19. Raven

Chapter nineteen

Raven

I stumbled upon the library earlier in the afternoon, and since then, I’ve been in here. When I look up from a book, it’s already night, and the lights have turned on.

I ignore the three men patrolling the library, discreetly following my every move. As much as I love to read alone, their presence brings me a silent comfort. I feel protected.

I’m nestled in an egg chair, suspended by a single rope from the ceiling and surrounded by tall brown wooden shelves, each column stocked with first editions of a variety of book genres.

The Rhythm of Us by Sophie Caldera soon got me hooked. Two hundred and fifty pages in, and I’m a blushing and giggling mess. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been this relaxed.

I shift in my seat when I hear the door creak open. One of the patrols is talking to a guard who had just walked in, their sibilant whispers punctuating the silence. Something about the guard’s wide eyes throws me off.

The guard nods in my direction, and I wonder if it’s time for my curfew. I lift my eyes to the large wall clock hung above a shelf. 11:54 p.m.

Before I bring my attention to them, the guard is before me in quick strides. “Your attention is needed in the stitch room right now.”

I breathe as I close the book and rise to my feet.

Just what I needed to end an almost perfect day.

“Let’s go,” I say flatly.

Who is hurt again this time?

We exit the room, the guard leading the way. We round a corner and my feet carry me down the flight of stairs, moving faster than my thoughts.

I can’t think about anything else except for worst-case scenarios. Maybe he’s cut someone’s finger and wants me to stitch it back up, or he’s beaten a poor man to a pulp and requires that I nurse him back to life. Or even he himself needs attention.

My steps falter when I reach the ground floor and take in the sight before me. The man, whom I’ve heard Ezra call Elio, is supporting Ezra on his shoulder. His firm hands around Ezra’s torso support a staggering and barely conscious Ezra. What?!

“Ezra…?” I whisper, though I doubt he heard me.

My steps instantly quicken as I follow them to the stitch room, my heart hammering in my ears. Ezra’s sleeve is soaked through with blood. His suit jacket is roughly tied around his left arm, the dark cloth is completely soaked and dripping onto the floor with each step. His olive skin is now pale white, and his lips are pressed tight in pain.

A wave of panic slowly rises in me, but I force it down, my chest tightening as I try to stay composed. I won’t lie, though, seeing him like this shakes me to my core.

When we arrive at the stitch room, Elio eases his boss down onto a recovery bed. Ezra grunts in pain as his body hits the mattress, his breathing shallow and ragged. His eyes are barely open, glaze over with exhaustion.

“What happened to him?” I ask, hurrying to grab the necessary equipment. Although I can guess what it is.

“Bullet to the arm,” Elio responds.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. I curse, fastening a face mask over my nose.

“I’ll take it from here,” I tell Elio. He hesitates for a moment, shooting me a worried glance before stepping out. Two guards stay behind, one stationed at the entrance, and the other stands by the sink.

Swinging into action, I slap on gloves and gather gauze, disinfectant, and stitching supplies from the cabinets.

For a brief moment, I note Ezra ensured to stock up on more supplies than just the essentials like in the old mansion. The only difference is there are no painkillers or anesthesia in sight.

Does he get high off pain?

I place the tray next to his bed and examine the wound. Blood covers his arm completely from shoulder to wrist. The material of his sleeve sticks to the injury.

Without a word, I grab the shears from the tray, the metal glinting under the fluorescent light. I move toward him, ready to cut through the tweed fabric tied around the wound, but Ezra’s eyes widen when he catches what I’m about to do.

“Wait…” he murmurs, voice faint, hoarse. “I like this jacket.”

I pause, staring at him for a moment in disbelief. “Are you trying to be funny?” I retort harshly, not making an attempt to hide my frustration.

Ezra begins to speak but decides against it and sinks further into the pillow below his head. He shuts his eyes, his chest rising and falling heavily.

Good.

I tighten my jaw while concentrating on slicing through the fabric without making contact with the wound. The scissors tear through the blood-soaked jacket and sleeve. My hands move quickly and efficiently.

Unlike the first time, I’m more composed. Except now I’m seething, mad at my patient for putting himself in this situation…and also at myself for caring so much.

When the piece of clothing finally falls away, the damage is worse than I thought, so deep that it’s a wonder he made it this far without passing out. I draw in a small breath as I watch the blood seeping steadily from the small, dark hole in his upper arm, the skin raw and red.

“Christ, Ezra…” I mutter, under my breath, before biting the inside of my cheek to keep myself from cursing out loud. Examining the wound more closely, I realize the bullet didn’t exit the wound. It’s lodged inside.

That explains why he’s subdued.

“How bad is it?” he asks, his voice rough.

I don’t answer as I feel a fresh batch of anger brewing in my chest.

I grab the gauze, pressing it against the wound to slow the bleeding, my fingers working quickly despite the trembling irritation coursing through me.

It doesn’t take long for the gauze to soak through completely. Not enough to stop the bleeding.

Focus, Raven.

My pulse races as I grab yet another gauze and press hard. I do this a few more times.

The room is quiet, save for Ezra’s ragged breaths and the soft clink of the medical tools as I prepare the needle and thread for stitching.

Then, out of nowhere, Ezra croaks, his voice barely audible. “You look hot when you’re mad. I could fuck you right now.”

I halt in the middle of my movement, heat rising to my cheeks. When I glance at him, his eyes are half-lidded, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. There's no way this man can look handsome, even when he’s on the brink of death.

And he’ll be dead if you don’t concentrate.

“This is not the time to be flirting with me,” I mutter, as I focus on his wound. I attempt to keep my voice steady, not wanting to reveal the effect he has on me, but his stare makes me feel exposed.

