Page 2 of Twisted Vows

This is bad. Really,reallybad.

I need to get him out of here as fast as possible, then I need to disappear.

He sets the gun beside himself and grips the edge of the table. I give him a clinical once-over before narrowing my focus on his thigh.

When I dig into the wound, his knuckles turn white and he screams in pain. Despite how much I long to punish him for whatever crimes he no doubt committed, I locate the first bullet and pull it out as quickly as possible.

This bastard is either very lucky or the shooter didn’t intend to kill him. With three closely lumped bullets in his outer thigh, he gushes blood even though his femoral artery is intact. Whichmeans they wanted him injured enough to seek professional medical help but not die.

I check the bullet, ensuring I’m not leaving pieces behind, and drop it in the metal pan on the tray. I lower the tweezers back into the wound and extract the second bullet.

He passes out. I dive back in for the third bullet.

“Should I call the cops?” Dr. Tyler asks.

“There’s no need for that, doc.”

We both stiffen as a shadow fills the doorway. Adrenaline floods through me, but I place the bullet in the pan and press a heavy layer of gauze over all three wounds, packing and applying pressure to slow the bleeding.

A glance over my shoulder reveals the shadow is another gangster, but this male is more thuggish than the guy passed out on my makeshift operating table. He’s older, too. Scars line his arms and face, and he’s had a broken nose at least twice.

He poses a bigger physical threat than the man on the table, but I know from experience he’s just a lackey. He’s my patient’s bodyguard.

“Come here,” I command with an impatient glance at him.

Surprise widens the newcomer’s eyes, but I nod down at my hands.

“Apply pressure. You’ll get out of here quicker if I can start on his other wounds instead of standing here,” I explain.

He assesses the situation before tucking his pistol in the back of his waistband and lumbering into the room. I pass the compression job to him, not mentioning his dirty hands since getting these two men out of here is more of a priority than worrying about an infection. I move to the far side of the table.

Two gashes on the man’s bicep bleed freely, but I yank open his button-down shirt and check the oozing wound on his side. Burns surround the torn flesh. Another bullet wound, but too superficial for stitches.

With the lackey distracted, I give a pointed glance over my shoulder and say, “Dr. Tyler, some antibiotics, please,” hoping he remembers to press the silent alarm on his way down the hall.

He nods and rushes through the doorway. The meathead doesn’t react.

My patient wakes in a sluggish rush. I push him back down and cut his sleeve up to his shoulder. Deciding the blood flushed out all potential debris, I take the needle and thread from the tray and stitch both gashes with steady hands.

“Where’d themedigango?” the bosshole asks.

Fuck. He noticed Dr. Tyler isn’t here. I tie the last thread and cut the end.

“To get antibiotics. You’ll need them,” I say with a head tilt toward my impromptu assistant, indicating his dirty hands.

“Are you trying to kill me,trioa? You planned this, didn’t you? Get off me.”

He shoves me away. I lift my bloody gloves to shoulder height and take several steps back. With a few angry motions, he slaps a bandage over his arm and snarls for the bodyguard to move back before wrapping a strip around his leg.

He gingerly pushes off the table and pulls his pants up before grabbing his gun and limping toward me. I neither flinch nor avoid his eyes as he invades my space, stepping so close his body heat seeps into my front. My insides curdle with disgust as he fingers my name badge and trails the muzzle of his pistol down the side of my face.

“Don’t worry, Mia Rivera, I’ll be back for you, so be careful what you tell the cops,capisci? I promise you’ll pay for every word,” he murmurs.

Despite the tension coiling through me, I return his glare until he chuckles in amusement and turns toward the door. Even though Mia isn’t my real name, hearing him speak it is too much. I need to get away from him. Now.

His lackey follows him like a brainless idiot. For several long, drawn out moments, I stand alone for the first time in what feels like a century. The clock ticks on the wall. Blood drips off the corner of the table and splashes onto the floor. The fluorescent lights hum in the ceiling.

Dr. Tyler appears in the doorway, snapping me out of my trance. I yank the disgusting gloves off my hands and start cleaning the room.

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