41. CONAN
Chapter forty-one
A ngel sat in silence for the rest of the drive to the safe house. Her eyes were empty, and I feared she had gone into shock. The sight of her draped over the backseat, clutching Nik’s blood-covered hand, made my blood boil. I was furious at him for using her as bait, but I had to push that aside. I worried about what might happen once she snapped out of her numbness and realized the extent of the horror she’d just lived through. When the shock wore off, Angel would likely experience a torrent of emotions—fear, anger, confusion, and who knew what else. I worried she might freak out and struggle with flashbacks, leaving her grappling with the terror long after all this had passed. So as much as I wanted to confront Nik, right now, I needed to focus on her .
We arrived at a small house nestled in an unassuming neighborhood. It was surrounded by a fence and some thick hedges. Braxton and Lucian jumped out of the SUV first, moving to carry Nik inside. I slid from the vehicle as Angel dragged herself out of the third row and to the open door. She was about to hop down when I swept her up in my arms and carried her inside. She didn’t protest, just stared blankly ahead.
Nik had lost a lot of blood and was only semiconscious now. As much as I wanted to sit here and hold Angel, I needed to go help Braxton tend to his gunshot wound. I glanced around the small living room before gently placing her on a sofa. Her silence scared me more than anything. Braxton and Lucian disappeared into the back with Nik. I headed to the kitchen, rummaging around until I found a candy bar and a bottle of water. Returning to Angel, I offered them to her.
“Eat this,” I said firmly. “Something sweet will help with the shock.”
Her eyes barely flickered in response as I set them next to her on the table. I spotted a blanket and covered her with it, both for warmth and to cover the blood and guts on her dress. “Stay here with Lach,” I said, nodding toward him. “Keep a close watch on her and let me know if she needs anything.”
“Will do,” he said, his forehead wrinkling with worry.
When I went down the hallway in search of the others, I noticed that this wasn’t just any house. It was a sophisticated hideout. One room had a high-tech computer system and a lot of other expensive-looking equipment. Continuing down the hallway, I came to a room with the door open. Braxton was just telling Lucian to find some scissors. Once inside, I realized it was set up like a mini emergency department. Lucian and Braxton had already laid Nik on a gurney and were in the process of cutting his pants off .
“Holy shit,” I muttered. “What the hell is this place?”
Lucian shook his head, eyes wide. “Never seen anything like it.”
Braxton worked quickly to remove Nik’s shirt and then began prepping him for treatment, removing the gauze we’d wrapped around his thigh in the van.
Lucian’s eyes went wide. “Okay, I’m out of here. I’ll leave you two to take care of Nik, and I’ll go check on Ana.”
“Let’s get him cleaned up before infection sets in,” Braxton said. “Looks like we’ve got what we need here. You ready to play doctor?”
“I guess there’s no other choice,” I said, chuckling darkly and stepping up to help.
I looked around at the room again. This place was beyond anything I’d imagined, and we were lucky to have access to it. The supplies on hand would be crucial. I’d never expected such a place to exist, but then again, I wasn’t part of Nik’s world.
I rolled up my sleeves, washed my hands, and prepared to help. As I took stock of the myriad supplies available to us here, I wondered how often this place was used. Braxton and I gathered everything we could think of and placed it on a rolling table next to Nik or on the counter behind us.
Just as we donned gloves, Nik’s body went limp, and his eyes closed as he slipped into unconsciousness. Braxton and I sprang into action. I switched on the medical monitors, surprised to find them in top-notch condition. The equipment was state of the art, probably better than what we had at the hospital. I hooked up the pulse ox to Nik’s finger to monitor his oxygen saturation, watching the numbers stabilize around ninety-five percent. That was a good sign; at least his breathing wasn’t compromised.
“Braxton, hand me the BP cuff and the ECG leads.” He reached behind him and passed me the kit. After I wrapped the cuff around Nik’s upper arm, and attached it to the vital signs display unit, the automated monitor kicked in, inflating and then slowly deflating. The reading came back at 85/55. Not great, but not catastrophic. We needed to get it up at some point, but we had other things to focus on right now.
