✔Paint Me a Murder | Book 1

Chapter 6: Safe and Sound

In Kazimir's darkest, most painful, moment Emmett was his glowing lifeline in a town swarming with snakes.

Beneath the velvety night sky, Emmett's piercing green eyes resembled a cat's in attack-mode. The nippy wind tugged the gangster's hood down as he rested his shotgun against his truck. Emmett gently touched Kazimir's arm, taken aback when he flinched at the contact.

Haunting images of Samantha's kiss and sinister smile flashed through the artist's mind. He expected Emmett to harm him too. He couldn't trust anybody.

"I won't hurt you, I promise." The gangster gave him a crooked half-smile as he tried peeking at his injury again. Emmett carefully undid the hoodie wrapped tightly around Kazimir's upper arm, exposing the bloody mess the fabric concealed. A soft gasp escaped his parted lips. "Shit, Kaz."

A knot formed in Kazimir's stomach as he sucked in his breath. Stealing a glance at his wound was a horrible idea. He wasn't sure if he'd puke or faint. Trying to keep himself from spiraling into panic, he looked up at Emmett. He found no traces of malice in the gangster's face. Emmett would help him. He didn't need to be afraid.

"It's bad, isn't it?" Kazimir asked softly.

Emmett nodded as he rewrapped the blood-stained hoodie. "Who did this to you?"

"Samantha.... she stabbed me." Kazimir winced as Emmett slid one of his long arms under his shoulders to ease him into the truck. After which, he came around, stuffed his shotgun in the backseat, and hopped into the driver's seat.

"That crazy bitch. Don't worry. I'll get you to a doctor." Emmett stomped down on the gas pedal and sped away from the residential neighborhood. The tires screeched against the asphalt as the truck flew them out of there like a bat out of hell.

From the passenger window, Kazimir gazed out at the obsidian terrain that brushed by in a blur. He knew he had to keep pressure on his wound. If he allowed too much blood to leak out, he'd die.

"We're going to the hospital, aren't we?" Kazimir asked. "It's the other way."

"Well, not exactly," Emmett told him, gripping the steering wheel. "Your wound is bad, but you're not on death's doorstep yet."

"If you don't get me to a hospital, the Grim Reaper's going to jump out from behind those old buildings and drag me away into the night."

"Then I'll run over him. I'm not letting you die."

"Where are we going?" Kazimir asked.

"The Voiceless Rebels has an underground doctor," he explained. "When we don't want hospitals to ask too many questions, we pay him in cash and he takes care of our injuries."

That didn't sound ideal to Kazimir, but he had no other choice. He needed medical attention from whoever he could get it from.

The clinic Emmett pulled up to was closed and dark. Kazimir's confusion deepened as Emmett retrieved his cell phone and made a quick call. Seconds later, a bald man in blue and white duck pajamas hurried out from the front entrance with a wheelchair. Kazimir wondered what cuckoo's nest he flew out of. He couldn't be a licensed doctor, could he?

The funny-looking man opened Kazimir's door. "I want my money after I've checked this guy out."

"Yeah, you'll get it," Emmett replied. "Just hurry and help me get him inside."

Strong arms came around to help him out of the passenger side of the truck. As Emmett eased Kazimir down into the wheel chair, he buried his face against the gangster's black western shirt. He smelled like expensive cologne and cigarette smoke.