Page 74 of Graves

I find a few smaller ones you can just barely wrap around your hips and lay them on the kitchen island by the stove. Then I go back to the terrace and gather the dirty dishes.

As I carry the first load into the kitchen, the apartment door opens and Koh comes in with two guys. One of them—must be Levi—is being carried in by Koh and this Damian. With one arm over Damian’s shoulder, he lets out a suppressed groan.

At first, I think the guy is drunk and clutching his stomach because he feels sick, but then I see him pressing what looks like a jacket against his side. It’s shiny and… there’s blood.

A lot of blood.

Levi is wearing a black suit and a dark gray shirt, so it’s not obvious, but his hand is glistening red like he dipped it in a bucket of paint.

“Fuck, man!” he curses, groaning. “That hurts!”

“Where?” Damian asks in a deep, almost unnaturally calm voice.

Koh stops in the entryway and looks around. “Right here on the floor.” He drops to his knees and lies his brother down. “Towels! Hayaku!”

It takes me a second to realize he’s talking to me.

I snatch the towels and rush toward the entrance.

Koh rips open Levi’s shirt and grabs a towel. “Press this down!”

Damian takes it and presses it firmly against the wound.

“Urgh!” Levi groans, clutching his wrist. “Damn it!”

As Koh dashes into his room, the sight of his well-trained, blood-streaked torso fills my vision. A roaring sound surges in my head, like a foghorn blasting through the chaos.

A storm is coming—and I know it’s coming straight for me.

Levi throws his head back, his face twisted in agony, hissing air through clenched teeth. “That bastard… I’m going to kill him!”

“One thing at a time,” Damian answers.

“You can talk! Promise me you’ll hunt that asshole down if I die.”

“Promise.”

“And torture! Make him suffer! At least ten hours! Ah!” This time he throws his head to the other side and kicks the pain away with one leg. “Fuck!”

Levi’s light blue eyes glow with vengeful fury, yet he’s also on the verge of tears. His face contorting in pain, he clenches his teeth again and fights back the scream tearing at his throat.

“Shit! Where the fuck is my brother! Koh!” His voice cracks. “You there! Rockstar! Light a fire under my brother’s ass! I’m bleeding out here!”

I hadn’t realized I was standing there paralyzed.

Koh comes back from his room with a bag; he looks incredibly focused and nothing like the roommate who was falling apart yesterday.

“You’re not bleeding out,” he says, kneeling beside him and opening the bag.

He disinfects his hands and tells Damian to remove the already soaked towel from the wound.

I’m no doctor, but it doesn’t look good to me. The wound is on the side at navel height and the blood flows like a spring in steady pulses. I feel dizzy, so I tear my eyes from the red and focus on Koh.

As if he’s done this a thousand times, he examines the wound thoroughly and lets neither his brother’s curses nor screams of pain rush or unsettle him.

Damian watches his injured cousin with stoic stillness. His angular face is like a mask and doesn’t match his blood-covered hands at all.

Does he not care what’s happening?