“Fuck,” Frank says, his eyes wide. “Don’t you guys wear bulletproof vests?”
“I’m fine,” I tell him.
“Don’t give me that bullshit. I’m calling for a bus.”
“I’m fine,” I bite out the words. “It’s a through-and-through. It’ll stop bleeding soon enough.”
“Yeah, when you bleed out.”
I have to bite back a groan of pain as I strip my jacket off and tear the sleeve off my shirt, tying it around my shoulder as a temporary tourniquet. The police sirens are getting closer.
“I’ll be fine, Frank. Let me know what else you find.”
His expression turns to defeat. He knows there’s no use arguing with me. “If you’re still alive, I’ll let you know.”
I give a nod and slip carefully into my car, letting out the groan I’ve been keeping in only when the door is closed. The force of it makes my throat raw.
I drive home, avoiding the cops and angry the shooter, whoever he is, got away, along with my only lead.
Sonya wandersinto the bathroom while I’m digging out my first aid supplies. She’s sleepy, her eyes are half-closed, and her hair is a mess in a way I would find adorable if I weren’t in such pain.
“Matvei?” she says, confused and frowning at me in the mirror. “Did you just get home?”
Having someone waiting for me is an entirely new experience. I realize I never told Sonya where I was going or when I would be back. I’m not used to anyone caring outside of Evgeny, who always knows where I am.
“I’m fine,” I tell her, glad my suit coat hides the blood. “Go back to sleep, Sonya. You need your rest.”
“So do you. Since I’ve been here, I’ve barely seen you sleep at all.” She narrows her eyes at me. “Are you okay? You look pale.”
“It’s just the lighting. Go back to sleep.”
Sonya stares at me. For a moment, I think she really is going to go back to bed and leave me to patch myself up in peace. But she’s looking at my face, where I can’t hide the creases of pain. It’s been a long time since I’ve been shot, and it’s easy to forget exactly how much it hurts. The wound at the wedding was only a graze.
“Alright,” she says, her tone suspicious, and I know she’s not going back to bed. “What’s going on? Something’s off about you.”
Leaning against the counter and trying to breathe through the pain, I dip my head. “I’m fine. I’m just tired. It’s been a long day. Please, just go back to bed.”
The words come out harsh and impatient, sounding like an order. Her eyes widen, and she takes a step back before noticing something on the floor. She gasps.
“You’re bleeding.”
It takes every ounce of self-control I have not to snarl at her to go away, especially as she tries to grab for the hand I have clamped to the wound.
“What the hell, Matvei, you’re hurt. My God, look at all this blood! Why aren’t you at the hospital?”
“I’m not going to the hospital. I’ll be fine, I just need to patch myself up.”
Sonya’s eyes dart to my face, then back to the wound and the bloodstain on my shirt. “Are you kidding me? This is not something you patch up by yourself. Can you let me freaking see it?”
“I didn’t know you had a medical degree as well as a law degree. This is not the first time this has happened, and it will not be the last. I know what to do. Now leave me alone.”
“I may not be a doctor,” Sonya glares at me, her jaw set, her eyes alight, “but I know how to help. Have you forgotten what I do for a living? The women I help don’t always have the luxury of going to the emergency room either. Now, take off your damn shirt.”
Sonya and I glare at one another for more than a moment before I concede and start unbuttoning my shirt. I bite back a groanof pain as the fabric pulls away from the sticky wound, causing fresh blood to run down my side in a warm, wet trickle.
“You said you’ve stitched yourself up before?” She looks determined and focused as she motions for me to sit on the vanity stool.
“Usually Evgeny does it, but he’s not here.”
