Page 18 of Dragonfly

“Would you brace Damien’s shoulders for me, keep him steady? I’m going to remove the knife, but I don’t want him jumping around in case I nick him on the exit.”

And give my new fiancée the opportunity to bolt while we’re all distracted?

“Stay where you are, Vin. I’ll be fine.”

Liz is used to my stubborn side. After all, this isn’t the first time I’ve been one of her patients. So when she says, “I’d really rather he help,” and I just look at her, she sighs and goes to grab the sterilized needle, thread, and everything else she’ll need to stitch me up.

Once she has it all on a tray, she grabs a wad of gauze in one hand. With the other, she takes a firm hold on the hilt of my knife.

I can tell she wishes I would reconsider, but all she says is, “Ready?”

If only to make Liz feel a little better about being the doc in charge at the clinic, I move over to the examination table. I brace my legs and grip the edge of the cushion. There. I should be steady enough.

“On three.”

Turning to look over my shoulder, I lock eyes with Savannah. “Of course.”

I know the old trick. The doctor will count to three, I’ll be waiting for the third count, but she’ll pull on the second before I can tense up and make it worse?—

“One.”

Pain blossoms behind my eyes as Liz doesn’t even wait until two. I refuse to react, refuse to blink, watching the look on Savannah’s face go from horrified to stunned to plainly disturbed as I remain standing still as the doctor removes the knife.

I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from cursing, but it was worth it for Savannah to watch Liz work on me while I act completely unfazed.

That’s right, cara mia. It takes more than a single slice in my side to take me down.

Of course, the good doctor wants to ensure that. With one firm tug, she yanks the stiletto out of me the same time as she shoves the wad of gauze against my side. She quickly applies pressure in case I start bleeding profusely, but after a few seconds she checks and lets out a sigh of relief.

I don’t blame her. She’s probably worried that, if anything happens to me, her security at the clinic might be in jeopardy.

She doesn’t have to be. While I’ve purposely kept Genevieve out of the family business, there is one more Libellula around. Vin is one of my enforcers, my most trusted bodyguard, and my cousin. He’ll take over if I die first, and he’ll protect his Dr. Lizzie as much as I have.

And if he dies first? Then I better not.

Luckily, I’m not dying tonight. As Liz cleans up my wound to prep for stitching, she remarks again how lucky I was that the angle of the knife tore through muscle instead of my intestines or one of my kidneys.

I haven’t turned away from Savannah. Not as Liz examined the stab wound, or when she instructed me to remove my jacket and my bloody dress shirt so that she could access the stab wound itself.

The doc notices. As she dabs my skin with some sort of analgesic, she says, “I’m sorry that your date got cut short.”

I raise my eyebrows at my soon-to-be wife.

Savannah chokes.

Liz threads the needle, unaware just how wrong of an idea she has. “When I was married to my ex, the most exciting thing that happened to us was the waiter bringing out a free dessert because they thought it was one of our birthdays. But then I started to work for Damien here and these boys getting into gunfights and knife fights and even fistfights during a night out seems to be a lot more common.”

With his back leaning against the wall, booted foot blocking the door from opening inward, Vin shrugs. “That’s ‘cause you’ve never been out to dinner with me, Dr. Lizzie. If you don’t start none, there won’t be none. Right, Damien?”

I know exactly what my cousin is doing. In his way, he’s letting me know that he disapproves of my temporary lapse of judgment. If Savannah hadn’t stabbed me, we wouldn’t be here right now.

Very true. And, yet, I can’t bring myself to care.

Instead, I’m suddenly eager to have this finished so that I can move on to the rest of the night.

“How much longer?” I ask, trying to gauge the amount of stitches she still needs to make in order to close the gap. The single stab wound itself is about eight, nine centimeters. I’m looking at about fifteen to twenty stitches when she’s done so maybe we’re halfway there? “I have plans for the evening.” A quick glance at Savannah. “Don’t we, my dear?”

Savannah still hasn’t said a word. At that, though, she sputters, and I raise my eyebrows, daring her to refuse.

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