Chapter 904 Wound Management
Ava finally managed to get off him, clutching her collar like it was a lifeline, looking all kinds of lost.
Vincent pointed to a room, "Go grab some clothes."
Ava headed where he pointed. Inside, there was this massive wardrobe. She opened it up and, surprise, it was full of men's clothes, all way too big for her.
She picked out a white shirt, ditched her own clothes, and slipped into the shirt.
Vincent's clothes were so huge on her, she looked like a kid playing dress-up in her dad's closet.
After changing, Ava shuffled back to the living room sofa.
Vincent gave her the once-over, his eyes lingering like he was seeing someone else.
'Christina Brown has worn my clothes too,' he thought.
Ava glanced down at the oversized shirt and mumbled, "Thanks for the clothes."
Vincent looked away, a hint of sadness in his eyes.
"What about your wound? You need a doctor," Ava said, worry all over her face.
It was a gunshot wound, not something to mess around with. It could be fatal without proper care.
Vincent leaned back on the sofa, coldly saying, "You can leave now. Take the SUV and ditch it afterward."
He pulled a gun from the drawer and tossed it to her.
Ava caught it nervously, "Why are you giving me this?"
"If you want to get home safe, take it. No more crap," Vincent said.
At night, a woman with a gun was more useful than anything else. No one would mess with her, even if she was naked.
Ava's hands shook as she set the gun aside, "I don't know how to use a gun. And if I leave, will you be here alone? Is there anyone to take care of you?"
Vincent frowned, getting impatient. "Why do you care so much?"
Ava stood there awkwardly, head down, "I'm afraid you'll die here alone."
Vincent sneered, "You're funny. Aren't you afraid I'll kill you?"
"You saved me," Ava shot back.
"Doesn't mean I won't kill you. I'm not much better than them. I've killed more people than them. If you don't leave now, you'll regret it," Vincent warned.
Seeing Vincent's cold eyes, Ava sighed and turned to leave.
Suddenly, Vincent clutched his wound and groaned, the pain in his chest feeling like it was tearing apart.
Seeing this, Ava quickly stepped forward and asked, "Are you okay?"
Vincent grabbed her wrist, "Are you sure you don't want to leave?"
"Is there anything I can do to help you?" She couldn't just leave. After all, he got hurt saving her.
Vincent was surprised to see a woman not afraid of him.
Because she didn't know him, nor what kind of person he was. Just because he had saved her, she assumed he wasn't a bad guy.
Vincent let go of her hand, leaned back on the sofa, and ripped off the bandage from his wound, tossing it aside. The blood on the wound had almost solidified into a black mass.
He opened a medical kit and took out a scalpel.
Ava watched in horror as Vincent placed the scalpel on his wound and made a deep cut. She covered her mouth in fright.
Vincent forced himself to endure the pain, sweat pouring from his pale face. After cutting open the wound, he took a pair of tweezers and deeply inserted them into his chest.
Ava couldn't bear to watch, turning her head away, her hair standing on end.
No disinfection, no anesthesia, just stabbing right in.
