Free Grave Vengeance by Lori Sjoberg Page B

door behind him and crossed the room. Only then did she notice the lines of stress around his eyes. “How do you feel?”
    “Like I just got shot.” She knew she sounded bitchy, but at the moment she really didn’t care.
    Something crossed his face. Compassion? Sympathy? With him, it was impossible to tell. “You took a bullet for me.” Surprise marked his voice.
    “Yeah. Well . . . it didn’t work out the way I intended.” She shrugged and then winced at the pain in her shoulder. Leaning forward, she carefully placed the empty water bottle on the table. A dull throb rippled through her, originating from the point of entry and radiating across her shoulder and down the length of her right arm. Fatigue drained her remaining energy, leaving her muscles weak. Diminished. She closed her eyes and exhaled when a wave of exhaustion made her dizzy.
    Dmitri didn’t say anything right away. He reached out with his right hand and touched her back, his palm warm through the thin cotton of her shirt. “Take this off so I can dig out the bullet.”
    That got her attention. Her eyes flew open. “Excuse me?”
    “There is nothing wrong with your hearing. Your shoulder, on the other hand, requires attention.”
    “It’ll heal.”
    “True, but you’ll heal faster if I remove the bullet.” He gave her an expectant look. “Can you raise your arms, or would you rather I cut the shirt off?”
    How nice of him to give her a choice. Deep down, though, she knew he was right. Already, she could feel the prickly sensation that signaled the beginning of the healing process, but it would take much longer with a foreign object lodged inside her body. And then there was the possibility of the entry wound healing before the bullet was expelled. If that happened, her body would force the slug through the barrier of her newly healed flesh. The prospect made her shudder.
    It was just, well, chalk it up to old-school sensibilities, but she wasn’t keen on the idea of stripping down in front of Dmitri. Especially since . . .
    “I’m not wearing a bra,” she blurted, and her face flamed with heat. Mother Nature hadn’t gifted her with tons of cleavage, so she usually didn’t bother wearing one unless her shirt was sheer.
    The hand on her back tensed. Dmitri didn’t speak for nearly a minute, and when he did his voice was low, guarded. “I promise not to violate your modesty. Now will you allow me to examine the wound?”
    What other choice did she have? Gwen bit her bottom lip and nodded. She started to lift her arms, but a fresh jolt of pain brought them back to her sides. “I guess you’ll be cutting it off.”
    “As you wish.” He retrieved the knife from his back pocket and pulled open the blade.
    Eyes staring straight ahead at the clock on the wall, she tried to ignore the sound of fabric tearing and the feel of cool air against her injured shoulder.
    “There’s no need to remove the entire shirt,” he murmured. Gently, gingerly, he probed the skin surrounding the entry wound, and then paused when she sucked air between her teeth. “That’s where the bullet came to rest. I’ll need to make an incision to get it out.”
    That so wasn’t what she wanted to hear. “How deep?”
    His fingers pressed just below her shoulder blade and she gasped at the pain searing the length of her arm. “Judging by your reaction, the bullet isn’t very deep, but I won’t know for sure until I get in there.”
    Crap. Definitely not what she wanted to hear. A Russian with an axe to grind was going to perform surgery on her shoulder without proper equipment, lighting, or anesthesia. Good thing reapers didn’t have to worry about infection or she’d be in for a world of trouble.
    “Have you ever done anything like this before?”
    “What, you mean operate?”
    “Yes.”
    “Of course.” He sounded offended by the question. “About six months ago, I dug a bullet from my own leg. I’m certain this will prove much easier.”
    His