Page 28

“Oh,” I murmur.

The fabric over his fly is straining. Considerably. Zevran Komarov is heavily built all over, and clearly not indifferent to my hands wandering across his skin.

Is that…for me?

I reach directly for the prominent bulge at his zipper, but before my fingers can touch him, his large hand snaps out, clamping tightly around my wrist.

He catches my chin with his other hand, tilting my face up to meet his. He peers down into my wide, dilated eyes, and then abruptly snaps his fingers right in front of my nose.

“You’re high as a fucking kite,” he growls, stepping back and whipping his head toward Lorenzo. “How much did you give her?”

Lorenzo materializes, setting a metal tray of supplies down beside the table with a loud clatter. “Enough. Now move your ass out of my way so I can set the bone.”

I let out a soft, disappointed sound as Zevran steps back, hurriedly rebuttoning his shirt.

Lorenzo pulls up a stool, sitting directly in front of me. He reaches into his tray and holds up a long hypodermic needle right in front of my face. “Lidocaine. Going straight into your wrist.”

“More drugs? Why?” I ask, my tongue feeling thick and heavy.

He grabs my arm and plunges the needle straight into the most swollen part of my wrist before answering. I feel a pinch, but the drug haze is so thick I can’t bring myself to care.

“Because back-alley mob medicine doesn’t stretch to a half-million-dollar X-ray machine,” Lorenzo tells me. “I have to align this the old-fashioned way.”

Old-fashioned medicine. That brings to mind rusty bone saws and pliers, but thankfully, neither appear.

Instead, Lorenzo takes my forearm in both black-gloved hands, his thumbs digging deep into the swollen flesh as his brow tightens in fierce concentration.

He finds the fracture, and I feel the broken edges of my bone grinding against each other. I wince.

“Does that hurt?” Zevran snaps. “Scava, stop hurting her.”

“Relax, Komarov. With the dose I gave her, she probably can’t remember her own name.”

I frown, floating in a cloud. What’s my name again?

I must have said it out loud, because Zevran immediately steps closer, his voice softening. “Your name is Viktoriya.”

Viktoriya… That doesn’t sound right.

I flinch again as the bones in my arm crunch together.

“Scava!” Zevran barks.

“Shut the fuck up and let me work,” Lorenzo snaps back.

I reach out with my good hand, finding Zevran’s tattooed fingers and squeezing them reassuringly. “I’m okay. It just feels…crunchy.”

Zevran stares down at our intertwined hands, his massive, tattooed fingers laced tightly with my small ones. His mouth forms a tight line, and he squeezes back, his thumb gently stroking my knuckles as his eyes lock onto mine.

They’re such beautiful eyes, swirled with blue and pale gray.

“Got you,” Lorenzo says, immediately wrapping a tight, elastic sleeve over my wrist before the bone can slip. “Don’t move a muscle, or I have to align it again.”

Lorenzo wraps soft cotton padding over the joint, and then begins dipping strips of plaster into warm water, smoothing them over my arm with efficient, practiced strokes. The plaster heats up as it sets, radiating a soothing warmth into my skin. I watch his hands work, thinking distantly, He really is a good doctor.

“Keep still for twenty minutes until the plaster hardens, and you’re good to go.” Lorenzo glances down at our laced hands. We haven’t let go for a single second. “Hey, Komarov.”

“What?” Zevran rumbles, not looking away from me.