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Tima returns with a first-aid kit that he leaves on the table.
“Can you walk to the sink, Stepan?” I ask. “I need to rinse off the blood.”
“I’ll help,” Igor says.
Igor puts his arm around Stepan’s shoulders and leads him to the sink as I go through the kit and extract a bottle of saline solution.
At the sink, I open the tap and hold Stepan’s hand under the water. “I need some clean dishcloths.”
While Tima opens a drawer and takes out a stack of cloths, I pour saline solution over the cut. When it’s clean, I grab a dishcloth and wrap it around Stepan’s hand to help stop the bleeding.
“That’s good,” I say in a soothing tone. “Now let’s get you back to the table.”
Igor helps him back into the chair as I drag another one closer for myself.
“Do you have a local anesthetic?” I ask.
Igor motions with his head toward the kit. “In there.”
I position Stepan’s hand with his palm facing up and his forearm resting on the table. “Keep pressure on the wound.”
Igor does as I ordered, freeing my hands to find the anesthetic. I fill a hypodermic needle from the vial and tip my head toward the cloth. When Igor removes the cloth, I inject the anesthetic in the fleshy part of the man’s palm.
“Take a clean cloth and press it on the cut,” I say, looking for surgical thread and a needle.
Stepan is pale, appearing close to fainting.
“A soldier who’s scared of blood?” Tima asks with a condescending smile.
“Only his own blood,” Igor says, giving Tima a cold look. “Your blood, for example, wouldn’t bother him.”
“Hey.” I give the men a stern look. “We’re all on the same side. Igor, tell him he can close his eyes or look away.”
Igor repeats the words in Russian as I prick Stepan’s skin with the needle to test if the anesthetic has taken effect. He flinches.
“Does it hurt?” I ask.
Igor repeats the question before translating for me. “He can feel the sensation of being touched, but there’s no pain.”
“How did this happen?” I ask, pushing the needle through Stepan’s skin at the top of the cut.
“Training,” Igor says.
I lift my gaze to his fleetingly. “You train with real knives?”
“It would defy the objective to train with toy ones, wouldn’t it?”
I bite back a retort. “What about Alex?”
“What about him?” Igor asks.
“Does he approve of this training method?”
“He’s the one who insists on it,” Igor says.
I gape at him. “That’s dangerous. I can’t believe he’d be so irresponsible.”
Igor straightens his back. “He’s not asking anything of us that he isn’t doing himself.”
The implication makes me go cold. “What? Does he train like this too?”
Igor’s tone is indignant. “Of course he does. That’s why we respect him.”
Tima blows out a sigh. “If you’ve finished bleeding all over the room, I’d like to disinfect my kitchen. I have cooking to do.”
“Sorry.” I offer Tima a watery smile. “I should’ve taken him to the bathroom.”
“Don’t worry, my little rabbit,” Tima says. “It’s not your fault. These guys should know better.”
Fear pools hot in my stomach as I go back to work. I knew Alex was working out, but doing combat training with his guards? With real knives? And who knows what other weapons?
“What’s going on here?” a deep voice asks from the door.
I look up. The object of my thoughts stands in the frame, dressed in a dark suit and wearing a thunderous expression.
“Stepan is hurt,” Igor says. “Knife wound.”
“I can see that,” Alex says, stepping over the threshold. “But what’s he doing letting Katerina stitch him up?”
I blink up at him. “You’d rather Igor do it? At least I’m qualified.”
“This isn’t a fucking hospital.” Alex stops next to the table. “The men know how to take care of their wounds.”
Igor rubs a hand over his head. “I just thought—”
“That because she’s a nurse you’ll run a fucking sick bay?” Alex’s voice is harsh.
“Alex,” I say gently. “I’m happy to help.”
“You’re not here to work,” he says, sliding a frosty gaze toward Igor. “And my men aren’t here to put their paws on you.”
“Enough.” I tie a knot in the thread. “Instead of being angry about my assistance, why don’t you hand me the scissors?”
Alex grudgingly obliges.
I cut the thread and give him the scissors with an overly sweet, “Thank you.”
“We’re talking about this in the library,” he says with a tight jaw.
“After I’ve disinfected and bandaged the wound.”
He crosses his arms, watching me with a broody expression, but he doesn’t argue as I finish my work and tell Stepan to take a couple of painkillers and an antibiotic for good measure before going to bed.
Tima starts wiping the table with disinfectant as soon as Stepan stands. Igor has scarcely left with the patient before Alex wraps his hand around my upper arm and pulls me to my feet.
