The stabbing played over again in my head, step by step. I’d prevented Jesus from escaping to one of the bedrooms and tossed him to the floor. Pita leapt on my back. Elizaveta pried her away. I hiked Jesus up by the collar of his shirt and slammed him into the wall. I slammed him a second time and heard Pita and Elizaveta scuffling behind me. I turned to check on them. That’s when Jesus withdrew the knife from beneath his shirt and slid it into my side. I didn’t feel any pain; I was too keyed up on adrenaline. But my first thoughts were: He stabbed me. The fucker stabbed me. I looked down, saw the blood, and stepped away from him. I figured the fight was over, but Jesus came at me, throwing his weight into me and knocking me down, knocking the pistol from my grip. Then he was on top of me, his hands around my throat, squeezing. My vision blurred, spun—then the gunshot. Jesus released my throat, and I bucked him off me to find Pita on her side with a bloody lip and Elizaveta standing a few yards away, holding the gun in her shaking hands.

“This is not good, Jack,” Elizaveta said. She was kneeling next to me, examining the wound. Rosa stood by her, a serious expression on her face.

“Nice bedside manner,” I said.

“What does that mean?”

I shook my head. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“It looks bad.”

“It doesn’t even hurt very much.”

“Maybe you’re in shock.”

“I’m not in shock.”

“Maybe you are bleeding inside.”

“Seriously, Eliza, knock it off.”

“I’m trying to help.”

“It doesn’t look very bad, Jack,” Rosa said.

“Thank you, Rosa.”

“It really doesn’t,” she added. “I cut my knee once, and it bled almost as much. But I didn’t even have to go to the doctor’s office. My mom just rinsed it with water, put some stuff on it that stung, and then a bandage.”

“Do you have any vital organs in your knee?” Elizaveta asked her.

“What’s a vital organ?”

I folded my tank top into a square and pressed it against the cut. I hissed with pain and closed my eyes. I could feel the shirt turn spongy with blood. When I opened my eyes, I was looking across the room. Pita was in front of Jesus, trying to free his hands. I snatched the pistol from the floor and pointed it at them.

“Get away from him!” I said.

Elizaveta and Rosa spun to look.

Pita and Jesus stiffened, both appearing very suspect.

“Move away from him, Pita.”

“Why?” she said. “We were just talking.”

“You were removing the belt.”

“I was not.”

“I saw you! Now move away from him.”

“Or what, Jack?” Jesus said. “You going to call your accomplice? Have us killed too?”

“He’ll beat you up!” Rosa said.