Page 11 of Bratva Beast

“Huh. Nope.”

She cocks out her hip and stares. “So, what was it?”

I shrug and inquire with a sarcastic lilt to my voice. “I’m dying to know. What was everyone else’s guess?”

She pours coffee into a cup. “Want one?”

“No.” The loudspeaker in the lounge announces my name, and I smile at Annette. “Send the next guesser by, and we’ll see if they’re any closer to my reason.” I proceed out the door and into the hall, meeting up with the attending, Dr. Firth.

“We’ve got a gunshot wound due in three. I’m told you spent the earlier part of this rotation in Harlem. Did you do any sutures?”

Of course I did. Steel your face, Izzy. “Yes, sir.”

We walk into the triage area as the nurse is dodging the flailing man’s arms up to her face. Her manner pleads with theattending to step in. He shrugs at me. I move to the edge of the bed and pull the restraint from under the railing. I swing the cuff around the man’s arm and pull it tight to the bed.

The nurse smiles. “Thank you.”

By the time the man figures out what’s going on, I have his other arm tied at the rail. “Hey?”

I smile at the man and pat his arm, glancing at the seeping wound on his arm. “How’d you get shot?”

He cocks his head. “You’re a pretty one.” He mumbles in Russian, and I quickly turn to grab a clipboard to evaluate his information. I learned as a child not to react to surprises. “Mister?”

“Just call me Vlad.”

I nod. It’s not like he’d give the hospital his real name, anyway.

“You were explaining your injury.”

He moves his shoulder. “I was minding my business, and a bullet hit me. You guys were the closest hospital, so I walked in.”

The doctor scrutinizes the wound, then flicks his eyes at me. “Cut the clothes and clean around the wound. You will assist the nurse as she debrides the wound?”

“Yes.”

“Well, get to it.” Dr. Firth crosses his arms and watches as the nurse and I put together the supplies. I cut the sleeve farther up the arm.

A few minutes later, Dr. Firth looks over my shoulder. “That’s good. What would you do next?”

“I’d suture with 4-0 vicryl.”

He nods. “Well, get it done. I don’t have all night.”

The nurse sets the instrument tray next to the bed as I step back from washing and gloving my hands. “Thanks.” I take the stool next to the bed and begin my work under the scrutiny of the trauma surgeon overseeing the ER.

“Nicely done, Ms. Reese. Those are outstandingly precise sutures. How’d you learn that?”

“I worked under a plastic surgeon last summer.”

He snickers. “That must have been a nice gig. Where’d you do it, Beverly Hills?”

“Actually, I worked with Dr. Logan in Central America, helping children with deformities due to birth defects or trauma.”

His face whitens. “I’ve heard of Dr. Logan. That’s an excellent opportunity.”

“Yep.” I remove my gloves. He has no idea who I am or what my experience is. An hour later, I grab my stuff from my locker while the male nurse natters at me about grabbing breakfast. I shake my head, opening the door and running smack into a hard, broad chest.

“Izzy.”

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