Page 113 of Gamble with Me
“Don’t leave me,” he pleaded weakly, panting.
His torso was exposed, giving me the chance to see his injuries. He had a deep wound on his shoulder that bled profusely and another one on the right hip. But compared to the biggest one on the left side of his abdomen, those were just scratches.
“Never,” I whispered, glimpsing Malin, who grasped Zyon’s forearms tightly and pushed him down.
“Get ready, Valeria,” he uttered, holding my terrified look. “This won’t be pretty.”
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Valeria
No one could be ready for the situation I found myself in. I witnessed firsthand as Dorian literally pushed his fingers inside his brother’s wound and twisted them in all directions, trying to find the bullet and take it out.
Malin held Zyon down with all his might, pushing his upper body against his brother’s so he didn’t move. And I cried while I pressed my cheek against Zyon’s and hugged him in a weirdly broken position, doing my best to show him he wasn’t alone.
Zyon wanted to mask his desperate, painful screams by sinking his teeth into his lower lip, but it didn’t help. He only bit the sensitive flesh, making it bleed while the hopeless cries slipped out his mouth.
“It’s gonna be okay,” I whispered at least a hundred times, unable to look away from Dorian’s bloody fingers as he pulled them out again.
“He will bleed out,” he said, shaking his head helplessly. “I can’t find the bullet, and he is losing too much blood. We need to get him to the OR.”
“No hospital,” Zyon rasped, breathing hard. I thought he was lost in agony, but clearly, I was wrong. He knew what was happening.
“You’ll die,” Dorian stated, placing his dirty hands on his hips. He was covered in huge red stains, looking like a butcher. My eyes jumped from one to another, unsure why Doriandiscussed it. Zyon should have already been on his way into the hospital if they knew they couldn’t help him.
“I won’t,” Zyon objected weakly but with his usual stubbornness and determination, as if he could decide when was the right time to die. “You won’t let me,” he added, panting. I brushed my hand against his cheek, seeing as life was slowly leaving his body. It was an awful sight.
“I’m a doctor, not a fucking magician, Zyon,” Dorian rumbled, shaking his head in disapproval. “I won’t risk losing you because of your idiotic plan!”
“Getting shot wasn’t part of the plan,” Malin objected, glaring at Dorian.
“But here we are!” Dorian threw his arms in the air, pointing around the dirty room. “Do you have any idea how wrong this is? It’s like we are in World War Two without equipment, in the middle of the battlefield!”
“You can make it work,” Zyon whispered, gently squeezing my hand. “Just try again.”
“Let’s just go to the hospital,” I suggested softly, moving Zyon’s sweaty hair from his forehead. “It’s the best we can do.”
“No, mon cœur,” Zyon refused instantly, his tired, clouded eyes connecting with mine with a plea hidden between the words. “No hospitals.”
“You’ve been here for more than two hours,” I tried again, not understanding how he could survive so long. “Please, be rational.”
“He lost too much blood for his brain to function correctly,” Dorian mumbled, pacing back and forth before the table. “I need to open the wound more to see better, but it may kill you.”
“Just fucking do it!” Zyon groaned, his head tilting back and his teeth clashing together when Dorian examined the injury. The bleeding wasn’t so bad, but I knew Zyon could have internal damage that could be fatal.
“Zyon, please,” I begged, placing my trembling hand on his naked shoulder. My tears fell on his face as I hovered over him. “Dorian can’t perform surgery here. You will die.”
“I’ve been through worse,” he whispered, taking my palm and moving it to his dry lips. “Just don’t leave me.” He kissed the back of my hand and closed his eyes, reconciled with his fate.
“Fine,” Dorian snapped, his face the iron mask of anger but also resolution. “But if you die, Zyon, I’ll find you in hell and kill you again.”
“Noted,” Zyon exhaled, his grip on my hand tightening.
“Can you give him something for the pain?” I asked Dorian, watching as he opened the tiny bag and took out the shiny scalpel.
“I don’t have any meds here,” he replied sadly, cleaning his hands and the scalpel with alcohol. “Malin already knocked him out, but he woke up when I started. It’s been like this until you came. Since you’ve been here, it’s been much better. He’s stopped trying to break my nose. Please, don’t leave us.”
“I won’t,” I whispered, returning my attention to Zyon. I entwined our fingers and pressed my lips against his sweaty forehead. One corner of his plump lips lifted, yet it immediately disappeared when Dorian started his work.
