Rebecca Zanetti - Sweet Revenge

“I need a knife.” Laney took over again with the wound, her mind fuzzing. Fear made her hands tremble, and that wouldn’t do. Matt deserved better. “And a light.”

Nathan dug a survival pocket knife out of his left boot and tossed it to her. Then he reached into Matt’s pocket and drew out a cell phone. “Go, satellite phone.” He quickly dialed. “Shane, lock on to this phone or on Laney’s bracelet. We need extraction now. It’s Mattie.” His voice cracked on the end. “We’re at the north end of the lake and might have an hour before the commander’s standing force of fifteen get here. Unless they’re dumb enough to come across the lake like we did.”

Tears filled Laney’s eyes even as she glanced around the space as she gently removed Matt’s shirt. There was only the table, so she yanked Nate’s shirt off of her and slipped it under Matt’s head to minimize bleeding. “I need string. Some type of string.”

Blood slid down Matt’s arm, and the room tilted. Laney dropped to her knees, her forehead hitting the table.

“Damn.” Nate hustled around and yanked her back up, his breath brushing her hair. “You okay?”

She slid both hands onto the table and tried to tighten her knee. “Yes.” She loved Matt, and she was the only person who could save him. The warrior was defenseless, and she’d protect him, even if it meant cutting into him. She could do this. “Get the string.”

Nate released her and hurried toward a row of haphazard cupboards, returning with a ball of twine. “It’s thick, but it won’t cut him.” Nate grabbed a half-full bottle of whiskey and ran it over the knife.

Laney nodded. “Light.”

Nate used his burner phone as a flashlight.

Laney glanced up. “Infection is a strong possibility.”

“One thing at a time, Laney Lou,” Nate said softly. “Stop the bleeding.”

Swallowing, she nodded. Taking away the saturated cloth, she peered at the wound, the knife in her hand. She turned Matt’s head to the side and extended his arm just enough. Nausea swamped her, and she swayed.

“Whoa, there.” Nate clamped her shoulder. “You can do this. Talk me through the procedure, and you’ll be fine.”

She wiped away tears. “Okay. First, we make an incision just above the antecubital fossa, and we don’t want to mess with the median nerve.” Falling back into her old life, she slowly made the cut. “Sharp knife, Nate.”

“Always.”

She squinted to see better. “I’m extending the incision to see better.” Whew. So far, so good. “Now, let’s repair this ugly hole in his nice artery.” Her hands stopped shaking. “Twine.”

Nate handed her unrolled twine, and she slid it around the brachial and tied it as close to the origin as possible. She exhaled slowly and put everything back into place. “It’s tied, but I don’t have anything to stitch him up with.”

Nate took duct tape off the small counter. “This will do until we’re somewhere safe.”

Laney’s eyebrows rose. “I guess.” She took the strip Nate offered and plastered it around Matt’s arm, trying not to wince.

Her hands shook again when she stepped back. “If this works—”

“You saved his life, Laney Lou,” Nate said somberly. “When he wakes, I won’t even tell him you spent all night trying to show me your boobs.”

Laney coughed out a laugh. “What?”

“You took your shirt off. Twice.” Lines of fatigue cut into Nate’s strong face, but his tone was light.

“To save your brother.”

Nate shrugged. “So you say.” He stretched across Matt and gave her a half-armed hug, his gaze serious. “Thank you for saving my brother.”

Laney glanced down at the silent patient. It was way too early to tell if Matt would survive or not. “We might as well dig those two bullets out while we’re here.” Angling for a better look at his other arm, she went to work.

Laney kept an eye on Matt’s vitals. It was entirely possible he’d slip into a coma, and without medical help, real medical help, he’d never make it.

Nate paced by the window. “Matt’s tough. He’ll be fine.”

“How do you know?” Laney asked softly, brushing her hand against Matt’s forehead.

“Because he’s Matt.” Nate ducked down to squint into the still-turbulent storm. Confidence filled his words, but his jaw was set and his shoulders tight.

Laney drew in air. Now surgery had passed, and any calmness she’d claimed had deserted her. From head to toe, her body ached from trying to navigate through the battering storm. Even with all the bruises and scrapes, nothing hurt as badly as her chest. Terror lived there. Fear she’d lose Matt after finding him. She leaned down and pressed her mouth near his ear. “Don’t leave me. Not now. Please. ”

Love was supposed to be romantic and sweet. Not so painful her lungs hurt to breathe.

Nate’s phone buzzed, and he listened for a moment. “I hear you out there. How close until touchdown?” He waited and then swore. “Shane—” Nate’s breath heaved out. “Yes. I understand. Hold tight.” He hung up and strode toward Matt. “If I awaken him, can he walk?”

“No way in hell.” Panic rushed through Laney. “I just used fucking twine to tie his brachial artery. In. A. Shack.”

Nate pierced her with sharp eyes. “If we stay here, he dies for sure. Can. He. Walk?”

A normal man? No. But Matt? Laney shook her head. Now she was seeing Matt as invincible as Nate saw his big brother. “It’s too dangerous.”

“So is death.” Nate grasped Matt’s shoulders and shook. “Mattie? Time to go, bro. We have to flee—now.”

Matt’s eyelids fluttered open, and his gaze focused way too quickly. “Status?” he croaked.

“Shit storm. The doc tied off your artery, the commander’s forces are close. He brought a definite squad of twenty-one that is moving as teams of three from every fucking direction, and Shane flew a helicopter through this storm to a landing spot about a mile away.” Nate dropped his hands over Matt’s shoulders and eased him to a seated position. “Dig deep. We have to move.”

Matt growled low. “Shane flew a copter into this storm?”

Nate grimaced. “We’ll yell at him later. Can you walk?”

“Did you say a full twenty-one?” Matt groaned.

“Yes. We’ve taken down six men. That leaves fifteen still vying to kill us,” Nate said tersely.

Matt turned toward Laney. “Are you all right?”

She sniffed. “Yes. Much better than you.”

“Did you actually perform surgery? With blood?”

“Yes. You’re not dying on me, Matt Dean.” She eyed the duct tape around his arm. How was the man even conscious?

He swayed. “Why are you shirtless again?”

She shook her head and took Nate’s shirt from where it had supported Matt’s head. Wet and now bloody, it nevertheless beat Matt’s bare skin if they had to go back out into the rain. “Long story. Put this on.”

He shook his head. “No. You put it on. Your skin is nearly blue.”

She opened her mouth to argue, and the hard glint in his eye stopped her. The man would try to force the shirt on her, and he’d probably ruin her fine surgical work. “Fine.” She gingerly slid the cotton over her head.

Matt cleared his throat. “How much blood did I lose?”

Too much. Way too much. Laney lifted shoulder. “Eh. Maybe about a teaspoon?”

“Right.” He pushed off from the table and kept going down.

Laney scrambled for him, but Nate caught him first. Fierce lines cut into Nate’s hard face as he waited for his brother to balance. “Shane’s out in the storm all alone, Mattie.”

Matt’s head jerked up. “Never alone.” He pushed back from his brother, raw determination darkening his eyes to nearly midnight. Blood leaked from under the tattered duct tape. “You take the lead, and we keep Laney between us.”