“It’s not bad,” Artem says. I know it’s him because the voice sounds annoyed. And since I’m pretty sure I blew up his father’s house, he has good reason to be mad.
“She’s going to need stitches. The glass got her pretty good on the chest.”
I run my hand over my collarbone, then lower, where a sharp stinging has started to build. My fingertips glide through something wet and warm.
“I’m bleeding!” I yell again, shoving my hand forward. Someone grabs my wrist, and I’m hauled up off the floor and into someone’s arms.
I’m sure it’s Artem. He wouldn’t let anyone else manhandle me like this.
“It’s okay, you’re okay.” He squeezes me.
“What happened? Why did the wall explode?” I ask, squinting, as a bright light hits my face. I can’t make out figures, but at least the dark fog is lifting. “Why can’t I see anything, Artem?”
“You set off a flash bomb and fell back into a glass case. You’ll be okay, it’s just going to take a little while. You cut yourself when you fell through the glass.”
“Put her on the stool. I’ll get the suture kit,” Seamus orders, but Artem lowers me onto the countertop instead.
“Are you hurt anywhere else?” He gently runs his hands over my shoulders and down my arms. “Your pants aren’t torn, but I want to see if you cut yourself anywhere else.”
“I think I fell face first into the glass,” I admit. “Is my face bleeding?” I reach up to inspect for myself, but he grabs my hands and puts them in my lap.
“There’re a few small cuts. The one on your chest is the worst.”
I blink more as shapes start to appear. I can’t make out his face, but I can see his frame.
“I have the kit.”
“No. I’ll do it,” Artem says with finality. “You’re not touching her.”
“All right, whatever you say.” The plastic box hits the counter with a clank. “Make sure there’s no other shards of glass in the wound. You don’t want to sew it in.”
“I’ve done this before.” Artem touches the side of my face. “You need to hold still.”
“I forgot. Big enforcer for the Volkov regime.”
“Regime?” I turn toward his voice finding his silhouette moving toward the large window facing the woods. “Do you have a problem with my family?”
“Elana.” Artem strokes my face. “I need you to hold still. There’s a small piece of glass I need to pull out.”
“Why is he talking about my family like that?” I demand.
“Because he’s an asshole,” Artem explains, ripping my shirt at the neckline. I swat his hands away, but he catches my wrists and brings them to my lap. “I needed to get to the wound. It’s only a little tear.”
“You think I care about my shirt?” I laugh. “I just don’t want to sit here with my boobs hanging out and your geriatric father wandering around.”
He snorts a laugh. “Don’t worry about him. If he sees anything, I’ll cut his eyes out.”
Seamus makes a grunting sound from behind me. “Get it done.”
I move my hands to my sides, gripping the edge of the countertop while Artem gets what he needs from the kit. In a stroke of bad luck, my vision clears just in time to see him pulling the needle from the suture kit.
“That’s too big. You need to find smaller one.” I twist to grab the kit, but Artem pushes my hand away.
“It’s the only size, and it’s not too big. Just relax.”
“Can’t you use some skin glue or something?” My head spins. I’ve never been afraid of needles before, but they’ve always been attached to an injection syringe. A small little prick for a flu shot is one thing, having that thing going in and out of my skin is something else entirely.
Artem puts the suture down and picks up a pair of tweezers, showing them to me. “I’m going to get the glass out first.”
