Page 15 of Fighting

“I'm trusting you Doc.” He gives me a nod. “I’m going to pass out. Wait until the last second to pull the line. Pull too early and he’ll die. Bleed me dry and I'll come back and haunt your ass. Got me.” I wiggle to get myself as comfortable as possible while Dr. Moro connects the line to Tino.

“Thank you Dr. Jones.” Whisper Dr. Moro.

I give him a nod, then turn to look at Luca. I can feel the shadows creeping into my vision already. “It’s Keira, Doctor. Keira Harlow.” I whisper before the darkness takes over.

CHAPTER NINE

Val

HOLY FUCK THAThurts. Everything hurts.

Holy shit. I'm alive. How? Why?

I try to think back to the last thing I remember. A gunfight. Our car flipping over. Joseph. And Ramirez. He was there. In the house. My brain is foggy. It hurts to concentrate. I’m not still there am I?

I try to open my eyes. It’s bright and my eyes rebel. They want to remain closed. I give up and let them. I turn my attention to feeling around me. I’m on something soft. A bed. I have a sheet on me. A pillow is under my head. It’s soft. Really soft.

They wouldn’t have me in a bed. Would they?

No, Ramirez wanted me to suffer. Memories flood forward. Being tied to a chair. Cut with a knife. He wanted to know who sold him out. Who we had on the inside. Then he stopped and took a phone call. He was bitching to someone about Joseph having grabbed a girl. Then he shot me.

I was shot. My hand tries to move to search for the wound, but a pull on my forearm stops me. Looking down I see an IV in my arm. Why? Or was I saved? Did Luca find me?

There are voices coming from outside the door. I close my eyes again and try to relax. Until I know who I am dealing with, I don’t want them to realize I’ve woken up. For all I know, I’m still in that godforsaken place, and they are fixing me up, so they can beat me again. It’s a tactic our family has done in the past. If I can fake being asleep long enough, maybe I can get enough energy to escape.

The door to the room is opened loudly. A female voice hushes the others. I don’t recognize it. Or I don’t think I do. My head hurts too much. It’s taking everything in me not to let out a groan of pain.

“Why isn't he waking up?” I know that voice. Hang on. I know the name.

Stupid brain. Work.

“I told you he might not wake up for hours. Everyone comes out of it different. It’s not an exact science.” Who's voice was that? It’s the female again. Something about it is familiar. The names are there, in my mind, but it’s like they float away before I can grab onto them. “He had two fractured ribs, six knife wounds, a broken wrist, a nicked artery, a severe concussion, and multiple contusions and lacerations all over his body. Honestly it's a miracle he's alive.”

“And he better fucking stay that way.”

“Why would I save his life just to kill him now?” Argues the female. “If I wanted him dead I would have let him bleed out, or before that I could have let the bullet slip and fuck up his artery more, or I could have pumped him with the wrong medication, smothered him with a pillow, or grabbed someone's gun and shot him.”

“Alright I get it.” Luca says with a heavy sigh. That’s it! Luca. My brother Luca. I’m safe. Holy shit. I’m safe. I open my eyes slowly, knowing the bright light is going to hurt my eyes and head even more.

“Thank you Doctor. Truly, you've gone above and beyond for my son.” That’s the voice of my dad.

“You're welcome.” Her voice sounds tired. “Now, can I please leave?”

“No.” Reply Luca and dad together.

Huh, I wonder what their deal is with the Doctor. Is it me? Am I the reason she can’t leave? What the hell else is wrong with me? They said I’ve been here two weeks, I should be on the mend, right?

“Why the hell not?” She screeches. You can hear the anger as well as a tinge of fear in her voice.

Why indeed? “Elena's still running your background check.” Luca answers.

Where is our usual Doctor? Dr. Moro.

“Why the hell do you need a background check? You know where I work. Where my apartment is. And I just pointed out all the ways I could have killed him and didn't. What more could you want?”

“I want to know where you’ve been the last seven years. We have a lot of enemies. We need to be sure you aren’t one of them.” Seven years. That’s oddly specific.

Seven. Why does that number ring a bell?

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