AT WHAT COST?

XVIII - KINSHASA

Ari, the receptionist, heard the unmistakable sound of gunfire. Rapid gunfire. She could hear it below her, coming from the underground garage.

She knew not to call the police.

Unbeknownst to most, the building next door was also owned by Angelo. That building wasn't a commercial office unit. It was more of a warehouse. It seemed to be vacant.

That was intentional.

After all, it was a warehouse where 50 men were currently processing a shipment of weapons to be sent to Venezuela. Guerilla warfare had broken out during the economic ruins of the country. And people needed to defend themselves from the state.

Instead of calling the police, she called Raymond, who she knew was in the next building over, seeing to the fact that the shipment was complete and that no sticky fingers were at play.

Upon hearing the news, the Chechen moved quickly. He had a feeling.

Unfortunately, his feeling would be confirmed when he saw the young woman he saw as a younger sister or a niece, was making her way to the elevator, clutching her side.

Her all white outfit revealed the source of the bleeding. Today's events would put an end to the young woman wearing the colour. He picked her up and made haste of taking her back to her office, where he knew the appropriate tools to administer support would be. When they arrived, Raymond made quick work of taking her coat off and cutting her shirt away at the site of the bleeding. Her pants were pushed down to give him space. He made sure the young woman sat upright in the desk, much to her dismay. She just wanted to lay down. Allowing her to do so would have cause her to bleed out from her wound quicker.

It was a two and a half inch long wound, running horizontally along the side of her body. The bullet meant for the middle of her abdomen, had hit her at the side between her waist and her hip. It was clear to see the bullet hadn't entered or exited her body. However, it had nicked an artery, close to the skin, which caused the profuse bleeding and was the primary concern for the Russian. He folded up a clean towel and applied pressure. Her body jerked in pain and she tried to squirm away but he wouldn't let her. After some time elapsed, he told her to apply pressure so he could clean his hands and prepare for the next part.

He took his belt off, folding it and giving it to the young lady. She had begun to sweat and feel disoriented, so she was unsure what to do with it. Taking it back, he gestured for her to open her mouth, and then put the belt between her teeth. Her eyes widened, bring more sclera to view than normal. She knew that this next part was about to be painful.

"I'm sorry, this is going to hurt." His father tongue left his mouth. She understood it and braced herself.

She wasn't a drinker, but having a crystal decanter with some tequila in it felt like the decorative piece that was missing.

She never thought she would use its contents like this.

Raymond removed the towel and poured a bit of the spirit over the wound before she could refuse for him to do so.

The scream that followed made him wish he had been shot instead.

The belt he had placed between her teeth jolted with the force she had exerted in it. Her jaw was clenched and her neck was fraught with tight muscles. The leather strap obscured the clarity of her voice somewhat, but did nothing to hide the guttural quality of it.

She was in pain.

After having sterilised it, he reapplied pressure and dialled his boss, putting it in speaker.

"What is it Ray?" His tone was clipped and curt, due to the less than desirable advice his brother had just given him.

"Vanessa has been shot. The receptionist heard rapid gunfire and called me. I have stemmed the wound but you need to get to the office with a doctor soon, she will need stitches." And with that he hung up, not wanting to hear the fall out of the news. He also knew that the distressed woman would worry about her man, and couldn't afford her to spare any of her precious attention on a man who would ultimately be fine.