Page 25 of Savage Saint

“Day after Independence Day,” he answers correctly, but there’s some mild irritation coloring every syllable. Good.

I grab a penlight from a small pocket on the right side of the machine. “Now follow the light with your eyes. Don’t move your head.”

“What are you checking now? Shouldn’t you just be stitching⁠—”

“Your pupils.” That’s all I give him, running the light across each orb. His pupils respond evenly, and he tracks the light without a problem. No confusion. No slurring; the longer I keep him talking, the stronger his voice becomes.

Nothing about his behavior suggests he’s deteriorating in front of me.

“You know I didn’t get shot in the head, right?”

“Still passed out for a few seconds.”

That shuts him up, and a second later, the machine finishes its cycle. On the screen, his pressure is lower than I’d like and his pulse elevated. Not unexpected after blood loss and stress—pain—the adrenaline probably still coursing through his body. His oxygen saturation is good, though.

I write the numbers down on the pad beside the machine.

“We need to run these again in fifteen minutes.” My eyebrows furrow. “Did anyone check these before I got here?”

Rizos nods. “Once. When I got him situated.”

“Do you remember the numbers?” He shows me a screenshot on his phone, and I compare them. No dramatic change. “How’s the dizziness, Trino?”

“Same.”

“Any numbness or tingling in the arm?”

“No.”

I lightly touch the skin along the injured arm, working my way down without disturbing his shoulder. “What about here?”

“No.”

“Can you move your fingers for me?” I ask, and he does. “Now a closed fist. Good. Open it.”

His temperature, color, and movements are fine, but…

I don’t know what that bullet did between the two points.

Or if it left fragments behind.

“What are you thinking?” Saint’s voice pulls me from my thoughts, and my eyes immediately shift to his. Still hard. A little cold. Sweet, warm honey.

“We need…” I pause to clear my throat. “We need an X-ray.”

“Now?”

“No, next Tuesday.” Diosito, this is the wrong time to get mouthy. Wrong people, too. Please, help me control myself. “Yes. I need this now.”

Hazel on brown, I watch his eyes narrow. Jaw tick. “What do you need?”

For you to stop looking at me so intensely.

“Trino in there.” I’m pointing toward the room Rizo pointed out earlier. “I don’t want him walking, so if there’s a wheelchair or something we can use to move him⁠—”

“It’s portable.”

That stops me. “Portable?”