Page 60 of Mafia King's Forbidden Obsession

Does he get high off pain?

I place the tray next to his bed and examine the wound. Blood covers his arm completely from shoulder to wrist. The material of his sleeve sticks to the injury.

Without a word, I grab the shears from the tray, the metal glinting under the fluorescent light. I move toward him, ready to cut through the tweed fabric tied around the wound, but Ezra’s eyes widen when he catches what I’m about to do.

“Wait…” he murmurs, voice faint, hoarse. “I like this jacket.”

I pause, staring at him for a moment in disbelief. “Are you trying to be funny?” I retort harshly, not making an attempt to hide my frustration.

Ezra begins to speak but decides against it and sinks further into the pillow below his head. He shuts his eyes, his chest rising and falling heavily.

Good.

I tighten my jaw while concentrating on slicing through the fabric without making contact with the wound. The scissors tear through the blood-soaked jacket and sleeve. My hands move quickly and efficiently.

Unlike the first time, I’m more composed. Except now I’m seething, mad at my patient for putting himself in this situation…and also at myself for caring so much.

When the piece of clothing finally falls away, the damage is worse than I thought, so deep that it’s a wonder he made it this far without passing out. I draw in a small breath as I watch the blood seeping steadily from the small, dark hole in his upper arm, the skin raw and red.

“Christ, Ezra…” I mutter, under my breath, before biting the inside of my cheek to keep myself from cursing out loud. Examining the wound more closely, I realize the bullet didn’t exit the wound. It’s lodged inside.

That explains why he’s subdued.

“How bad is it?” he asks, his voice rough.

I don’t answer as I feel a fresh batch of anger brewing in my chest.

I grab the gauze, pressing it against the wound to slow the bleeding, my fingers working quickly despite the trembling irritation coursing through me.

It doesn’t take long for the gauze to soak through completely. Not enough to stop the bleeding.

Focus, Raven.

My pulse races as I grab yet another gauze and press hard. I do this a few more times.

The room is quiet, save for Ezra’s ragged breaths and the soft clink of the medical tools as I prepare the needle and thread for stitching.

Then, out of nowhere, Ezra croaks, his voice barely audible. “You look hot when you’re mad. I could fuck you right now.”

I halt in the middle of my movement, heat rising to my cheeks. When I glance at him, his eyes are half-lidded, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. There's no way this man can look handsome, even when he’s on the brink of death.

And he’ll be dead if you don’t concentrate.

“This is not the time to be flirting with me,” I mutter, as I focus on his wound. I attempt to keep my voice steady, not wantingto reveal the effect he has on me, but his stare makes me feel exposed.

I inhale deeply, snapping back to work mode and devoting my attention to cleaning the wound. I sterilize the area around it, feeling the tension in my own hands as I press the antiseptic to his skin. He flinches but doesn’t say anything.

“How many more of these stitches do you want decorating your skin? At this rate, I’ll have to start charging you,” I deadpan.

Ezra has a lopsided smile. I’m annoyed that he finds this situation funny.

My brows knit together in annoyance. “And what if you’re unlucky next time? The bullet could’ve hit you in the chest…or worse, your head.” My voice rises slightly at the last words.

“It won’t,” he replies with a casual shrug, as if it’s nothing. His nonchalance pisses me off even more.

I pick up the forceps from the tray, carefully pressing down on the wound. Slowly, I ease the instrument in, feeling the resistance of muscle and tissue as I work to extract the bullet. His hand twitches, his breath catching sharply in his throat, but he stays still.

“You need to be careful, Ezra,” my voice softens with a breath.