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Gun Guy grunted. “I don’t get paid enough for this shit. Leave ‘em here if you want. I’ll go talk to the boss. At least we got the restaurant guy for him like he asked.”
Still arguing, they backed out of the room and slammed the door. The lock clicked, and silence descended, broken only by Luca’s soft crying. Relief slumped my shoulders, irrational and temporary though it probably was.
That lasted until a pained groan escaped through Byron’s clenched jaw, and he started to topple. I grabbed him instinctively, trying to control his descent as we both ended up on the floor.
“Byron!” Luca scrabbled forward to us, fear for the alpha overcoming his fear for himself as Byron curled forward, clutching at his bloody trouser leg.
“Goddamn it,” I snapped. “Why didn’t yousay somethinglast night! This needs to be bandaged!”
That was a lie. What it needed was ahospital.
“Didn’t realize I was locked up with Florence Nightingale,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “We’ll just get some gauze and dressings from the well-stocked first aid kit hanging on the wall, in that case.”
Spoiler alert—there was no well-stocked first aid kit hanging on the wall.
“You said it was all right!” Luca said, sounding newly devastated. “You made it sound like it was nothing to worry about!”
“Let’s just try to get the bleeding stopped,” I told them, aiming for calm despite my own growing panic. “Lie on your back.”
I pulled my battered suit jacket off and rolled it up for a pillow, basically shoving the alpha down to lie on it. The weak growl that slipped past his control reminded me that pushing an alpha onto his back with barely any warning probably wasn’t the smartest or most culturally sensitive course of action.
Too fucking bad.
“Luca, can you elevate that leg for me, while I get something to use so I can put pressure on it?” I knew the omega didn’t want to be near alphas right now, but that wasalsotoo fucking bad.
Luca meekly lifted the injured leg, wincing at all the blood. I turned my back and stripped off my button-down shirt, then the sleeveless white undershirt I was wearing beneath. It wasn’t sterile bandaging by any means, but it was probably a bit cleaner than the button-down after we’d been pawed and dragged around the alley last night.
I had nothing to slit Byron’s trousers open around the wound, but the knife had made a handy entry point. I managed to get two fingers through the hole and tear the fabric open until I could see the damage beneath. Except Icouldn’tsee the damage. Just a bunch of disgusting coagulated blood.
“File this as the least enjoyable example of having clothing ripped off that I’ve ever experienced,” Byron groused, his voice alarmingly thready.
“Don’tjokeabout it!” Luca snapped.
“To be fair, it’s not really doing much for me, either,” I replied. “Okay, put his leg down flat, Luca. Sorry, I know this is really going to suck.”
With that, I balled up the undershirt and pressed it directly over the wound, bearing down with a good part of my weightand holding it there. My lips pressed together tightly as Byron bucked, letting out a choked cry.
THIRTY-FIVE
Zalen
I’D NEVER MET BYRON’Sgrandmother before. I’d never even phoned or texted her. All I had was a number with a local area code and a name—Beatrix Delgado. No address, although it was an unusual enough name that I could probably track one down without too much effort.
Instead, I called—even though it was the middle of the night. The phone rang and rang without ever going to voicemail, making me think it might be that rarest of endangered technology, a landline.