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The idiot lunges.

A sharp pain rips through my side.

For a split second, I’m too stunned to react.

Did he just stab me?

The idiot not only ruined my shirt but also a perfect job.

Well, almost.

Adrenaline floods my veins.

I don’t hesitate.

My blade slices across his carotid.

The fight ends almost instantly.

Blood sprays on me and my clothing as the man collapses, clutching his throat.

Within seconds, he’s motionless beside the first body.

Two men instead of one.

Sloppy.

I hate sloppy.

That’s when the burn finally registers. A hot, spreading ache along my ribs.

I glance down.

Blood soaks through my shirt.

Son of a⁠—

The bastard got lucky when he stabbed me.

I press my hand against the wound, hissing from the pain.

Pressure first.

Stop the bleeding.

Disinfect.

Wrap it.

Then move.

I search the house, scanning cabinets and pulling open drawers until I find what I need.

Bandages.

Gauze.

Half a bottle of whiskey.