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The man has terrible taste in liquor.

It’ll have to do.

I lift my white button-down.

Blood streaks down the tattoos covering my ribs.

I stand in front of the bathroom mirror and clean the blood from the wound as best I can. The cut is deep, but not deep enough to have hit anything vital.

Lucky me.

I grip the edge of the counter, my jaw tightening while another wave of pain rips through me.

Dammit.

Blood spatter dots my skin. My white shirt is ruined. But I've looked worse.

I grab the whiskey and take a long pull straight from the bottle. It burns going down, but it steadies the haze creeping into my head.

I secure the bandage over the wound, then wrap it as tightly as I can.

It will hold. For now.

The wound probably needs stitches, but I don’t have time for that.

My jaw clenches. My boss will be pissed.

I’m never careless. I’m always prepared for anything.

But this... I never saw coming.

I take one more swallow of whiskey, then set the bottle down and head for the door.

I’m a little woozy as I reach for the knob.

You’re fine.

I step outside, the night air hitting me like cold water.

It feels good.

I just need to make it to my truck, which is parked in the woods away from the property.

One foot in front of the other.

Easy.

Except the world tilts slightly as I start on the trail.

It’s just blood loss. Adrenaline crash.

It’s fine.

I steady myself against a tree trunk, breathing slowly until the darkness at the edge of my vision recedes.

After a couple of beats, I push off and start walking again, my eyes fixed on the trail.

It’s not much farther.