kill a whole bunch of people, I ask what I think is a pretty obvious question.
“How areyoua surgeon?Whereare you a surgeon?”
Anders shakes his head, laughing. “I could tell you, but then I’d hafta kill you.”
Hopper snorts, and I purse my lips, willing myself not to punch either of them in the mouth.
Nacho touches my arm. “Hey, Bram. It’s gonna be okay. He had to give Ant stitches when he ripped his thumb open on a nail. He’s good.”
I pull away from his touch, shaking my head. “Yeah, no. He’s not touching my brother.”
Nacho puts up his hands and steps back.
Anders’ jaw drops, completely offended.
“Don’t look at me like that. I don’t know you.”
Meanwhile, Charlie walks in. “Bag’s on its way.”
“Outstanding.”
“Hey, Bram…” Levy says, his voice thin.
“Yeah, buddy?” I ask, hovering over him.
He looks down at himself and dry heaves. “I don’t feel so—”
Levy’s chin hits his chest, and he begins to drift forward. Hopper and I catch him, and my hands shake as we lean him against the sofa. Anders pushes us out of the way, pressing his fingers against Levy’s neck.
“He’s got a good pulse. Can somebody get me more light?”
