Seduced by the Assassin (Forbidden Confessions 7)

He nods. “Go.”

I turn to the shelves that contain Dr. Robbins’s day-to-day surgical supplies. Syringes and gloves, check. I pull down vials of antibiotics and pain meds, doing the mental calculations she taught me on dosage per weight. Ransom isn’t an animal, per se, and I’ll have to estimate, but I hope this quick-and-dirty assessment will do in a pinch. Then I find some suture thread and a needle, along with some tubing that should work for a homemade transfusion kit.

It’s a blessing that Dr. Robbins takes on the occasional emergency patient. Along the way, I’ve asked questions. She always answers while she works, like talking through the situation helps her validate her care decisions. I’ve paid attention and memorized the important stuff since I want to be a vet someday.

I hate that all of this is probably way beyond my ability, but what choice do I have if Ransom won’t let me call professionals?

“Done,” Ethan says behind me. “Looks like a wound in his left biceps and a fucking bleeder in his neck, both where bullets grazed him. No penetrative wounds, and nothing on the lower half of his body.”

“O-okay.” It’s good information, but I’m so damn nervous. “Let me wash up, and I’ll get started.”

As I head to the sink and douse my hands in soap, Ethan follows. “What did he say to you? How did this happen?”

I shrug. “There were gunshots outside. I called the police. It got quiet, then he broke in through the back door. He told me not to call nine one one and passed out.”

Ethan frowns. “Any idea why he was here?”

I’d love to believe that Ransom came for me on my birthday, like he promised. But that’s wishful thinking. How would he even know where to find me? I wasn’t working here seven weeks ago when I left his house before, as he put it, he did something we’d both regret.

“No.”

I turn off the faucet with my elbow, dry my hands on a sterile towel, and grab a pair of gloves from the box on the wall. My fingers are shaking. I hold the life of the man I love in my inexperienced hands. If I screw this up and he dies, the guilt will kill me, to say nothing of the grief.

Drawing in a deep breath, I try to get myself together.

Ethan lays a gentle hand on my back. “Just do your best. Neither of us can ask more of you than that.”

Guilt assails me again. Why couldn’t I have fallen for him? It would have been simpler. But once I met Ransom, no other man in the world existed for me.

I have to save his life. I’ll apologize to Ethan for throwing myself at his father later.

“Thanks. I’m going to need your help, though. Scrub up and get some gloves on.”

“Sure thing.”

He moves in front of the sink, and I turn all my focus on Ransom. I’ve never seen him naked from the waist up, and if he wasn’t bleeding, I’d spend time appreciating how male he is—bulging shoulders, hair-roughened pecs, ripped abs, lean forearms striated with veins, and those insane notches above his hips that make my belly clench. But now I’m worried he’s lying too still and even paler than the last time I looked.

Tamping down my panic, I set my fingers at his wrist. I wish I had a blood pressure cuff, but I don’t, so I manage a quick check of Ransom’s pulse. It should be stronger…but it’s there.

Relieved, I draw a syringe with some pain meds—I don’t want him waking up in the middle of this—and administer it. I can only hope it will keep him under so I can patch him up. Thankfully, he’s got veins for days. Then I wipe away the blood on his arm and his neck. The latter wound is far more serious. I’ll need to suture it first. I’ve actually done a couple of animals, so it’s not my first rodeo.

Yeah, under Dr. Robbins’s guidance. Tonight, this is all you.

Gulping down my nerves, I bandage the wound on his arm to slow the bleeding and focus on the neck. I clean and disinfect it, spray it with a little lidocaine, then start inserting the needle into his skin. I wince. The feel is almost as horrible as the sterile smell. I don’t mind this on animals, but tonight I’m trying to save the man I fell for against all odds.

“Breathe,” Ethan encourages, now beside me, gloves in place. “You got this.”

I freaking hope so.

After I put ten tiny stitches in his neck as neatly as I know how, I back away with a jagged sigh, then set in again on his arm. Since I’ve managed the hard part, I’m feeling better. It only takes a few stitches to close up the gash in his biceps. I check his pulse again. It’s steady, but still not as strong as I want.