"Give it a minute," Rocco muttered, already opening a sealed tray of tools, "and if you start seeing stars, keep it to yourself."
He peeled off his jacket, rolled his sleeves up to his elbow and picked up a guaze. I tilted my head back slightly, the dizziness hitting slowly.
"Keep your head straight," Rocco continued. "If you feel like passing out, don't."
"You always this comforting?" I muttered.
He cracked a rare smile. "Only to the suicidal ones."
Kyle hovered behind him, white-knuckled, eyes darting between my face and the blood already pooling in the towel Rocco shoved beneath me.
I snorted and turned back to Rocco, who was feeling around the edge of the wound with two gloved fingers like he was testing a rotten peach. His brows furrowed.
He started sterilizing the area. "So, tell me. What the hell were you doing getting shot and bleeding out in some random girl's living room?"
I winced as the gauze pressed into the raw flesh. "Wasn't the plan."
"Clearly."
"She found me," I said after a beat. "Was trying to get back to HQ but made it three blocks before I passed out in an alley. She dragged me into her place like a stray dog."
Kyle blinked. "Wait—she dragged you?"
I gave him a thin smile. "Cute little thing. Stronger than she looks."
Rocco rolled his eyes. "And now she's just… gone?"
"She went to work." I grunted as his fingers pressed deeper. "Or maybe she ran. Wouldn't blame her. But didn't seem like it."
"She's a little insane," Kyle said, quiet but certain.
I didn't answer. My breathing was shallow, jaw clenched, watching as Rocco finally picked up the forceps and scalpel.
"Alright," he said. "Bullet's a little deep, and it's lodged against the lower rib. If I nick the artery, you'll bleed out. Stay still."
"Wasn't planning to dance."
"now continue with your story of how the hell this happened in the first place?" Rocco asked as he made the first incision. I saw stars. His hands were steady, movements clean and efficient, slicing through layers of bandaged flesh like he'd done it a thousand times. He had.
"I was ambushed," I said through clenched teeth. "Those bastards leaked my location. Others were waiting."
"Word hasn't gotten out yet. Only number of casualties. Someone from your circle?"
"Jace and Devon—fucking idiots—someone definitely paid them. Still narrowing it down though."
Kyle didn't say a word, but his jaw ticked.
"Christ," Rocco muttered under his breath as he pulled open the wound gently. "Tissue's angry. Bullet's deeper than I thought. Whoever patched you up first did a shit job."
"That'd be her," I said.
Rocco smirked. "You've got a talent for staying alive just enough to suffer."
He reached for forceps, dipped them in iodine, and slid them into the wound. The pressure made my breath stop, numbed or not, I could feel the tug, the grind, metal against metal inside my own flesh.
Kyle turned a shade paler.
Rocco worked in silence for a while, eyes narrowed. Sweat gathered at his temple.
"She knows who you are?" he asked.
"Wha—?"
"The girl."
"No."
"You planning on telling her she picked up a crime-lord?"
I didn't answer. Her face flashed in my mind. All shaded of panic and confusion fused together in that brown eyes. Yet she helped me. Maybe I was too harsh earlier, I thought.
Rocco hummed. "Didn't think so. Most women don't take well to finding out the man bleeding on their couch has the whole country under his thumb."
"She didn't exactly have a choice."
"Still. Interesting choice of hideout. Quiet neighborhood. Not your usual taste."
I gritted my teeth as his tweezers dug in deeper. My fingers clenched the couch cushion. "Those bastards chased me till I crashed around here."
He finally made a sound of satisfaction as he extracted the bullet, slick with blood, dull silver, still warm. He held it up, glinting red under the light. It was small. Ugly. And mine.
He dropped It into a shallow metal tray with a clink.
Kyle exhaled like he'd been holding his breath since the beginning.
"That's step one," Rocco said. "Now comes the real fun."
He grabbed saline, flushed the wound, dabbed it dry. Sutures followed, thin, black thread and a curved needle, stitching me up like torn cloth. His hands never once trembled. I tried not to watch the needle go in and out.
Kyle handed him tools like a nurse, grim-faced but focused.
"You're going to owe me for this," he muttered as he tied the final knot. "Next time you get shot, try a hospital."
"You offering to wheel me in?"
"God, no. Just reminding you you're not invincible."
He leaned back finally, checking the dressing, the bandages, the pale flush of my skin. His voice softened a fraction.
"You're stable, but you need rest. Fluids. Antibiotics. No moving around. You stand up too fast and that whole thing could reopen. You're not walking out of here for at least 48 hours."
I stared at the ceiling again, exhausted and dizzy. "Wasn't planning on going anywhere."
Kyle sat down finally, face still tight, wiping his forehead with a sleeve.
"You alright?" he asked.
I turned my head, smirked. "Never better."