Presley was sitting in the kitchen directly in front of the door, on a table, watching as the men tended to Odin as if he were one of their own.
“Is he going to be okay?”
“Not sure. He took a lot of hits to the head.” Rami tossed a bag from under a cabinet to one of the men who opened it and began digging through the bag.
The cook grabbed a pair of scissors from a drawer and began cutting Odin’s clothes off his body. Presley whimpered at the bruises which covered him from head to toe.
“He’s breathing funny.”
“Fractured ribs. Might have punctured a lung. We’re going to check him out but he’s not doing well.” Rami commented quietly.
She watched as Odin’s swollen eyes barely opened fluttered, looked around as if searching for something. When his eyes landed on her, he gave a loud raspy
