Page 29 of Killaney Blood
He keeps walking.
"Hey," I say, following him. "Did you hear me?"
He stops so abruptly I nearly run into his back. When he turns, his green eyes are dark with intensity, the crowd roaring behind him.
"I've got three fighters. 1.2 million on the line. No gloves." He gestures toward the ring, where two men are tearing each other apart. "Too much blood, they call it. So fucking staple them together if you have to."
He turns and walks away, leaving me standing there, furious and flustered. He didn't even acknowledge what I said. Just swooped in like I was some damsel in distress and then dismissed me.
I don't need him or his protection. I've been handling grabby most of my life.
Pushing down my anger, I focus on the fight. The money I'll get.
The two men in the ring seem evenly matched. Both tall, muscular, and probably crazy.
One of them, however, is beginning to falter. His movements are slowing, blood running into his eyes from a deep gash.
The bell rings and the fighter staggers to his corner with the ref. Declan speaks to him and then motions urgently for me to join them.
I push through the crowd as the fighter collapses onto his stool, breathing heavily. Blood streams down his face.
"Ref's going to call it," Declan says as I approach. "Fix him. Now."
I assess the damage quickly. Deep cuts. He needs stitches, but there's no time.
"I need to close these wounds," I tell Declan. "He's losing too much blood."
"You have sixty seconds," Declan says, his voice tense. "Make them count."
I pull out my supplies and begin working. The fighter winces as I wipe away the blood.
"Hold still," I command. My voice is steady even though my heart races. I've done this hundreds of times, but never with so much money on the line.
The cut is deep. Butterfly bandages won't hold through another round of punishment.
"I need to put in at least two stitches," I say. "Hold his head."
Declan steadies his head with both hands. The position brings him uncomfortably close to me. I can feel his breath on my neck as I thread the needle.
"Thirty seconds," the referee calls out.
Shit.
I pierce the skin with the needle, drawing the edges of the wound together. The fighter grunts but doesn't flinch.
Declan leans closer, his chest against my back as he helps hold the fighter still. His hands brush mine as he wipes away fresh blood.
"Maybe the infamous ghost doctor works better under me," he says, his lips close to my ear.
Something rises in me. Anger, I tell myself.
I ignore him, focusing on tying off the second stitch.
"Ten seconds!" the ref yells.
I finish. It probably won't hold for long, but it might buy him a few rounds.
"Done," I say, just as the bell rings.
