Page 20 of Twisted Empire

“I think that should keep you stable well enough until the actual doctor gets here,” I told him. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more.”

His smile was tight, but I could see the gratitude in it. “Thank you for trying.”

Beckett guided me on to another man who was bleeding from a wide but shallow gash on his head where he’d been clipped by a bullet, and then to a woman who I was pretty sure had fractured her ankle and who cursed a blue streak when I eased it into a makeshift splint to stabilize it.

I had no idea what the gang’s foot soldiers made of me at first glance, this preppy college-aged girl carrying a basic first aid kit, but as soon as Beckett spoke of my expertise, they offered themselves up for treatment without hesitation. The next man I checked out, who had a stab wound in his thigh, even told me I should go ahead and stitch him up myself.

“I really think it’s better if you wait for the doctor,” I told him. “If I miss something and you get an infection, that could be just as deadly as the bleeding.”

Beckett checked his phone. “He’s just fifteen minutes away now. We’ll get you good as new.”

The man grinned shakily. “I know you will, boss.”

After doing what I could for another man who’d taken a bullet to the calf, Beckett waved me over to the van we’d arrived in. “That’s everyone who needs looking after. I’ve got a bunch of other things to take care of. You can take a breather in the back if you want to get away from all this at least a little.”

As he hurried off, I glanced around, noting Logan and Slade helping haul another corpse into the other van. A brisk breeze blew over me, and the back of my arm stung.

Frowning, I twisted my arm at the shoulder and craned my neck, reaching toward the spot with my opposite hand at the same time. My fingers touched damp, severed fabric, provoking another jab of pain.

Sometime during the fight, I’d gotten a cut on the back of my arm. It was shallow—it looked like it’d only just bleed all the way through my torn shirt sleeve. The adrenaline must have numbed me to the pain before now.

I still had the first aid kit, now tucked under my arm, but it’d be hard to bandage up that spot when I could barely even get a look at it.

“What happened?” someone asked sharply from behind me.

I turned, recognizing the voice but not quite believing it until I saw Dexter taking the last couple of strides to reach me. His black curls were even messier than usual, his pale face tight with strain, but his green eyes caught mine with all the intensity he usually brought to bear.

“I’m okay,” I reassured him, my pulse fluttering at the concern etched in his expression. “But I could use a little help patching myself up… if you don’t mind.”

I held my hand partway toward him, letting him decide how far to take the physical contact. Dexter gripped my fingers without hesitation and carefully rotated my arm to the side so he could examine the wound.

He sucked in a breath through clenched teeth with a hiss. “We were supposed to get you to the building without you getting hurt.”

“It can’t be that bad if I only just noticed it. There were a lot of people fighting—I’m lucky this is all that happened.”

The frown didn’t leave his face. “Youweren’t even fighting.” His gaze darted up to briefly meet mine again. “Tell me what I need to do to bandage it properly.”

I had no doubt he’d follow my every instruction to the letter. I wiggled the first aid kit out from under my other arm and moved to the back of the van where I could set it down. Once I’d popped it open, I handed him the bottle of rubbing alcohol and a patch of gauze. “We should roll up the sleeve to completely uncover it, and then you can swab it with the alcohol. That’ll disinfect it.”

He nodded and helped me tug the ragged sleeve of the T-shirt up to my shoulder. Then he splashed rubbing alcohol on the gauze. I braced myself as he raised it to my arm. He swiped it over the entire area swiftly but thoroughly while I gritted my teeth against the burning sensation.

Dexter’s attention flicked to my face, and he jerked his hand back. “I’m hurting you.”

I offered him a tight but genuine smile. “That’s actually a good thing. It means all the things Iwouldn’twant lingering in the wound are dying. But I think it’s clean enough now.”

With a grim expression, he set down the pad. “Now what?”

I peered at the wound as well as I could. It was definitely shallow, like someone had raked a knife across my arm without managing to really dig it in. Only a few beads of blood were welling up along the cleaned skin.

“More gauze,” I said. “That should be enough to stop the bleeding completely and keep it clean for the time being. Cut off a strip a couple of feet long and wrap it around my arm. I’ll tell you how much pressure is good. And there’s tape to fix the end once you’re done.”

He got to work with the same brisk efficiency he brought to almost every task, but his fingers brushed against my skin with so much gentleness that my heart swelled with affection. I couldn’t imagine what it’d been like for him racing into this battle when he was most comfortable snapping photos and piecing together data.

But he’d done it for Beckett—and for me.

“Thank you,” I said when he’d taped the bandage in place.

Dexter eased my sleeve down and stared at the bloody edges of fabric for a moment. His eyes hardened in a way I’d never seen from him before.

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