Commodity (4 page)

“Not gonna lie,” he says, “this is gonna hurt.  You want a drink first?”

“Will I need one?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Okay.”

He gets back up, heads out to the kitchen, and returns with a bottle of whiskey.

“Take a good drink,” he says, and I do so.  The liquid burns my throat, but I don’t make a face at it.  He sits back down and grabs my foot again.

He runs the pad of his thumb next to the gash, examining it closely before carefully wiping it off with a cool, wet washcloth.  It stings, but it’s not so bad.  The whiskey is warming my stomach, and I try to concentrate on that feeling.

“The skin has pulled apart,” he says.  His voice is still soft and calm.  “You need stitches.”

“Will we have to go to an emergency room?” I ask.

Falk looks up at me and raises his eyebrows.

“We passed what used to be the closest hospital,” he says.  “I’ve got what we need here, but I’m not about to claim I’m an expert.  I can get the job done, though.”

“You mean,
you
are going to stitch me up?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you a doctor, too?”

“I’m not,” he says, “but I’ve seen it done before.”

“No!”  I pull my leg away and push the heels of my hands against the floor to scoot away from him.  “No fucking way!  You aren’t a doctor, and there’s no way in hell you are operating on my leg!”

“It’s not an
operation
.”

I’m not listening.  I pull my legs under me and try to stand, which was a stupid thing to do.  As soon as I put weight on my leg, the pain shoots from my calf all the way to my hip, and I scream.

Eckhart is right beside me, keeping me from falling.  He angles me back until I sit on the edge of the bed.  He leans forward and looks me right in the eye.

“It has to be done, Hannah,” he says.  “If we don’t, it’s going to get infected.  There is no hospital and no doctor to treat you.  It’s me or nothing, which means it’s me.”

I blink back tears.  I don’t want to cry, not in front of Eckhart or anyone else.  My leg throbs horribly, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I know it needs to be treated, but I don’t want it to be done here, like this.

“So, I’m
Hannah
now?”  Snark beats fear every time.  “Get one good look at my leg, and we’re on a first name basis?”

He sighs and stands with his arms crossed over his chest, glaring down at me.

“Ms. Savinski, you need to let me do this.  You don’t have any other options.”

“Fuck you,” I growl at him, but he doesn’t change his stance.

“You are under my protection.”  He separates the words, making each one count.  “I will not let anything happen to you.  Sometimes that means going against your wishes, but it’s always in your best interest.  Now, we can do this with your cooperation or without.  Your choice.”

“What are you going to do?” I ask, challenging him.  “Tie me down so you can operate on me?”

“I don’t want to have to do that.”

“But you would?”  My heart is pounding again, and there’s pressure behind my eyes.

He closes his eyes and brings one hand up to rub at his forehead.  I watch his chest rise and fall as he takes a deep breath before looking back down at me.

“Please, Hannah.”  He drops down to his knees in front of me.  “I don’t want you scared.  I’m not going to hurt you.  I won’t touch you any more than I have to in order to get your leg fixed up. 
Please
let me do my job.  Let me help you.”

I look down at him in front of me, and I can’t doubt the sincerity in his eyes.  My heart is still racing, and I can feel my pulse all through my leg.  When I glance down, I see it’s bleeding again.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“I’m sure what I can do will be better than nothing.”

I close my eyes and bite down on my lip.  It hurts, but my leg hurts more.  I nod quickly before I can change my mind.

“Want more whiskey?” he asks.

“Yes.”

He hands me the bottle, and I take a big swig.

“Take another,” he suggests, and I do.

He goes back to one of the footlockers for more supplies.  I don’t look at what he’s bringing over and stacking on the floor next to the bed.  I don’t think I want to know.

“Scoot back on the bed,” he says softly.  “Lay on your side with your left leg up.”

I do as he says.  My whole body is tense despite the whiskey running through my system.

“Try to relax,” he says quietly.

“I’m trying.”

“I’m going to clean it out first,” he says.  “I need to make sure there isn’t anything still stuck inside that could cause problems later.”

“Do I get a bullet to bite on?”

“I can get one if you like.”

I glance down to see if he’s serious, and I think he is.  I shake my head, and he nods slightly before looking back to my leg.  I look around the room, trying to find something I can focus on while he goes to work.  I end up just looking at the latch on one of the footlockers, wondering what’s inside of it.

I grit my teeth as Eckhart goes to work.

“There’s a little piece of something inside,” he says.  “Hold on.”

The sudden pain runs from my leg to my hip, then up my spine.  The scream that comes from me is uncontrollable, but not as loud as the next one.

Eckhart’s arm crosses my stomach, holding me in place.  His fingers grip my wrist as he holds me to the bed.

“No! No! NO!”  I scream and thrash as everything comes back to me.  I pull my knee to my chest, wedge it between my body and Eckhart’s chest, and kick at him with all my strength.  “Get your fucking hands off of me!”

He almost falls from the bed but manages to catch himself right at the edge.  I pull my legs up to my chest and push myself backward until I’m against the headboard.  Eckhart looks at me with wide eyes as he presses his hand to his sternum.

“I’m not
them
,” he says.  His voice is calm and soft.  “There’s a piece of concrete in the wound.  I have to get it out, or your leg is going to get infected.  If it gets infected, you are going to be in a lot of trouble.”

“Keep your hands off of me.”  I grit my teeth as I speak each word so there’s no room for misunderstanding.

“I have to touch your leg to get it out,” he says.

As the pain subsides, I start thinking a little more clearly.  The wound in my leg keeps throbbing, and I can feel it bleeding again before I look at it.

“Let me get it out,” Eckhart says again, his voice still soft.  “I’ll only touch you as much as I have to, I swear.”

