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With a grunt, a body fell through the door. Frozen in shock, I realised with horror that it was Sean sprawled unconscious across the rug, and he was covered in blood.
20
The medical bag rested on the passenger seat as I steered the car with one hand. Luckily, this one was automatic. Blood smeared across the seat as I shifted restlessly due to the burning ache in my shoulder.
Loch wasn’t back, and I sent some men home with an unconscious Cian. Rafferty, my man who shot Niko in the hand, packed my wound with a field dressing. This allowed me to work Niko over without bleeding to death. I tortured him with very little finesse before leaving him for Loch.
Niko had come for Amy on Boyan’s orders. He identified Amy from the surveillance pictures Niko took into the prison. However, not everyone seemed happy that Daddy Stefanov would be back on the streets, calling the shots again.
“Where the hell are you going?” Loch’s voice boomed through the in-car speakers.
“Somewhere I can get two problems solved.”
“What the feck does that mean? You need Dr Ali to see you.”
“I’ve got another doctor in mind. Just get to the warehouse. I want everything from Niko before we send him to the depths of hell.”
“You’re not going to tell me where you’re going?” He forced out a breath.
I’d kept many things secret recently, keeping my own counsel. Loch was the loyalist man I knew, but the deeper we got into this shite, the closer I held my cards to my chest. Maybe I was paranoid like my old man.
“Send Rada to check on Amy, will you?”
Loch grumbled something but agreed. “I need more than what you are telling me.”
“Later,” I agreed, dropping my head back against the headrest.
I clicked off the call as I arrived at the underground garage. My hand shook as I swiped the stolen and duplicated card against the sensor, making the door roll up. Feck. I drove inside, parked next to the bank of lifts, and grabbed the medical bag.
I’d rather be seeing Dr Ali back home, as I didn’t believe he was involved with my traitor problem, but I needed the help of another kind, and luckily, there was a doctor here who would fix me up.
The lift was card-operated, too, and the reflection in the mirror inside showed a pale man with blood stains peeking out from under the jacket over his suit. Jesus wept. I looked like shite. It had been a while since I’d been shot or stabbed, and it was ironic I was turning to Liam for help.
The lift doors opened, and distant music came from the penthouse to the right. I headed left and swiped my card again. They really should change the electronic locks.
I shuffled a little light-headed along the corridor and into the expansive office room. Unlike the other times I’d been here, the place smelled of floral perfume. I headed for the bar before realising there wouldn’t be any alcohol. Fuck’s sake. I could do with a drink. I fished around in the medical bag and found a small bottle of whiskey. Not bothering with one of the fancy crystal tumblers, I slumped into a leather armchair and slugged it back from the bottle. It burned on the way down, a pleasant distraction from the pain in my shoulder.
My mind wandered, and I hoped Amy was okay. She’d be spitting mad by the time I got home.
“What the bloody hell are you doing here?” Oscar Russell’s posh British accent made me smirk.
“Nice to see you, Sir Oscar.”
I drawled out his title because I knew he hated it.
“What happened to you?” His gaze flicked over me.
“A minor altercation with a bullet.” I pressed a fresh gauze to my shoulder, which had begun bleeding again.
“You can’t just turn up here with a fucking gunshot wound!” Oscar hissed.
“You invited me to your engagement party,” I said.
“Bring a bottle and celebrate, I said. Not a medical pack and bleed out!” He tossed his hands up.
His fiancée, Eve, entered the office, her dark eyes wide with alarm.
“Hi there, Doc. Me shoulder’s in bits. I’m gonna need your help.”
