Page 8 of Devil's Riches

“I’m awake, aren’t I?” I said, raising my brows. “Clearly not dead or comatose.”

“That’s not the point. Something could happen later,” she said stiffly. She turned away. “I’m going to call an ambulance.”

“Colette, I really don’t have time to go to the hospital. Just help me patch this up, okay?”

She turned back to face me. “You really won’t go?” she asked, narrowing her eyes,

“Yes. If you don’t help me, I’ll do it myself. But you know a lot about first aid, so I’d rather have you do it.”

She let out an irritated sniff. “I’ll make you a deal. If you can pass a few small tests, I’ll believe that you’re well enough to stay here, and I’ll fix you up.”

“Fine.” I lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug. “What are the tests?”

“Wait here.”

She left the room, muttering something under her breath about ‘egocentric men’ and their ‘stupid pride’. When she returned, she was holding a first aid kit and her cell phone.

“Look at the light,” she said, switching on the flashlight app on the phone. “I need to see your pupils.”

I did as she said, and she let out a small grunt of satisfaction. “Hm. They look okay,” she murmured. “Now stand up. I want to see you balance on one leg for thirty seconds.”

I stood and lifted one foot off the ground, using my core strength to keep me steady.

Colette frowned. “Okay. Take ten steps over there, and then come back,” she said, pointing across the living room. “As you do it, I want you to say the alphabet backward.”

I did it all as she watched carefully, arms folded.

When I was finally done, she lifted a brow. “Have you vomited since you hit your head?” she asked.

“Nope.”

“Dizziness? Exhaustion?”

“No. It fucking hurts, but apart from that, I feel fine.”

“Well, in that case, you are a very, very lucky young man,” she said. She waved a hand toward the dining room. “Go and sit down over there.”

She picked up the first aid kit, hauled it over to the table, and opened it up to retrieve some antiseptic wipes, a small pair of scissors, and a packet of Steri-Strips. “I’ll use these to close the wound,” she said, pointing to the strips. “But I’m warning you now—without proper stitches done by a doctor, it won’t be pretty when it heals. There’ll be a scar.”

“I don’t care.”

“You men will really do anything to avoid going to the doctor, won’t you?” she said, rolling her eyes. “By the way, where’s Alexis? Didn’t she wake up when you fell?”

“She wasn’t there. She went to the city to spend the night with her sister.”

“Oh. Do you want me to call her and tell her you’ve been hurt?”

“No. I don’t want to wake her up this early.”

“But you’re happy to wake me up?” she said with an arched eyebrow. “I think I might need to discuss a pay rise with your mother.”

I smiled. “I’ll be happy to back you up on that.”

“Good. Hopefully, you’ll live long enough to do it after this,” she said sardonically. “Now, this might sting a bit.”

She cleaned the back of my head with several of the antiseptic wipes, and then she picked up the scissors. “I’m going to have to cut your hair around the wound,” she said. “I might even have to shave some parts. Is that okay?”

“Sure. Do whatever you need to do.”

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