Chapter 117: First Blood (2)
Bartolomeu lifted a hand again, signaling the end of the punishment.
He turned his gaze toward Orson, nodding once. A silent, wordless gesture that he could finally help his boss.
Orson sprang into action. He crouched down, gripping Duncan’s arm, and hoisted him up, his heart pounding at the sight of the damage. Duncan’s breaths were ragged, strained—then, suddenly, he choked and spat a mouthful of blood onto the cold floor.
His world swayed violently, the pain in his abdomen unbearable, but Orson managed to guide him toward the sofa opposite Bartolomeu. Duncan collapsed onto it, his body screaming in protest.
Across the room, Annie was finally released.
She wasted no time. Sprinting to the portable bar, she grabbed a bottle of water with trembling hands, then crouched down and yanked an unused rag from the storage beneath. Without hesitation, she drenched it in ice-cold water, fashioning a makeshift compress.
Rushing back, she shoved the bottle into Orson’s hands. "Open it," she ordered, her voice urgent, before pressing the cold rag against the worst of Duncan’s injuries.
Her hands trembled as she tended to him, her eyes wide with fear. But she didn’t stop. She couldn’t.
Not while he was still bleeding.
Bartolomeu clicked his tongue once more, shaking his head with feigned amusement. "Tsk. You two are overreacting. He’ll be fine. He’s not going to die."
But neither Orson nor Annie acknowledged him. They didn’t even spare him a glance, their focus entirely on Duncan.