“His BP’s low but holding. Let’s keep an eye on it,” I said, glancing at Braxton, who was attaching the ECG leads to Nik’s chest. The machine started beeping softly, displaying the heart’s electrical activity. Nik’s heart rate was elevated, around a hundred twenty beats per minute.
I nodded to Braxton. “Let’s get an IV line in. We need to replace the fluids he’s lost.”
Braxton prepped the IV line while I located a suitable vein and then inserted the catheter and secured it with tape. We started a saline drip to help stabilize his blood pressure and replenish some of the volume he’d lost.
“Before we go any further,” I said, “we need to ensure he stays unconscious and doesn’t move during the procedure.” Reaching for a syringe, I filled it with the most conservative amount of propofol I thought would do the job, then injected it into his IV line, watching the medication flow in. “This will keep him sedated and ensure he doesn’t wake up suddenly.”
As I administered the drug, I couldn’t help but wonder how Nik’s company could acquire and have propofol on hand, considering it was a highly protected drug.
While Braxton kept an eye on the monitors, I checked Nik’s injury. The entrance wound on the back of his thigh was small and clean, but the exit wound on the front was larger, with jagged edges.
“Braxton, he’s getting paler. We need to check his hemoglobin levels,” I said, reaching for the portable hemoglobinometer I’d seen while gathering supplies from the cabinet behind me. Braxton wiped Nik’s finger with an antiseptic pad and then pricked it, drawing a small drop of blood. The machine beeped, displaying a reading far below the normal range.
“He really needs a transfusion,” I muttered. “Do we have any bags of blood in the supplies?”
“Yes, there’s some in the refrigerator. But we need to confirm his blood type.”
He grabbed a blood-typing kit, took another blood sample, and mixed it with the reagents. The results indicated he was O positive—a relief since it was a common type and we had a bag of it in the refrigerator.
“All right, let’s get this warmed up,” I said, pulling out the portable blood warmer. “This place is made for working on a person with a gunshot wound.” I was still amazed by all the gear.
Braxton handed me the bag of blood, and I placed it in the warmer, setting the device to bring it up to normal body temperature.
While the blood warmed, we monitored Nik’s vitals closely. His heart rate was still elevated, and his blood pressure remained low. “The blood transfusion should help stabilize him if he can just hold on,” I said, watching the monitors. After a few minutes, the blood was at the right temperature.
I set up the transfusion kit, connecting the line to Nik’s IV catheter. The rich, red liquid began to flow into his veins. After a few minutes, the blood pressure cuff cycled again, showing a slight improvement. His heart rate started to come down, and color began to return to his face.
Braxton monitored the flow of blood, ensuring there were no air bubbles in the line. “He’s looking better already,” he commented, adjusting the flow rate slightly.
Then he maneuvered Nik’s leg so that I could clean both the front and back of his thigh. Now it was time to deal with the wound itself. It appeared that the combat gauze had done its job, but now we had to do ours.
I focused back on the wound. “We need to remove the combat gauze carefully. Hand me the saline,” I said. Braxton passed me the bottle, and I began to gently irrigate the wound, the saline washing away the dried blood and helping to loosen the gauze. The pink-tinged liquid flowed over his skin, pooling on the sterile pads Braxton had placed beneath his leg.
“Easy does it,” I muttered to myself, peeling back the gauze slowly. The edges of the wound were raw and inflamed, but the bleeding had slowed significantly. “We’ve got to clean this thoroughly before we do anything else.”
Once the gauze was fully removed, I inspected the wound again and used more saline to flush it. This cleared out any debris but also caused some bleeding to resume. “No major vessels were torn, and he’s lucky the bullet didn’t hit the bone, but even so, he’s lost a lot of blood,” I said to Braxton, who stood across from me.
