Free Grave Vengeance by Lori Sjoberg Page A

the wound. It’ll help slow the bleeding.” When she didn’t respond, he reached across the seat, grabbed her left hand, and pressed it against her injured shoulder. Her eyes shot open as she let out a hiss, but she kept her palm pressed to the wound.
    Dmitri stomped on the gas, and the car peeled back onto the highway. The last thing he needed was to get pulled over by the cops, so he kept the speed to no more than ten over the limit. He veered off at the closest exit and started searching for a safe place to pull over.
    Privacy was imperative when tending to her wounds. Mortals asked too many questions when they witnessed how quickly reapers healed, which made a trip to a hospital impractical. He needed a spot where he could work on her without interruptions or prying eyes.
    After driving past clusters of strip malls, gas stations, hotels, and restaurants, the scenery turned more rural. Shops became fewer and farther between. Finally, he found a suitable location. The auto body shop was closed for the evening, with the lights turned out and the garage bay doors rolled down. The only other business nearby was an old gas station, and judging by the price of unleaded on the weathered sign, it had been closed for at least a decade. He drove by twice, making sure the place was deserted, before hanging a left onto the lot.
    He parked in the back, between the building and a Dumpster, and Gwen groaned when he inadvertently ran over a pothole. It didn’t take much effort to jimmy the lock on the rear door and disable the crude alarm system. Once inside, he rolled up the door to one of the unoccupied bays and backed the Challenger inside.
    Gwen lay slumped against the seat, her eyes closed. The entire right side of her shirt was soaked with blood. Dmitri rounded the car and opened the passenger side door. “Gwen, wake up.” Not wanting to touch her injured shoulder, he gave her leg a light shake.
    “Huh?” With her eyes barely open, she twisted her neck in his direction. Her nose crinkled at the smells of grease and gasoline. “Where are we?”
    “Someplace quiet. Do you need help getting out?”
    “No, I can do it.” Her voice barely rose above a whisper, her eyes dulled with pain. “Just give me a minute.”
    It took three, but she managed to step out of the car on her own. By then, her face was white as a sheet and her legs seemed a little shaky. Refusing the arm he offered, she shuffled toward the door leading to the interior of the shop, and in spite of their differences, he admired her determination.
    Once inside, Dmitri led her to the waiting area. He sat her down on one of the chairs before closing all of the blinds. Satisfied they wouldn’t be seen from the road, he fished a few coins from his pocket and bought a bottle of water from the vending machine.
    “Drink.”
    Without a word of protest, she accepted the bottle he offered. Slowly, as if every movement caused pain, she downed half the water in one long chug. She still looked beat, but at least she wouldn’t pass out from dehydration. “Thank you.”
    “Nothing to thank me for.” Expressions of gratitude made him uneasy, especially when he didn’t deserve them. In truth, he was the one who should be grateful. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other and shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I better check the perimeter. Wait here. When I get back, I’ll patch you up.”
     
    This was so not the way she envisioned her day ending.
    Gwen leaned forward, propped her left elbow against her knee, and rested her head in her hand. She wanted to lean back and close her tired eyes, but the angle of the chair put too much pressure on the bullet wound. And since the floor looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in a decade, lying on the tiles was off-limits as well.
    She was thinking about moving the magazines off the table and lying there when the rear door opened and Dmitri stepped back inside.
    “Good, you’re still awake.” He closed the