Page 44 of Bravo

I don’t breathe again until they’re no longer in the camera frame. The man rushes over to me and sits back down on the stool then removes the towel from my arm.

“We need to contact the police,” he says quickly.

“No,” I say, frantic. “They have officers on his payroll. Please. I need to disappear. Just for now. I know who to call.” The thumb drive hanging around my neck has never felt as heavy as it does now.

It carries the weight of two more lives now.

“You can’t go anywhere yet,” he says.

“I can’t stay here. They’ll come back.”

He uses a large syringe to draw liquid out of a container. “This is going to hurt.” He grips my arm and depresses theplunger until liquid hits the wound. I suck in a pained breath and do my best to maintain my breathing as the liquid washes away the blood and dirt from the injury.

The man assesses the injury then reaches up onto the silver tray to pick up a vial and another syringe. He withdraws the liquid. “This will numb the area enough that I can close it, okay?”

I nod, tears in my eyes. The pain is severe, but I remember what my mother used to tell me when I got hurt.“We can do anything for ten seconds, right, Dee?”she’d say. And somehow, I always knew she was right.

He injects the medicine, and I keep my eyes closed as I feel the tugging of thread around my injury. Breathing through it, I remain perfectly still, all the while trying to make sure I do my best not to pass out as the adrenaline I’ve been carrying bottoms out.

“All done.” His hand leaves my arm, so I open my eyes and stare down at the neatly stitched line going from my wrist up to just below my elbow.

“It was big.”

“I’d say so. You’re lucky you didn’t bleed out.” He rises from the stool and pushes the metal tray with blood-soaked gauze and tools off to the side then washes his hands in a deep sink.

“We need to tend to your feet, too,” he replies. “But I need fresh supplies. Give me a few.”

I stare down at my dirty feet. They’re crusted with dirt and blood, and now that the pain in my arm has ebbed away just a bit, I can feel the stinging pain shooting through my foot and up my leg from the toe I basically split open.

The man sets a stainless-steel tub of water at my feet along with a tray of clean gauze and bandages. “I don’t think you need stitches here, but I won’t know until they’re clean. Put your feet in here.”

“I’ll get it dirty.”

He arches a brow. “I’m counting on that.”

“But these supplies cost you money.”

“Girl, I’ve already stitched up your arm; what’s a bit more?” Instead of waiting for me to do it, he lifts my injured foot and gently guides it into the bin. I hiss in pain as the liquid hits my injured toe. “Yikes, no stitches, but you did a number on it. If you’re squeamish, don’t open your eyes.”

I’m not, but I keep them closed anyway.

It’s easier to hide the tears that way.

I’m not sure how long he works on my foot, but it feels like forever before he’s wrapping it in a bandage. “All done.”

I open my eyes as he’s lifting the pan of filthy water and dumping it into the sink. The man places his tray of soiled tools and gauze beside the sink then washes his hands and returns to the stool in front of me.

“Why did you help me?”

“Because you needed it.”

“But you didn’t have to help me. You risked your life. If you’d have known?—”

“I still would have done it.”

Tears blur my vision. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Cillian,” he replies.

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