Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 108709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Reaching up, I turn on the car’s internal lights as I reach into the back and grab all the first aid products I just bought. I settle it into the center before grabbing the gym towel and pulling it off him.
I climb right into his lap, straddling him as I search through the bag, finding the tweezers. There’s still a bullet lodged in his shoulder, and before I can even begin to help him, I need to remove it.
Finding the tweezers at the very bottom of the bag, I tear into the packaging before looking over Stone again. This isn’t going to be easy, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the pain had him regaining consciousness and clocking me right in the face. But if there’s ever a good time to do this, it’s now while he’s out cold.
Leaning over him, I grab his shirt over the bullet wound and shove my fingers into the blood-soaked hole in the fabric before tearing it away and giving myself better access. It’s not ideal, but it’ll have to do.
I look over it, the car lighting not making it very easy, but I can only work with what I’ve got, and after grabbing a few alcohol wipes and wiping over the open wound, I push my finger right into the hole, needing to know exactly what I’m working with.
I easily locate the bullet, and from what I can tell, it’s lodged mainly into the muscle, but from what I’m feeling, it nicked his collarbone. “Okay, Stone,” I say, wiping my bloodied finger on the used alcohol wipe and grabbing the tweezers again. “Please don’t wake up.”
Realizing the quicker I get this over and done with, the better, I swallow the lump in my throat and go for it, digging into the wound like I’m digging for gold. The tip of the tweezers quickly hits the bullet, and I work as quickly as I can, trying to get the edges around it, but the muscle is so dense that it’s hard to work with. That’s probably why the bullet didn’t get much further.
It takes a few tries, but after getting a good grasp, I hold on to that little fucker with everything I’ve got, wriggling it free until it finally starts to move. I pull it right out, feeling pretty fucking good about myself, until I realize that the bullet was acting as a plug and the blood starts to come.
“Fuck,” I grunt, grabbing the disgusting gym towel and bunching it up before pressing down as hard as I can against the wound. It takes a few minutes before the blood starts to clot, and the moment it does, I let out a heavy sigh, relief pounding through my veins.
Not brave enough to release my hold on the bloodied towel, I keep working with one hand, using my teeth to rip into the bandaging while opening more of the alcohol wipes.
I trail them over his body, cleaning up the smaller cuts and bandaging anything that needs immediate attention. There are nasty flesh wounds on his arms that are harder to tend to in this position, but I do my best before finally deciding it’s time to move the towel.
It’s better than I hoped. The blood has mostly stopped. It’s only a small trickle now, and I quickly clean it up just as I did with the others, going heavy on the alcohol wipes, because I’ll be damned if this man is taken out by an infection. Once it’s as clean as it’s going to get, I pack the wound before firmly pressing a bandage over the top, hoping I’ve done this right.
With all his bigger wounds tended to, I finish tearing off what’s left of his shirt before dropping the soaking material into the old gym bag along with the destroyed towel and any of the bloodied bandages that didn’t make the cut.
With his shirt gone, I grab the packet of baby wipes and gently roam them over his torso, doing my best to be careful, and I take in the bruising over his ribs. It’s about as bad as it can get. The swelling is horrendous, and the bruising is already coming out, telling me it’s only going to get worse. There’s no doubt that he has broken ribs, but with all this deep bruising, it’s impossible to tell which. I should have picked up some tape to keep the ribs strapped, and an ice pack, but it’s too late for that now.
Once I’ve done everything I possibly can, even going as far as to clean the blood splatters off his face and try to cool down his clammy skin, I focus on me. There’s really not much I can do. Apart from cleaning and bandaging the wounds on my ribs, hips, and thighs, that’s about all I can do for myself. I need painkillers, but I’ll have to go without for now.