AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I am, and Dom Jr. tried to use my wife as a shield against the cartel he’s been robbing for years. How long till you get here?”
“I’m on the first flight out.”
“Can I send you a jet?”
A pause, then: “No.”
“Where are you?”
“Not far.”
“Where?” Corrado repeats, sounding agitated.
“I said not far.”
Corrado narrows his eyes. “Answer me.”
“I will when I see you face-to-face.”
A glance at me tells me the man doesn’t trust me either, and that’s why he won’t answer.
“In the meantime, am I going to bleed to death?” Corrado asks.
“It’s a flesh wound. There’s a medical kit in the kitchen and a few units of crossmatched blood in the fridge in case you need them. The security system password is Twatco, spelled in numbers. I’ll bring breakfast. Wife, do you like blueberry muffins?”
“I do.”
Corrado glares at the screen. “She does.”
“See you in the morning.”
They hang up, and Corrado searches the cupboards for the kit.
“Who was that?”
“His name is Dragomir. Drago for short.”
“Is he a friend of yours or…”
“Employee and friend.” Corrado’s leashed violence warns me off approaching him. He’s a wounded beast, and I walk slowly into his territory, which is currently the kitchen.
“Can I help you find anything?” I ask.
“He said the first aid kit is in here somewhere.”
I search the kitchen and find the kit on the upper shelf of the top cupboard. I rise onto my toes and stretch out my arm, until Corrado presses his front to my back, his hand on my hip. With a grunt, he grabs the red bag, then lingers behind me.
“You’re safe here,” he whispers in my ear.
“I know.” I turn so I’m facing him. “I know I’m safe because you’re with me.” I go on tiptoes to kiss him, but he moves away.
He slams the kit onto the bar. Corrado rummages inside. He pulls out a bunch of supplies. Disinfectant, gauze, a big needle.
“I’ll close the front, but I need you to do the back.” He pours disinfectant over the bleeding wound and hisses at the pain I imagine it caused. He snarls as he rubs iodine on it, puts on the gloves, and jabs a needle into a bottle of clear liquid.
“Local anesthetic,” he explains before jabbing it into his side.
I wince, but Corrado doesn’t.
