Page 146 of Ruthless Redemption
“Place him on his side.” The doctor stalks toward us, the woman doing the same as she rushes to pull on gloves. “Be careful of the protrusion in his back.”
The men dump Matthew on the operating table beneath the huge dome of a surgical light affixed to the ceiling and step away, allowing the woman to hold him in place.
“Be careful with him.” I take Matthew’s limp hand, his brothers at my sides.
“What am I dealing with apart from the shoulder injury?” The doctor wields a pair of scissors and cuts at Matthew’s clothes.
“We think it’s a bullet wound to the stomach,” Salvatore says.
“Any known allergies?”
“IV contrast.” Remy’s voice is weak as he rakes a hand through his hair. “He had it as a kid and blew up like a puffer fish.”
“Blood type?”
Remy shakes his head. Salvatore, too.
God, I don’t know either.
“Don’t worry. We’ll figure that out.” The doctor slices at Matthew’s jacket. “That’s all I need. You can leave. We don’t work with an audience.”
Lorenzo’s men start for the stairs.
I don’t move. I keep clinging to Matthew’s hand, wordlessly begging his eyes to open. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Then he dies.” The old man stops decimating clothing to stare at me, emotionless, giving no hint that he’s sworn an oath to help the sick and injured.
“I won’t get in the way,” I promise. “I won’t say a word.”
“You’ll leave or he dies,” he repeats. “All you’re doing at the moment is stopping me from arranging the units of blood he’s going to need to survive this.”
“Come on.” Salvatore slides a hand over my shoulder. “Let the doctor do his job.”
I don’t know how.
The thought of walking away… Of not being here if something happens…
“Please.” I peer down at Matthew, his skin ashen, his chest barely moving.
“Layla, come on.” Remy grabs my hand. “We’ll wait upstairs together.”
“I don’t want to wait upstairs.” Fire burns my lungs. “He needs to know he’s not alone.”
“He doesn’t need to know shit right now, lady.” The doctor glares at me. “Get out of here.Now.”
Salvatore gives me an apologetic smile. “It’s okay.”
“Please,” I beg. “I—”
Remy grabs me around the waist, hauling me off the ground and over his shoulder.
“No.” I push against his back as I’m carried up the stairs. “Please take care of him. Don’t let him die.”
I beg.
I plead.
I pray.
