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“Well, it’s not like we can walk into a hospital, can we?” Bobby pulled into the garage, parking their stolen car next to the Volvo, which had darkly tinted windows.
Even better.
Bobby lowered the garage door. “Come on. I already set out the things we’ll need. Luckily Paulina’s a prepper. She’s got a storage room full of food and medical supplies.”
Corey followed him into what was a tidy little house. The kitchen table was covered in bandages and other first-aid equipment. Uneasily, he sat down. “You ever done this before?”
“Nope. But I’ve seen a lot of old movies and I know what to do.”
Corey pushed to his feet. “No.”
Bobby laughed. “Sit down. I’ve done this before. One of my old buddies on the force shot himself in the leg when he was fooling around with his gun, trying to look macho. He didn’t want his old lady to know, so I took care of it.”
Corey slowly sat back down. “He thought he could hide a gunshot wound from his wife? How’d that work out for him?”
Bobby snorted as he quickly arranged the supplies in a way that actually did give Corey a little confidence. “About like you’d expect. I never said he was one of my smarter buddies. Ended up sleeping on the couch for a month. Take one of those pills, Corey.” He glanced up, now totally sober. “I’m serious. One won’t kill you. It won’t even impair you that much. It’ll take the edge off what’s gonna be a shit ton of pain.”
Corey scowled at the little bottle of pills. “I do not want to become Aaron.”
Bobby’s smile was uncharacteristically gentle. “I won’t let that happen.” He took a bottle of water from the pile of supplies and handed it to Corey. “Take one.”
Corey complied, shuddering as it went down. “My dad was a drunk. A stupid drunk. My brother is a stupid addict. I will kill you if I get addicted to this shit.”
“You won’t,” Bobby said. “Lay your arm flat on the table and bite down on this.” He handed his leather belt over the table. “Like in the movies.”
Corey grimaced. “I’m not putting your disgusting belt in my mouth.”
“God, you’re a baby. I cleaned it with alcohol. Just do it.”
Corey did, looking away when Bobby began probing his wound with a scalpel. Nausea rolled through his stomach and he clenched his jaw harder. Not gonna throw up, not gonna throw up. He chanted the words in his head until he heard the slight ping of metal as it hit a stoneware bowl.
“It’s out,” Bobby said unnecessarily. “You can spit the belt out if you want. That was the worst of it.”
“You’re not a bad medic,” Corey admitted reluctantly.
“Aw, shucks,” Bobby deadpanned. “You’re embarrassing me.”
Corey chanced a look at what Bobby was doing. “What’s that?”
Bobby held up a small tube of what looked like ointment. “Liquid stitches. It’ll close up the wound and you’ll be back to your old charming self.”
Corey laughed, but it came out as a moan. “Fuck off.”
Bobby applied the liquid and bandaged him up. “All done. Sit there while I gather all the bloody bandages. We’ll take them with us and burn them later. I’m also going to raid her pantry. I’m starving.”
“See if she has decent coffee for Ed while you’re at it,” Corey called, then dropped his chin to his chest. His arm hurt, his head hurt, and he was so fucking pissed off that he didn’t know what to do.
Yes, you do. You take out your anger on Allyson and then you go after Cardozo again. Then you find Bella, kill her, and get paid.
“Sure,” he muttered. “Easy as pie.”
A few minutes later Bobby returned with a few bags of groceries. “You okay?”
“Sure,” Corey drawled. “I’m just peachy.”
“Good to hear,” Bobby said cheerfully. “Let’s haul ass to Allyson’s house. I’m looking to punish a bitch.”
“Sounds like exactly what I need.” Corey stood, gritting his teeth when the world tilted. He breathed deeply until it passed. “I want to get my hands on the bitch who shot me, too.”
