Page 66 of The Billionaires

I kneel next to Lucius, who’s now sitting on the floor and muttering a stream of curses. Graphic, eloquent curses. I take the richness of his vocabulary as a good sign. If he had brain damage, he’d be drooling or something like that.

Amazed that I’m not a whimpering mess, I coo soothingly to Lucius as I gently move his hand away to assess the situation. The bleeding is insane, but there’s no sign of glass sticking out of his head, nor a bullet wound for that matter. Nor do I see any bone or leaking brains.

Elijah is wringing his hands and doing circles around us. “I’m so, so sorry, sir!” He sounds on the verge of crying.

I peer up at him with a frown. “You okay?”

He nearly trips again as he tries to look at Lucius’s bleeding head. “I shot him! Oh, dear Lord, I shot him.”

My frown transforms into a glare. “I mean, is your coccyx bone okay? You did fall on your butt.”

Elijah waves that away. “I knew eating all those biscuits would come in handy one day.”

“Get me alcohol,” I order. “And prepare to take us to the hospital. Quickly.”

Looking grateful to have something to do, Elijah rushes away.

“The hospital?” Lucius presses his hand to the wound again, then looks down at the blood covering his palm. His face turns pale. “How bad is it?”

Pretty bad, at least in my non-medical opinion. “You’re fine,” I say soothingly. “Just a precaution.”

He seems to relax at that, so I jump up and run toward the fridge, intent on finding some ice.

“Stop!” Lucius’s voice strengthens. “You’re going to step on broken glass.”

He’s got a point. There are jar pieces everywhere, and I was dumb enough to come down here barefoot.

“I’ll be careful,” I say, cautiously stepping over a couple of shards before reaching the freezer.

I open it.

The thing is almost empty. The only item inside is a bag of frozen pizza bagels.

I pull those out, just in time to spot Elijah coming back into the room with a bottle of rubbing alcohol and an industrial-sized box of gauze pads.

“An ambulance is on the way,” Elijah says, panting. “Or we can take the limo, which will be ready in two minutes.”

“Bring her shoes before she cuts her feet,” Lucius barks at his poor butler. Then, examining my body with narrowed eyes, he adds, “Also bring her something more substantial to wear.”

How can he be so bossy with an injury like that? Also, who cares what I wear?

Elijah turns to obey the order, but I call out, “Wait! Leave the alcohol. Also, what’s with this?” I wave the pizza bagels and nod at the empty freezer.

“The master eats those on occasion.” Elijah sets the medical supplies on the counter. “They remind him of childhood.”

“Fine. Go. And please get him some clothes too.”

Elijah runs off, and Lucius reminds me to mind the glass as I move around.

Walking carefully, I grab the medical supplies and bring them over to where Lucius is sitting.

“This will sting,” I say as I open the alcohol.

He takes a breath and nods.

I dump a few ounces onto the still-gushing wound. Lucius tenses but maintains a stoic silence as I arrange half the gauze pads in the box around the wound, then press them down with the pizza bagels.

“I figure the cold should prevent swelling,” I say, mostly to myself. “And maybe help with coagulation.”

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