I inhale deeply, snapping back to work mode and devoting my attention to cleaning the wound. I sterilize the area around it, feeling the tension in my own hands as I press the antiseptic to his skin. He flinches but doesn’t say anything.

“How many more of these stitches do you want decorating your skin? At this rate, I’ll have to start charging you,” I deadpan.

Ezra has a lopsided smile. I’m annoyed that he finds this situation funny.

My brows knit together in annoyance. “And what if you’re unlucky next time? The bullet could’ve hit you in the chest…or worse, your head.” My voice rises slightly at the last words.

“It won’t,” he replies with a casual shrug, as if it’s nothing. His nonchalance pisses me off even more.

I pick up the forceps from the tray, carefully pressing down on the wound. Slowly, I ease the instrument in, feeling the resistance of muscle and tissue as I work to extract the bullet. His hand twitches, his breath catching sharply in his throat, but he stays still.

“You need to be careful, Ezra,” my voice softens with a breath.

“I’m fine, Raven…”

Or better still, not get involved in whatever put you in this mess in the first place.

I don’t have the audacity to say the thoughts out loud, so instead, I say, “I don’t want to have to keep worrying about you every time you step out.”

He looks at me but says nothing. I shut my mouth, too, pondering my thoughts and words.

Did I really feel that way about him? And why on earth did I have to admit it to him?

After a few moments of tense silence, I ask, “Are you truly happy, Ezra?” The question slips out before I can stop it.

He’s quiet, but I can sense his eyes on me. When I look up for just a second, he looks away, his jaw tightening. His silence is deafening, making the room feel even smaller.

The bullet finally comes free. I set it aside, the metallic clink loud in the stillness of the room. Blood still oozes out from the hole, but it’s dulled now.

Without missing a beat, I take the needle and thread and start to stitch him up—my mind half focused on the task at hand and the other half wondering why he can’t answer me.

Does he even know?

I finish the last stitch, securing the thread tightly, then grab a bandage, wrapping it tightly around his arm.

“All done…” I look down at his treated wound. I did a pretty good job.

“You’ll need a blood transfusion. You lost a lot of blood. I’ll talk to Elio, right?” I inquire.

“Yes…” he mumbles his response.

“Please let Elio know the don needs blood,” I relay to the guard in the room, who scurries out to pass along the instructions.

I get back to work, soaking a towel in the sink and cleaning the bloodstained area of his arm down to his fingers. As I finish up with the cleaning, Ezra tries to sit up, groaning in pain as he moves.

“Don’t,” I stop him, gently pressing him back until his head hits the pillow.

“Thank you, Raven,” he mutters, his voice gravelly.

It’s quiet again as I set up one pouch each of Ringer’s and Dextrose solutions on an IV pole. I also insert a cannula on his right wrist and connect the drips to him.

“How long will this take?” Ezra questions, nodding to the pole.

“Three days for the complete dosage,” I approximate.

His dull green eyes blaze as he flashes me a frown. “No! I don’t have time for that.”

“But…”

He cuts me off. “Blood transfusion, and that’s it.”

Sadness bubbles in my throat and sympathy replaces the initial anger I felt. His duty to his cartel always comes before anything else, even at his own expense.

“You know you’re human and deserve to put yourself first sometimes, too.” I step closer, my voice soft.

I don’t want to repeat my question of happiness but I can still get the point across. He seems to understand my point as I see something flicker in his green orbs. Before I can decipher what, it fades quickly.

He lets out a long sigh, shaking his head slightly. “Does it matter?”

I search his face before nodding. “Yeah. It’s…there’s satisfaction…and happiness in doing so,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. It does matter to me.

His chest rises, and a loud heave of breath fills the room. “I don’t think happiness is something people like me get to have.”

Wheels spin in my head as I stop and stare at him. Someone like me. It makes me wonder how he sees himself.

“That’s bullshit,” I mutter, my voice quieter as I run my hand through his hair. “Everyone deserves a chance at happiness.”

He chuckles, but it’s a bitter sound. “I’ve killed people, Raven. Maybe not innocents, but still, I have killed people.”

I nod, staring intently at his eyes. There’s barely anything there. No regrets, no anger… just pain. For the first time, there’s a small flicker of pain seemingly beyond vain…worldly things. Surely he’s killed… he’s sinned. But so have we all. Letting his sins stand in the way of something as tangible as happiness is unfair.

“Maybe,” I bite my lips while still holding his gaze. “But happiness isn’t a destination, it’s a journey.”

It’s a journey you take each day. Happiness is in the little things… the little actions and reactions…the little decisions.

Instinctively, I think about Harper and my job and how she’s taught me to live life one step at a time instead of brooding over Dad’s absence.

Silence settles between us, and he swallows before he speaks. “You’re too good for this life.”

I don’t expect him to say it with as much sincerity as he does. He knows… He knows I shouldn’t be here… entangled in the dealings of his world. He acknowledges that we’re from different worlds. Yet I’m still here.

As I stare at him, words form in my mouth, but they’re heavy on my lips. I can’t tell why… or maybe I can.

“Then let me go, Ezra.” The words hang thickly between us, his jaw drawing tight until he looks away.

When he doesn’t say anything, I inhale sharply, withdrawing my hand from his body and raking my messy bun. I reach for the tray and begin to toss the bloody gauze in.

I don’t know what it is I feel toward all this…him. But I know I yearn for the happiness and freedom I once knew.

Hurt or not, Ezra is as cruel as they come, and I shouldn’t let that sway my decision to leave.