Page 66 of Our Violent Ends
Alisa’s eyes grew wide, her words cutting off and her hand flying to her mouth.
The pain did not come at first. It never did: a blade entering always felt cold and then foreign. Only seconds later, as if her nerve endings had finally registered what happened, did intense, sharp agony reverberate outward from the wound.
“Mudak,” Juliette managed, turning to look at the blade half-embedded in her shoulder, then at Roma. His jaw was slack, face drained of color. The wound, meanwhile, immediately started to bleed, a steady stream of red running its way down her dress. “You just had to throw the one with a jagged edge?”
That seemed to startle Roma into action. He walked forward, slowly at first, and then at a run, nearing Juliette and grabbing hold of her arm. She watched him examine the wound. Even if Juliette were uninjured, she didn’t find a reason to be frightened. His anger—however momentarily—had dissipated.
“Alisa, run to the nearest safe house and get the emergency first-aid box.”
Alisa’s eyes grew to enormous proportions. “Are you planning to stitch her up yourself? She needs the hospital.”
“Oh, that would go down well,” Roma said tightly. “Shall we take her to a Scarlet or a White Flower facility? Who will shoot a little slower?”
Alisa balled up her fists. Juliette was still alert enough to pick up the clamor of the fight coming from a distance, but she couldn’t quite feel her fingers anymore, nor squeeze her own fists.
“It’s only down the road, Alisa.” Roma pointed forward. “Hurry.”
With a huff, Alisa spun on her heel and hurried off.
Juliette breathed out. She almost expected to see her breath, as she would on a cold winter’s day. Instead, there was nothing: the coldness was coming from inside her. A numbness was flooding her limbs, little prickles like every cell in her body was trying to go to sleep.
“Put pressure on the wound, would you?” she asked casually.
“I know,” Roma snapped. “Sit.”
Juliette sat. Her head was spinning, doubles and triples appearing in her field of vision. She watched Roma tear his jacket off, balling it up and adjusting the fabric around the blade, pressing as hard as he dared to stop the blood from running. Juliette did not protest. She only bit down on her lip, bearing the pain.
“What iswrongwith you?” Roma muttered after a while, breaking the silence. “Why would you do that?”
“Stop you from knifing your own sister?” Juliette closed her eyes. Her ears were humming with white noise. “You’re welcome.”
Roma’s frustration was tangible. She knew exactly what he was thinking—why take a hit for Alisa when she had been the one threatening to shoot his sister at the hospital? None of this made any sense. Of course it did not make sense. Because Juliette couldn’t make up her damn mind.
“Thank you,” Roma said, sounding like he could hardly believe he was saying those words. “Now open your eyes, Juliette.”
“I’m not going to sleep.”
“Open. Them.”
Juliette snapped her eyes open, if only to glare at the alley space in front of her. It was then that Alisa returned clutching a box to her chest, her cheeks red and her breath coming in gasps.
“Ran as fast as I could,” she huffed. “I’ll watch the alley while you...” Alisa trailed off, not knowing preciselywhatRoma was going to do.
She dropped the box by her brother, then ran for the other end of the alley. When Juliette strained her ears again, she realized that there was no shouting in the distance anymore. Alisa had likely noted the same thing: the fight was over. The gangsters would be fanning out soon, looking for them.
If Juliette was going to talk to Roma, she needed to do it now, before it was too late. He had already stopped trying to stanch the wound, flipping the box open and unscrewing a bottle of something pungent. He set it aside.
“I’m cutting your coat off,” Roma said. Another blade appeared in his hand, slicing through the fabric at her neck before Juliette could protest. When he peeled the coat away from her thin dress, all Juliette could smell was the metallic tang of blood. If her shoulder hadn’t been in overpowering pain, she would have thought some stray alley cat was giving birth nearby.
Muttering a curse, Roma put his fingers to the zipper at the back of Juliette’s dress.
“You know,” Juliette said, barely stopping her teeth from chattering, “you used to ask before you undressed me.”
“Shut up.” Roma tugged the zipper down. Just before he peeled aside the dress, he yanked the blade out.
“For crying out—”
“I do suggest keeping it down,” Roma said tightly. “Would you like a handkerchief to bite?”