“Cauterization next,” I said, reaching for the cautery pen he had readied. Once the device had hummed to life, I applied it to the areas of the wound that required it. The sizzling sound of burning tissue was accompanied by a distinctly acrid odor that I had never been completely able to ignore. “Hold him steady,” I instructed Braxton, who kept a firm grip on Nik’s leg.
After the cauterization was complete, I checked for any residual bleeding. Satisfied, I began suturing the wound. “We need to close this in layers,” I explained as I began to work. “First the deeper tissues, then the outer layers.” As the needle moved in and out of his flesh, the texture of the tissue beneath my fingers was a reminder of the damage the bullet had caused.
With the wound sutured, I cleaned the area again, applying a layer of antibiotic ointment to prevent infection. “Let’s get him bandaged up,” I said. Braxton handed me the sterile bandages, and together we wrapped his thigh carefully, securing the dressing in place.
Braxton nudged my elbow. “You did well, Conan. Atticus would be proud.”
“Thanks,” I said, heaving a sigh of relief. “I’ve spent years in the ED with him. Maybe I learned a few things. But damn, I’m glad I don’t have to do this every day. It’s stressful as hell.”
I glanced at the blood bag. “The transfusion seems to have worked. His color is so much better.” The monitors showed a steady heart rate and stable blood pressure. The bag of blood was nearly empty, and it had done its job. Once it had drained all the way, Braxton replaced the blood with a saline drip.
“We’ll need to keep the IV line in for fluids,” he said, adjusting the drip rate. “And we should give him something for the pain as soon as he shows signs of waking up.”
As he rested, Braxton and I cleaned up the area. Soon, Nik stirred, his eyes fluttering open. He mumbled something incoherent, his gaze unfocused. Braxton leaned in, speaking softly and brushing a strand of his hair off his forehead.
“Everything’s fine, Nik. You’re going to be okay. Just rest and get some sleep.”
Nik gave him a half smirk and closed his eyes again, his breathing even and deep. Braxton and I exchanged a relieved look.
“I’ll give him some antibiotics through his IV,” Braxton said. “Infection will be our biggest worry now. He’s responsive and stable, so that’s good. I’ll keep monitoring him. You should go check on Angel.”
I nodded, grateful for his support. “Thanks, Brax—especially for having my back on all this. I know it’s been a lot.” I gave Nik one last glance, ensuring he was resting easy before washing up and heading back to the living room to take care of Angel. “Let me know if you need anything,” I said on my way out.
She was still sitting on the sofa, wrapped in the blanket, staring off into space. Her eyes were distant. I kneeled in front of her, taking her hand gently. “Nik’s fine, my sweet Angel. He’s a tough guy. Good thing, too, because when this is over, I’m going to kick his ass.” I gave her a wry grin, trying to lighten the mood.
But she scarcely acknowledged me. I decided against telling her any of the details about Nik’s procedure. She’d had enough for one day. First thing I needed to do was get her out of that bloody dress. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” I said gently. She nodded, but her blank stare didn’t waver.
I lifted her into my arms, and her body went limp against me. The scent of blood was overpowering.
I remembered seeing a staircase earlier that led downstairs, so I headed in that direction. I hoped it would take us to a quiet place where she could get a shower, lie down, and rest. After carrying her down and turning to the right, I found a large bedroom. It was dark and quiet, which would help her sleep.
The room was posh. “Nice to see mobsters like living the good life and taking care of their safe houses,” I joked, but she didn’t react. Her gaze was fixed on her bloodstained dress.
I took her straight to the en suite bathroom and made sure she faced away from the mirrors. Just outside of the shower, I placed her on her feet and turned her around. The dress was a nightmare of fabric and fastenings. As I worked through the layers, she stood there, passive. Finally, I was able to remove the complicated gown, revealing the sexy lingerie underneath. A grateful thought crossed my mind—thank God she hadn’t ended up with Frankie tonight. This day could’ve ended in so many worse ways.
