My Best Friend Sold Me, So I Went to Poison My Mate novel · Chapter 4 of 24

Chapter 4: Stitches

On Tuesday afternoon Oren was sitting on the kitchen counter eating cereal out of the box when Benedikt came in bleeding.

He did not make a sound about it.

He came through the garage door with his left hand wrapped in a ruined shirt, dropped his keys on the table, and began to run the tap.

Red ran down the steel sink.

Oren put the box down.

"Is that your blood?"

"Some of it."

Benedikt did not smile.

"Is the rest in a person?"

"He's on his feet." Benedikt turned the hand over under the water and looked at it. "A man on Pier Twelve was going to sell my manifests. He had a box cutter."

"Did you go to a hospital?"

"No."

Benedikt shook his head.

"Why not?"

"Because the last time a Dreyer went to a hospital, it was on the news."

Oren slid off the counter.

He had spent six years learning what men looked like when they were hurt and refusing to say so.

He took Benedikt's wrist and turned it to the light.

The cut ran across the heel of the palm, deep and clean, and still open.

"It needs stitches."

"It needs a bandage."

"It needs stitches, and it needs them now, and I'm the one who's going to do them." Oren looked up. "My mother was a hospital aide. I've sewn up worse in the Gilt Room's basement with a fishing line."

Benedikt looked at him for a long beat.

"Under the sink," he said finally. "Ilse keeps a kit."

The kit was in a white metal box with a red cross.

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