Page 147 of Damián

“Don’t move, Damián,” says Tae, dropping to his knees beside us.

“We’re fine, Tae,” I groan, clearly not fine.

“Look, Tae!” Björn smiles, a little out of it, probably from his concussion. “We kept all our limbs.”

“Good boy for not losing them. Now stay still.” Tae takes a syringe and injects a local anesthetic right next to Björn’s cut.

He squirts an antiseptic directly onto the gushing wound, making Björn flinch, before grabbing a square of gauze and pressing it firmly against the gash.

Once he secures the gauze, Tae slides to me.

His hands move quickly over my body, checking for broken bones, and the second he presses on my shoulder, I hiss in pain.

“Dislocated,” he diagnoses.

“Oh, fuck… okay. On three,” I say, and brace myself as Tae grips my shoulder, getting ready to force the joint back in. “One… two—”

Tae shoves my arm up, snapping the shoulder back into its socket.

CRACK!

“Aaggg! Learn how to fucking count, Tae!” I groan through gritted teeth, and our tiny sadist laughs.

“Are they okay?” Logan asks, jogging over to us, his honey blond hair now covered in ashes.

“They’re alive,” Tae reports, not looking away from us. “Both are moderately bruised. Björn has a busted eyebrow, a broken finger, and a concussion. Dami has scrapes all over, tender ribs, and a dislocated shoulder, but nothing’s broken.”

“Good. Knox, Leif, clear the perimeter. Law, keep your scope on the tree line for runners.” Logan grabs both of my arms. “Good job on the plane, Damián. But we are having a very long conversation about unauthorized vehicular missiles when we get back to the office.”

“Sí, jefe,” I wheeze, letting him haul me to my feet.

“You’re… you’re fucked.” A cartel man bleeding out near us starts laughing, choking on his own blood. “You have… no idea who you just hit.”

I glance down at him. His forearm is covered in twelve ‘X’ tattoos, each one marking an innocent life he’s taken.

“We hit Elijah West,” I say, crouching down so we’re at eye level. “We know exactly who we hit.”

“No… not Elijah,” the man gasps out. “Oliver.”

“Fuck…” Björn is leaning against Knox, and he is looking at me worried. “Didn’t mini drug lord tell you?”

“No…” I murmur.

“Okay, so now we know what that ‘something big that must have happened’ is,” says Leif through the comms.

“Damián?” Logan asks, patting me on the shoulder. “You good?”

“Fuck no… I’m not good.”

— ¤ —

Once Tae cleared me, I went to my house, showered, changed, and came directly to Oliver’s house. I park Chiquita right in front of the doors of the West estate, and walk straight to the entrance.

As always, Martin opens the door before I can even reach for the knocker, and I toss him my helmet and keys.

“Yes, yes, Martin… you can move her.”

“Master Oliver is in his office,” he says, pointing to a female staff member with brown hair. “Malena will take you there.”