“Still here,” she said under her breath.
He let out a choking cough. Blood sprayed her gown. She didn’t even flinch.
The resident skidded back into view, the trauma kit rattling in his hands.
“Lidocaine,” she ordered, reaching out.
He fumbled, almost dropped it. She caught it out of his hand with a snarl.
She didn’t wait. She stabbed the needle deep into the intercostal space. Victor made a strangled, pained bellow, arching on the table. Two nurses pinned his shoulders. His eyes went wild, pupils blown wide, teeth bared in a bloodied snarl.
She didn’t blink. She didn’t apologize.
“You want to breathe, you let me do this.”
His chest hitched. He made a sound like a dying animal but went limp enough to let her finish.
She guided the resident’s trembling hands, watching the incision open with a wet rip. Blood welled immediately.
“Don’t stop,” she hissed.
Air hissed out around the tube as it slid in, the release of pressure a nauseating sound in the sterile room.
Victor sagged hard against the table. His breathing stuttered, then evened out fractionally.
The monitor calmed.
She heard the beep slow, become steady.
Victor’s eyes flickered.
He was still glaring at her.
She didn’t look away.
“Vitals stabilizing,” the resident announced, voice cracking.
Rose didn’t break eye contact with Victor.
“Luck had nothing to do with it,” she murmured.
He swallowed thickly. Blood was smeared across his teeth. His lips twitched.
“Cockroach… huh?” he rasped.
She grabbed a fresh wad of gauze and wiped his mouth without ceremony.
“Survival instincts of one,” she confirmed, voice dry.
He let out a sound that might have been a laugh.
“Sweetheart… I’ve been called worse.”
“Good,” she said, pressing gauze to his brow again, more gently this time. “Then you’re not fragile.”
He shuddered with pain but didn’t look away.
She felt her stomach twist.
