Page 172 of Enemy of My Enemy
He leaped, throwing the medical kit at Sergey and clambering over Ethan’s battered, bloody body as Sergey crowded in on top of Ethan’s legs.
Sasha peeled out, dirt and snow kicking up behind his tires. He spun the wheel as Jack cradled Ethan’s head in his lap.
Sergey ripped Ethan’s shirt in half, exposing an angry, ragged tear in his side, weeping blood all over the jeep. “Press!” he shouted. “Press down!”
Jack balled his jacket up and leaned down on Ethan’s wound, right over his ribs. He still had on Ethan’s Secret Service sweatshirt underneath his jacket.
He stared into Ethan’s pale face. Traced his blue lips with his eyes.
Sergey unzipped the medical bag, grabbing the suture kit. “Scott! Under the front seat!” he barked. “Now!”
Scott ducked down, rummaging.
“Hurry!”
“This?” Scott popped back up with a plastic bottle of vodka, the label scraped off.
“Yes!” Sergey snatched the vodka and unscrewed the top with his teeth. He pulled out a pre-threaded hooked needle from the suture kit and sat on Ethan’s thighs, pinning him down. He spat out the vodka cap.
“Jack, when I say, pull back the jacket and hold him down.Hold him down, and do not let him move.” Sergey’s eyes blazed, burning as he stared at Jack. “Understand?”
“What are you doing? Sergey—”
“I am FSB, Jack! I know what I am doing! I can save him, but only if you shut up!”
Jack’s lips clamped closed as Scott grabbed one of Ethan’s wrists.
“Now,” Sergey breathed.
Jack flew back, dropping the jacket and leaning down, pressing everything he had into Ethan’s thick shoulders. He pushed his face into Ethan’s, staring at him upside down, practically nose to nose.Ethan, come back to me. Come back to me, please, Goddamn it. Don’t do this. Don’t die, not now. Please, Ethan.
Sergey doused Ethan’s ragged wound in vodka, soaking the torn edges of his skin and washing away the blood.
Ethan’s eyes popped open. He roared, blindly trying to fight against the surge of pain. He bucked, but Sergey stayed on him. Wild, Ethan tried to punch, thrashing against his restrainer.
“Ethan!” Jack shouted. “Ethan, stop! It’s us! It’s me! It’s Jack!”
Ethan froze, his wild gaze darting left and right before he zeroed in on Jack. Jack watched it, saw his lover go from some kind of wild animal to slow, defeated recognition. Saw the terror creep into his eyes, and then the agony.
“Jack,” Ethan whispered. His voice was a fragile, broken thing. “Jack. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry you’re dead.”
“I’m not dead.” He tried to smile, even as Sergey readied the needle. He wiped away the blood, trying to see Ethan’s wound, but more kept pushing through.
Keep him calm. Keep him steady.
Jack plastered another smile to his face, even though his heart was about to burst. “Ethan, I’mhere. I’m alive because you saved me. You told Irwin what happened and he got me out in time. And then I left it all behind. I lefteverythingto come find you. To bewithyou.”
Ethan’s face contorted, anguish and rage fighting for dominance. “No. No, this is just a dream. This is just my dream. I’m dead, I’m dead—”
Sergey stabbed him with the needle, digging in deep, and pulled the dark thread through his skin quickly.
Ethan screamed, his eyes widening. He went rigid beneath Jack’s hold.
“It’s not a dream!” Jack’s hands rose over Ethan’s neck and his bruised face. He stroked his cheeks, his eyebrows, threaded his fingers through Ethan’s hair as Sergey stitched up his side and Sasha spun the jeep through the forest, sliding and careening on the black dirt and patches of snow. “Scott’s here too. He’s got your hand.”
Scott gripped Ethan’s hand.
Ethan clenched down, his knuckles going white.
