I found Doc in the crowd. He met my stare without blinking, then slowly raised one hand—five fingers spread.
Five thousand.
That was what it’d cost me for him on top of his already being paid by the organizers, just to come in and check. That was my entire prize tonight.
I glanced at Bruno. Then back at Doc.
And nodded.
Bruno started convulsing.
I dropped to my knees beside him.
“No…”
Doc was there within seconds, pushing through the wall of bodies as if he didn’t even see them. His face was as unreadable as always, but his voice came low and dry.
“Convulsions are extra,” he said, kneeling opposite me, already reaching for Bruno’s neck to check for a pulse.
“I don’t have?—”
He stared at me. “I’ll fix this for free,” he cut in. “But you and your friends owe me, Villareal.”
My head jerked up. “What?” He’d never said that before. Never named a price beyond money. Never asked for anything.
But I didn’t care.
“Okay, fucking do something for him,” I said, fists still clenched at my sides as Bruno twitchedbeneath us. I don’t know what I was promising us to do, but if Doc could keep this man alive…
Everyone else scattered when Bruno didn’t wake immediately. The factory floor emptied as if someone had pulled the plug; the noise outside turned hollow. There was no sign of Lianne. Just me, Doc, and Bruno.
Doc sat back on his heels, calm as ever. “He’ll live,” he said. “Someone will collect him. Internal bleeding—pneumothorax.” Then he jammed a needle into the side of Bruno’s chest.
I flinched. “Was that sanitary?”
He slapped tape over it without answering. “He needs more than I can do; I’ll call someone to collect and deposit at St Luke’s.”
“Someone who can help?” I asked, but sudden horror pricked me. “Not a cleaner, he’s not dying.”
Doc didn’t reassure me, but fuck, he never reassured anyone. “You need to go,” he added, already wiping the scene with a practiced calm, pulling out a second phone from his coat as if it were routine.
“My money. Tomorrow,” he said.
My phone buzzed—message received.
Money first, and then he called someone else, a garbled message in code.
I crawled backward, blood smeared on my knuckles, heart somewhere in my throat. My blood was all over him. What if he were dead? What if I’d?—
Doc’s hand fisted my shirt, dragging me up with a grunt. “He’s not fucking dead, asshole. Move!”
“We can’t leave him?—”
“What do you think you pay me for?” he snarled, yanking me with way more strength than I thought he’d have. I grabbed my hoodie and backpack from the hidden corner, and we stumbled out into the night. The air hit cold on my bare chest and sweat-damp skin, sharp, biting, and it was so fucking quiet.
Doc waited until I staggered away from him, dazed and useless, before he vanished into the dark.
I stopped around the corner, in the shadows, yanked on my hoodie as I walked, hissing with pain, then forced my feet into my sneakers. The cut on my forehead was bleeding, probably needed stitches, and Jamie would have normally done that, but of course, he wasn’t at our place anymore. So, Enzo it was, or me using a mirror, Robbie at a push, and I headed to Redcars with fear dogging my every step.
