Page 69 of Kidnapped Bratva Toy

There was, however, a fingerprint reader, so I grabbed Pietor’s hand and pressed his thumb to the swirling design that flashed on his phone. The cell screen lit up, and I went straight to contacts. Shit. I don’t know which on is them.

I had to assume that an often-called number in his recent section would be a good place to start, though. One of them would likely be the team.

So I picked the top one and called. It rang twice before someone picked up.

“Hey, I still haven’t heard anything about Emiliano’s next meetup, and you’re interrupting.”

My brow furrowed, and I shook my head even though the deep-voiced man couldn’t see it.

“I’m sorry, but this isn’t Pietor. It’s Billie. I’m his…I’m just…his. He’s been shot. We need help.”

There was a light scoff. “Well, fuck. That’s a helluva way to start a conversation, tuts. You out on a job with him?”

My temper flared, a heat pooling deep in my gut as I frowned. “Yes. We don’t have time for this. He’s losing too much blood. Please, can you help or not?”

I heard shuffling in the background, and then whoever this man was shouting at someone named Vladimir about getting his “mute fucking ass off the couch” and helping.

“All right, there, champ. I got you. Tell Pietor that Ivan and crew are on their way, and then use his phone to call Lev. We’ll take care of cleaning the scene, but you’re going to need Parker for injuries.”

I nodded, recognizing the name from before. “Lev, right. Okay. And we need someone named Parker?” The name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t think properly right now.

“Yeah, she’s the doc back at Lev’s. He’ll know to bring her.”

I nodded again. “Okay. Okay. I will. Umm, bye, I guess.”

I hung up, not bothering to wait for a polite goodbye, and looked down at the phone through Pietor’s contacts to find the number for Lev. It was only slightly further down the recent contacts list.

Waiting for the man to answer, I turned back to Pietor, balling up my jacket and pressing it to the wound on his shoulder. This time, I worried that this Lev person wasn’t going to pick up.

“Yeah, what?”

“Pietor has been shot. Help.”

“What?!” The seriousness in the man’s, this Lev’s, tone was harsh enough for me to reel back from the phone. “This that fucking lawyer bullshit?.”

“Yes. We’re at the Cohen and Marks Law Firm. 9746 First Avenue. I don’t know what to do.” My voice cracked. “He’s bleeding so much. I—”

Lev yelled off, something muffling the volume. “Parker! We need your help!”

In a matter of seconds, a woman came on the line, and I tried to focus on her words, knowing a bit that whoever she was, apparently, she was some sort of medical professional.

“Okay, I’d take the time for pleasantries, but Lev said Pietor has been shot, so what’s happening? Can you tell me everything you see?”

“Umm,” I shook myself, trying to just look at the injury on Pietor and not consider the implications of it, “he was shot from the back, and it goes through his shoulder.”

“Okay, I need you to tell me where in the front it goes. Is it more toward his arm or the center of his chest?”

I kneeled closer to him, trying to determine if I was going to throw up the moment I moved my jacket from his wound. Steeling myself, I did it as quickly as I could and then returned the fabric so that I could put pressure on the spot.

“It’s kind of right in the middle, but it’s decently high up, I guess—like right under his collarbone.”

“Okay, that’s actually great. Good. Good. I assume you’re putting pressure on it. If the thing you’re using gets too saturated with blood, don’t pull it away. Just pack something on over the top of it.”

“It's not yet, but okay.”

The sound of movement, car doors slamming, and horns blaring filled the background as Parker detailed what she needed me to do—time started to slip into a strange pull of fast and then slow. I hurried to listen to Parker, but at some point, there was nothing else for me to do, and I was forced just to wait for them to arrive.

“Please, stay with me. Okay? I’m so not done with you.” I kissed Pietor’s face, his skin a little too pale and too clammy. “I love you, you big idiot. Don’t fucking die on me.”

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