“Don’t hold me down.”  I slowly stretch my leg out again, wincing as the skin tightens and moves around the cut.

“This is going to hurt,” he says darkly.  “It’s going to hurt a lot.  You have to stay still, or it will be worse.”

“I’ll be still.”

“It’s not going to be easy.”

“Just don’t…don’t hold me down.”

“I won’t if you can stay still.”

“I will.”

He takes a deep breath before moving closer to me again.  He keeps his eyes on me as he reaches out slowly and places his hand on my ankle, right below the gash.  I see a flash of metal as he picks up a pair of tweezers.

“I don’t suggest watching.”

I look away, trying to find the latch on the footlocker again.  It would probably be better if I could close my eyes, but I need to see that it’s Eckhart—my bodyguard—not Hudson and his cronies.

“Fuck!”  I can’t help it.  My whole body jumps as I feel a sharp jab deep inside the wound.  Eckhart’s hand stays firmly on my leg, but he doesn’t grasp it tightly and doesn’t push down.  I try not to scream as he keeps going.

“I got it out.”

“Is that all there is?”  My voice cracks as I speak.

“I think so.”

I grab the blanket on the bed as I feel his hand on my ankle again.

“I can still get you that bullet.”  His voice remains quiet and calm even though I know he’s got a needle and thread poised over my flesh.

I shake my head quickly, not completely sure if he’s trying to make a joke or not.

“This is going to sting.”

I feel cold liquid running over my skin, and I hiss as the alcohol makes its way into the wound.  The whiskey has dulled the sensation a little but not nearly enough.

“You got this,” Eckhart says.  “I’ve seen guys in combat freak out more than you have.  You’re doing great.”

I know the exact moment the needle punctures my skin.  I squeeze my eyes shut, forgetting all about the spot I was going to focus on.  I try to find that happy meadow in my head, but all the dandelions are dead, their seeds cast to the wind, and the sky is dark and foreboding.

Instead, I focus on my breathing.  In, out.  In, out.  Another stab.  In through my nose, out through my mouth.  Another.  This one feels deeper, and I hold my breath as I tense.

“Relax.”  Eckhart’s soft words flow into my ears.  “Halfway there.”

“Only…half?”  I can barely get the words out.

I can feel my skin being pulled and tightened with each stitch.  I can’t look down to see what he’s doing.  If I do, I know I’ll throw up or pass out or worse.

“Almost there.”

I swallow hard, focus on my breathing, and try to keep the tears at bay.

“One more.”

“Just get it done!”  I hiss through my teeth as the final stab and pull makes my head swim.

“Got it!”  Eckhart leans back a little.  Out of the corner of my eye, I see him grab something on the bed beside me.  “Just need to finish cleaning it up and getting it covered.”

I stay motionless as he opens a tube of antibiotic cream and applies a generous amount to the wound.  Finally, he covers it up with gauze and tapes the bandage around the rest of my leg.

I’m still dizzy when I sit up.  The white gauze looks strange wrapped around my leg, but I’m glad I can’t see the actual cut any longer.

“Can I walk on it?”

“Try not to do much,” Eckhart says, “but you should be all right to move a bit.”

It does feel better when I stand, and I can walk on it more easily even though I’m limping.  He puts all the medical supplies back in the footlocker and shuts it.  I follow him into the living room, my head full of questions.

“So, what—you’ve been…been planning for this?”  I wave a hand back in the direction of his bedroom.

“It’s always good to be prepared.”

“And now what?”

“Survive.”

Another simple little word, but his tone and the meaning behind it…it’s too much.  My head fills with visions of the man burning in the street, the sounds of buildings toppling to the ground, and the screams of people all around me, and it’s all too much to take.

My knees give out, and I drop to the floor.  I barely recognize the sounds coming from my throat as panic takes over.

“Shit,” Eckhart mutters.  He walks into my view and drops down beside me.  Tentatively, he touches his hand to my shoulder, and I flinch.  “You’re okay.  You’re going to be okay.  Just breathe.”

I double over, my stomach cramping up on me.  Wrapping my arms around myself, I lean over until my head is nearly touching the floor.  Eckhart is beside me, and I know he’s speaking to me, but his words have no meaning.

I’ve had attacks like this before, shortly after my personal nightmare unfolded.  There are anti-anxiety drugs in my checked luggage for whatever good that does me now.  I try to remember what the doctors told me about keeping my focus on one thing until my mind and body calm down, but I have nothing to focus on.

I’m in an unfamiliar place in a situation that is beyond bizarre.  I have no method for coping with this.  I feel a hand on my arm.  The touch is slow and gentle, and I reach to grab hold.

Eckhart’s fingers circle mine.  He’s the only thing even remotely familiar, so I set my mind to concentrate on the feeling of his flesh against my hand.  He’s still speaking in soft tones, and I can feel his thumb rubbing against my palm.

Abruptly, I turn to him and reach out to clasp my hands around his neck, nearly knocking him over.  The sobs come loudly as I hang onto him and press my face against his broad chest.  He slowly puts his arms around my waist and settles back, pulling me with him as he leans back against the couch.

“I’ve got you.”  His voice is soft and reassuring, but I can’t stop crying.  “Just like I said before—you are under my watch.  I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

I’m shaking all over, and I feel like a fool, but I can’t pull myself together.  I keep seeing the bodies in the street and feeling the tremors beneath my feet as we were running through the tunnel.  I feel like I’m in a tight, enclosed space.  My thoughts flash back to being grabbed outside my apartment and shoved into the back of a van.

“You stuck your nose where it didn’t belong, Ms. Savinski.  You’re going to pay for that.”