“The stitches should dissolve within two weeks,” Dr. Myers says. “Make sure to change the bandage after every shower, and keep the stitches as dry as possible. We wouldn’t want them getting infected, or worse.” He pushes the waistband of my navy-blue sweats down a little so that it doesn’t press against the bandage, then clicks open his pen and starts writing something on a prescription paper. “You can take Ibuprofen for the pain, but – and that’s ahugebut – if the pain is too much to handle, here’s something stronger.” He hands me the prescription, which I pass on to Solo, who is sitting in a chair next to my bed, with Jayce on his right.
Dr. Myers is a general practitioner at the Riverside County Hospital, and the only one me, Solo, and the crew call upon for medical assistance when we need it. He’s been a trusted ally of ours for years now, and his penchant for loyalty is nothing short of admirable.
He closes his bag and gets to his feet, and when Solo offers him a thick wad of cash, he accepts it eagerly. He then gives the three of us a quick nod, pockets the money, and deftly takes his leave.
“You feeling any pain right now?” Solo asks.
I’m lying in my bed, so I shift a little and turn my head so that I can look at him. The moon casts a faint shadow on the back of his head through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows behind him, and I can see the outside world on complete display for me – noiseless and paused for the night.
My loft is a simple yet thematic blend of comfort; completely wood-made and warm. My sanctuary of sorts. There’s a living room, fireplace, and a kitchen, along with a small set of stairs that lead up to my bedroom – which is just as minimalistic. It’s got floor-to-ceiling glass windows on the right – my favorite – a king size bed, an attached bathroom, and a fireplace with a TV right above it.
Like I said: simple yet comfortable.
“Nah, I’m good,” I tell Solo.
My wound feels kinda numb right now, thanks to the gel Dr. Myers injected into it before stitching it close. I also feel a little queasy, but he says it’s an aftermath of the shock I must have experienced after being stabbed.
When I drove Cignette toFinessean hour ago, I was pretty close to passing out. Again: the shock of what happened was settling in, and it was paralyzing my nerves; making me feel light-headed.
It’s funny, though, because when itdidhappen, I didn’t think too much of it; just about getting out ofImperiabefore me and the crew were spotted. But I guess my brain triggered my body to act in a certain way, and now that everything is over and done with, shit is finally starting to affect me.
Dr. Myers was waiting for me and the crew by the time we reachedFinesse, and the minutes that followed after Solo and Jayce carried me up to my loft, went by in a blur.
I stare at the wooden ceiling – an exact replica of the walls and flooring in my loft – and sigh.
To say that I’m lucky to have Solo and my crew in my life would be an understatement. There’s not much to be grateful for in my line of work, so the fact that I have an entire group of people by my side – one I considerfamily– is something I’ll never take for granted.
“You sure you don’t want an Ibuprofen or somethin’?” Jayce inquires.
I face him and shake my head. “All good here, don’t worry.” The air conditioner above my bed makes a muffled buzzing sound, and a wave of ice-cold air hits my naked chest and upper body, resulting in a sharp sting of pain to shoot through my fresh stitches.
“Can you turn this off, please?” I tell Jayce, and gesture at the AC. “Fucker’s making my side hurt.”
He does as I’ve asked, and when he settles back down next to Solo, the latter leans forward in his chair and gives me his full attention.
“You feel coherent enough to talk?” he asks me.
“For fuck’s sake, Solo, notnow,” Jayce interjects. “You can do this later; let him rest tonight.”
Solo glares at him. “He was stabbed tonight, Jayce,” he hisses. “Fuckingstabbed. Never, in the sixteen years of us working together, has something like this occurred. So no, Ican’tdo this later, because I need to know what the hell happened with Rizwana – right fuckingnow.”
“I–” I start, but Jayce cuts me in.
“It was my fault.”
“Jayce,” I say in warning. “Don’t.”
Solo glances between us, then focuses on Jayce. “Elaborate.”
Jayce tells him everything – from Cignette’s involvement to Alex killing Rizwana after she attacked me, and by the time he’s done, Solo’s expression holds something I can’t exactly put a name to.
“You involved Cignette into this…” hestatesrather thanasks, and his voice is so icy that it puts even my air conditioner to shame.
“She wanted to help,” Jayce provides, at the same time I say, “You were taking way too long in getting Rizwana alone, and Cignette merely wanted to speed things up for us.”
Solo takes turns to properly shoot daggers at both Jayce and I, then runs a hand over his mouth before letting go of a frustrated breath.
“I want to strangle the two of you right now,” he begins, then shakes his head. “I wanna fucking blow your heads off.”
