“Yes. I’m her.”
“I’ve given him Ceftibuten. It’s all I had. I abraded and closed the wound, just finished stitching him up. You can take a look at him if you like but you’re a little late, lady. Everything’s been done.”
“Everything’s been…” I can hardly comprehend what he’s saying. This guy laid hands on Zeth? This guy treated him and stitched him up? My heartbeat is pounding in every inch of my body as I shrug out of Lacey’s hold and hurry toward the table. Zeth is unconscious, his lips tinged a pale blue. His shirt is missing—it’s wadded up in a bloody mess on the floor beside the table—and there’s a three-inch-long wound just under his ribcage. It’s long, but it’s clean and straight. That means the knife this woman used was probably very sharp. A good thing in some cases. Not so good in others. Depends what she hit on the inside.
“What about internal bleeding? How much blood did he lose?”
The guy purses his lips. “Couldn’t tell you. He was out cold when I got here, so it must have been a lot. And I couldn’t see any bleeding inside. Like I said, I just cleaned him up and closed him.”
“You idiot!” I shove him out of the way, placing my hands on Zeth’s stomach. No rigidity. No signs of anything serious. No discoloration. No way of knowing what the internal damage is like now that this…this person has sewn him up. The stitches are regular and neat—the handiwork of someone who’s used to such tasks. I spin on the other man. “Who the hell are you, anyway?”
He raises his hands, smiling. “I’m you,” he says. “I’m a doctor that got caught up in this shit. I got caught up in something I had no business sticking my nose into. Are we done here? I have other patients to see.”
“Other patients? Where’s your practice? What hospital are you based out of?”
He only laughs. “My hospital is in the basement of a building somewhere you frankly don’t wanna know about, lady. And I have other people with other injuries that need stitching up, too, so if you’ll excuse me…”
He goes to leave, but I grab hold of his arm. “Do you even have a license?”
“No, sweetheart. I do not have a license. I lost that when I lost everything else.”
“Sloane! Sloane, he’s waking up! Hey! Hey, Zeth!” Lacey rushes toward the table, tears streaming down her face as she reaches her brother. His eyes are indeed cracked open, though bloodshot and unfocused.
“Lace,” he croaks. He lifts one arm, probably in an attempt to try and touch her, but then it falls limp to his side.
The sound of the huge metal door being pulled open echoes through the building, and I realize the black-market doctor is gone. In his place, Michael rushes through the door, eyes searching for Zeth. I meet him halfway and slap him so hard his head rocks to the side.
“What the hell were you thinking, letting some unregistered back-alley freak touch him? He could have killed him, Michael!”
Michael slowly turns to face me, touching his tongue to his lower lip. His eyes are devoid of any anger, though I can feel it pulsing steadily just beneath his calm exterior. “I was thinking that he was going to die if I waited for you. Would that have been a preferable solution?”
My anger sticks in my throat. “No. No, of course not. I’m sorry. I…” I was scared. I was terrified. I still am. I keep all of that inside, though. “I shouldn’t have hit you. I’m sorry.”
He doesn’t say a thing, just maneuvers around me in order to find his boss. I follow after him, swallowing down the hesitation I feel. I don’t want to see Zeth like this—it hurts way more than anything I’ve ever experienced before. And I definitely don’t want Zeth to see me so scared. I just…I just can’t. I drag in a deep breath, drawing all of my strength together before I face him.
It looks like Lace is doing her level best not to cry. “Don’t you dare die,” she says. Her hands are clamped on the very edge of the table, not touching him. She wants to, I can see it in her eyes, but she doesn’t.
Zeth smiles. “I’m not dying. I’m fine.” He tries to prove this by shifting his body weight, attempting to sit up. He makes it, too, the stubborn bastard. Michael rushes to his side, offering out an arm to lean on but Zeth shoots him a look I’m sure has withered the balls of many men. Michael backs up, one eyebrow raised.