Chapter Twenty-Three–Caregiver

Khaid stared down at Satera, his gun pressed to her head, the last vestiges of his adrenaline-fueled control draining away.

“It's me! It's me! Bluey!” she managed to gasp, her eyes wide with terror.

The shock of seeing her, combined with the extreme physical effort of concealing his injury, was too much. The pain that had been a dull throb in his stomach surged into a blinding white wave.

“You sly thing” he hissed, the words laced with pain rather than anger, his aim momentarily forgotten.

His vision tunneled. The gun slipped from his hand, clattering harmlessly onto the leather couch. Khaid did not fall back, he collapsed heavily onto the single chair beside the couch, his body folding in on itself. He gripped his midsection, his tailored suit now visibly soaking dark red blood. His breath came out in ragged gasps.

Bluey, realizing the gun was no longer pointed at her and that the towering figure of her captor was now dangerously vulnerable, stood hurriedly and rushed to the light switch by the wall. Light flooded into the dark room and the terror was replaced by dawning confusion, and then a surge of her protective, herbalist instincts.

“Khaid! What happened? You're bleeding!” she scrambled backward slightly, but her eyes were fixed on the stain blooming rapidly on his suit jacket.

Khaid squeezed his eyes shut, trying to regain control. “Stay away” he gritted out, the effort costing him dearly. He managed to stand and staggered upstairs, heading to his room. Bluey followed him closely. He got to his room and collapsed on a couch there again.

“Stay away? You just collapsed and you're bleeding!” she countered, her voice shaking but firm. She quickly knelt on the floor beside the chair, ignoring his command.

She reached out tentatively and pulled his hand away from his stomach, revealing the tear in his suit and the severe graze that was actively bleeding. The wound was deep, slicing across his lower abdomen.

“It's a gunshot wound” Bluey said, her herbalist training kicking in, driving out the fear. Her hands, usually used for stirring pots, were surprisingly steady. “You need immediate pressure and stitches. Where is your medical kit? Where is Kael?”

Khaid opened his eyes, which were now glazed with pain. He looked at Bluey, the last person he wanted to witness his weakness, kneeling over him.

“No Kael,” he managed. “He's... gone. The kit... bathroom... top shelf” He pointed weakly towards the inner corridor leading to the East Wing.

Bluey didn't waste time arguing. Khaid's wound, while not immediately life-threatening, was deep and bleeding profusely. The fear and shock was instantly overridden by the primal urgency of saving a life, even the life of her volatile captor.

“You need to stay still” Bluey commanded, her voice surprisingly strong.

Khaid was too weak to protest, his usual rigid control broken by blood loss and shock. He slumped in the chair, his head resting against the leather back.

“Bathroom” she muttered, confirming his weak instruction. She sprinted down the short corridor he had indicated and burst into the Master Suite's cavernous bathroom.

It was clinical and luxurious, lined with marble and chrome. She spotted the kit immediately. It was a silver, high-grade medical briefcase on the top shelf. She grabbed it, along with several sparkling clean white towels, and raced back to the sitting room.

“This is going to hurt,” she warned, kneeling beside him and tearing open the briefcase.

“What are you doing?” Khaid used the last strength in him to speak up. If he was going to die, he wasn't going to die in the hands of Bluey.

Bluey rolled her eyes. “Treating you”

“What do…you know? My doctor will be here soon” He protested and stood up.

Bluey pushed him on the chair in frustration. “You would have bled to death by the time your doctor gets here” She intoned in an authoritative voice that shocked even herself. Khaid chuckled but said nothing.

Bluey took that as a go-ahead cue. Inside the briefcase was a specialized kit. Not basic first aid, but military-grade emergency trauma supplies, including suture kits, strong disinfectants, and heavy-duty analgesics.

She quickly poured a potent antiseptic liquid labeled Betadine directly onto the wound.

