Mark's breathing started to get ragged again, his head slumped back against the couch. Blood still stained his shirt, the deep red soaking through the fabric and sticking to his skin.
"Mark," I whispered, barely able to hear myself. "I need to... I need to take care of this."
His eyes cracked open, hazy but bright enough to pin me in place. "You ever taken a bullet out before, Sage?" he rasped, a hint of a smirk slipping through his pain.
I swallowed hard. My throat was so dry that it hurt. "No, but I have to try."
"Bathroom," he muttered, his eyes falling shut for a second. "Cabinet under the sink. Tools."
I didn't ask questions. I just ran. The bathroom was clean and organized — so Mark. My hands fumbled as I searched, yanking open the cabinet and grabbing the first-aid kit