With sensitive hands, I removed the frilly pieces, doing my best to be respectful. I worked to focus on her well-being, not her gorgeous body. She was covered in dried blood and who knew what else. “Don’t look in the mirror,” I ordered gently, lifting her in my arms. She buried her face in my chest, and I cradled her while the water heated up. “Everything’s going to be okay,” I said, trying to reassure her, but I knew that no matter what I said, it wouldn’t make a difference at the moment.
I kicked off my shoes, shoving them aside, and stood her in the shower. The water cascaded over her, washing away the grime and blood. She stood there, with her head lolled forward, staring at the red rivulets swirling down the drain. The pungent metallic smell mixed with the steam filling the room, creating a dank odor of death. Angel stood there watching the water turn pink as I kept a steady hand on her, making sure she didn’t fall.
Without warning, she gagged, her body shuddering under the shower’s spray.
I didn’t hesitate to step into the shower with her. Still fully dressed, I soaped up my hands and began to clean her, ignoring the water soaking my clothes. I was desperate to rid her of all the bad things capturing her attention. Her skin was clammy, the grime clinging to her.
“Angel, focus on me,” I said, rubbing the soap into her skin. Tenderly, I washed her face, moving the soft cloth over her closed eyes, down her cheeks, and across her forehead. Each swipe revealed more of her natural beauty beneath the bloody crud. “There you are,” I murmured, rinsing the cloth and moving down her body.
I washed every part of her, my touch light and reverent, until no trace of the nightmare from the church remained on her skin. Her hair was a tangled mess though, sticky with dried blood. I reached for the shampoo and massaged it onto her scalp, the floral scent mixing with the steam, ridding her of the last remnants of the shootout. She closed her eyes and leaned into me. I worked the conditioner through her hair, my fingers detangling the knots. “You’re doing great, my Angel. Almost done.” I tilted her head back to rinse her hair, careful to avoid getting soap in her eyes.
When I was finished, I stepped out of the shower. My clothes were soaked, so I grabbed a towel and dried off as best I could. Then I drew her a hot bath, hoping that it might help her relax. Lifting her out of the shower, I placed her into the piping hot water. She sank into the tub with a sigh, eyes closing as the heat enveloped her.
While she soaked, I took the wedding dress and everything else she had been wearing out to the trash. Then I went to the SUV to retrieve the suitcase Ana had packed before heading to her Aunt Elena’s house. I grabbed it and returned to the bedroom. Placing it on the dresser, I opened it and rummaged through its contents, finding an old T-shirt with the Club Xyst logo and some fuzzy socks. Hopefully she would like these. I returned to the bathroom and set them on the counter.
When she was ready, I helped her out of the tub, then wrapped a towel around her and dried her off. I slipped the T-shirt over her head, guiding her arms into the sleeves. She sat on the padded stool as I slid the socks onto her feet. I massaged them for a minute, wanting to take my time with her.
She let me use the blow-dryer on her hair, and the mundane hum of it was a comforting sound. Angel sweetly smiled up at me. When her hair was dry, I lifted her up again and placed her in bed, tucking the blankets around her.
While she rested, I took a quick shower, the hot water washing away the grime but not the worry. There were so many unknowns. What would the fallout of this be? Where was Luca now? Viktor? I couldn’t stop thinking about how all this would affect Angel.
Once I was clean, I slid into bed, spooning up against her. She was awake, but I didn’t press for information. I just held her for a long time in silence. Then she started to cry. The sheer sorrow in it broke my heart. I pulled her tighter against my chest, brushing my hand along her skin in soothing strokes.
Slowly, quietly, she told me everything that had happened, from the time she arrived at her aunt’s home to the moment when the priest and Frankie were killed. Over and over, she repeated the word “killed,” her whispers turning to sobs.
I held her, rocking her back and forth against my chest, saying nothing, just letting her get it all out. Finally, exhausted, she fell into a fitful sleep. I watched her for a long time, tracing the lines of her body and the contours of her face, thinking about how beautiful and strong she was.
Leaning close, I whispered, “I love you, Angel. I’ll never let you go. For the rest of our days, I promise to protect and love you. Nothing will come between us—nothing.”
Eventually, I drifted off to sleep, holding her close.