Khaid gasped, a sharp, choked sound, his muscles spasming beneath her hand. “G-give me something” he managed, pointing a shaking finger toward the narcotics pouch.

“No” Satera refused, her focus absolute. “I need you awake. I need you to tell me if I hit something major. You get this after I close the wound.” She asserted. “It's a good thing you are not smoking. Isn't this the part where the Mafia lord smokes?”

“I don't smoke” He frowned.

“Good for us” She said and focused on the wound.

She worked with a fierce, intuitive concentration. Her hands, typically used for the precise measurement of exotic herbs and oils, proved to be incredibly steady and dexterous.

First, she used sterile gauze to pack the wound and stop the heavy bleeding, applying painful pressure.

“The bullet grazed you” she confirmed, peering closely at the torn skin and muscle tissue. “It went clean through, but it's deep. It needs stitches to prevent infection.”

“And you're going to do the stitches? You?” He quizzed in doubt.

“Will you do it instead?” Bluey was outrightly rude.

“Thank your stars that I am like this, young lady. You'd have been grazing that mouth of yours on the floor by now.” Khaid threatened.

“Noted boss. Only a living person can do that. So live, so that you can carry out your threat” Bluey was acting unbothered by his words. She needed to keep him awake and if it meant keeping the conversation going, then she would do it.

“I've heard hundreds of bullets grating my body. Do you really think this one will kill me?” He laughed out loud. Bluey joined in the humourless laugh. Anything to keep his eyes opened.

Khaid went silent. He was sweating heavily, his jaw clenched, his eyes tracking her every movement.

Bluey uncorked a local anesthetic spray, flooding the area around the wound to numb the peripheral nerves. It wasn't enough to stop the pain entirely, but it gave her the necessary window.

She threaded the surgical needle with practiced ease, her focus so intense that the surrounding luxurious room all faded away. Then she began the suturing process. The faster she worked, the less time he had to hemorrhage or lose consciousness. The tighter the stitch, the better the closure.

One stitch. Khaid let out a ragged breath.

Two stitches. His hand gripped the armrest of the chair so hard the leather groaned.

Three stitches. Bluey ignored the grimace on his face, pulling the thread taught and tying the knots with a precise, clinical efficiency.

“I can't feel my fingers” Khaid whispered hoarsely, but his eyes were now focused on her face, a strange, desperate reliance replacing his usual contempt.

“Good. That means the numbing agent is working” she lied slightly, knowing the pain was still immense.

After seven agonizing minutes, Bluey finished the final stitch, her forehead dotted with sweat. The wound was neatly closed, the dark red line of sutures stark against his pale skin. She applied a large, sterile bandage over the stitches, securing it tightly. She stood up, retrieving the small bottle of her herbal concoction she had brought earlier.

“You need to take two of these pain pills” she ordered, holding out two large, white capsules from the trauma kit. “And you need to drink a quarter cup of this.” She handed him the herbal bottle. “It will keep your system from crashing and help you sleep.”

Khaid stared at the capsules, then at the bottle of herbal liquid. He was used to commanding, not being commanded. “Where did you learn to do that?” Khaid asked, his voice weak and raspy, nodding toward the perfectly sewn wound.

“The hard way” Bluey replied shortly, tossing the bloody gauze back into the open kit. Her fear was resurfacing now that the danger was contained. “Now take the pills.”

Khaid swallowed the pills without argument, then lifted the herbal bottle to his lips, watching her over the rim. He took a long, steady drink, his eyes dark with the exhaustion and his new found discovery.

Khaid stood up. Bluey's eyes widened and she sprang up immediately. “You just had a stitch, you're not supposed to stand yet”

“Says who?” Khaid scoffed, walking towards his bed. He laid on it, facing the sparkling white ceiling.

“So stubborn” Bluey sighed in relief and sat back on the couch, watching him.

“You can leave” Khaid muttered, his eyes already a sleepy blur.

“I will stay” Bluey muttered and settled comfortably on the couch.