Page 52 of Business vs. Pleasure

CHAPTER 15

“That cut needs stitches.”

August tried to pull away, but Ricardo kept a firm hand on his shoulder while he continued putting pressure on the cut at the base of August’s neck.

“Stop wiggling,” Ricardo growled.

“I do not need stitches,” August snapped. “And if we walk into a hospital or an urgent care right now, the cops will be there before the Novocain kicks in.”

“Lidocaine.”

“What?

“Lidocaine. They use lidocaine for shit like this.”

“They—I don’t fucking care what they use. If we go somewhere to get this stitched, I’m just going to be bleeding in a jail cell and you know it.”

Ricardo rolled his eyes. “We don’t have to go anywhere.”

“Oh, don’t we?” The sarcasm dripped. “Did you bring L’Avia’s sewing kit or something?”

“No. I brought my own.”

“You brought—” August twisted around as much as he could in Ricardo’s grip, and he narrowed his eyes. “What the fuck do you mean you brought your own?”

“Have you never looked through my medical kit?”

His husband’s eyes widened. “You’re—ooh, no. No way. I am not letting you sew me back up.”

“Would you rather bleed all over every piece of clothing you brought with you until it finally heals?”

August scowled. “Can’t we just… super glue it or something? Why does it need to be stitched?”

“Because I’m annoyed and want to poke holes in something.”

The befuddled expression almost made Ricardo laugh out loud. August sputtered a bit, then, “You… what?”

Ricardo allowed himself a chuckle, but then he sobered. “Look, I can glue the smaller cuts, but this one is deeper, and it doesn’t want to stop bleeding. Stitching is better.”

August regarded him suspiciously. Which… fair.

Ricardo sighed. “I have lidocaine in the kit, too. I’m not going to make you raw dog it.”

That earned him a snort and an eyeroll followed by a resigned sigh. “Fine. Okay.”

“All right. Keep this pressed against it.” He guided August’s hand to the gritty wadded up towel he’d been pressing to the cut. Once August had it securely in place, Ricardo got up off the bed and went to his suitcase.

They’d had to make a hasty escape from the other hotel. NightPigeon was in the wind. So was Darrow. The cops were swarming the place because of the gunfire and bloodshed. It was only by the skin of their teeth—and a very handsome bribe to some hotel staff—that August and Ricardo had given everyone the slip and made it out with their things.

Ricardo wouldn’t have cared too much if they’d lost their luggage. August would’ve been annoyed, no doubt, but he’d have gotten over it. Right now, Ricardo was just relieved they hadn’t been separated from the medical kit that always traveled with him.

Now they were in a shitty place in the kind of neighborhood where every window had bars on it and every counter in every establishment had a gun tucked behind it. August hadn’t complained or even wrinkled his nose. He’d still been a bit woozy; coming down from the adrenaline, Ricardo thought. There’d been a hot minute where Ricardo had wondered if they should risk going to a hospital after all because August might have a concussion or something. Once they’d settled into their room, though, and Ricardo had started tending to the scattered wounds on August’s neck and chest, the snark and sharpness had returned. That was enough to assure him August was out of any danger from a head injury.

The cut that refused to stop bleeding was another issue. It wasn’t gushing or life-threatening, but it wouldn’t let up. So…time for Ricardo’s medical kit to make an appearance.

From the kit in question, he pulled out the necessities and returned to the bed. After he’d put on some gloves, he got to work. When he wiped disinfectant on and around the cut, August grunted, swore, and made a few detailed promises that all ended with Ricardo in multiple pieces. The injection of lidocaine prompted some expansion on those promises, with threats that included the phrase “a sounding session gone catastrophically wrong.” Given that Ricardo had already made the mistake of asking August what “sounding” was, and he’d endured everything short of a PowerPoint presentation to explain it, he wasn’t about to ask for clarification of what it going catastrophically wrong would entail.

Fortunately, the local anesthetic worked quickly, and August’s tirade settled as the pain apparently faded. Ricardo tested the skin with a few pokes of the needle, which August didn’t feel. Then he added some more lidocaine to be absolutely sure it didn’t wear off prematurely like it had with one of his fellow Green Berets a lifetime ago.