When a Hitman Gets Haunted by a Ghost
Chapter 73: Passed

Chapter 73: Passed

The last thing Hunter remembered was dodging a sharp punch from the quiet guy. The sour stench of sweat and the taste of blood still clawed at his lungs.

He couldn’t remember how far in the fight they were. How long had they been fighting for? Was it over?

Hunter furrowed his brow, his eyes straining against the bright light as his consciousness returned. When he felt someone touching his arm, he jerked up. The realization hit him like a truck—he’d passed out mid-fight.

"Fuckin’ hell!"

The shout shot a sharp jolt through his ribs, making him wince and clutch his side.

A feminine voice with a steely tone scolded him. "You shouldn’t move. Lie back down."

Caught off guard, Hunter slowly reclined, noticing the soft blankets covering his legs. A woman in teal-blue scrubs was inserting an IV needle into his arm.

Hunter’s eyes darted around, taking in the room. No, it wasn’t a hospital—more like some low-level medical point that looked like it should’ve been shut down.

The paint was chipping off the uneven walls, white flakes scattering onto the green linoleum floor every time Hunter’s metal bed frame bumped against the wall with his movements. Even the armchair in the corner seemed to beg for retirement, its rubbery leather seat sunken and cracked.

"What is this place?" he asked, trying to get comfortable after the IV was inserted.

"A clinic," the nurse replied, not paying him any looks as she gathered up the supplies and left.

Hunter blinked, baffled by the cold attitude. He lifted his arm to rub an itch on his jaw. His fingers brushed over dried blood, and after some tapping around, he figured out it came from a wound on his cheekbone. Couldn’t the medical staff at least wipe the blood off his face?

He glared at the door and roused again. "If nobody’s gonna do their job properly," he called out, pausing to wince at the nasty pain in his ribs, "at least give me the tools so I can do it myself!"

To his surprise, the nurse returned to his room two seconds later, carrying a bowl of water and a tray with cotton balls, gauze, rubbing alcohol, and band-aids.

From the look on her face, even an oblivious idiot could tell she found Hunter insufferable. She wasn’t even trying to hide it—sending him a reprimanding look as she set the tray and the bowl on the bedstand.

"I told you lie down. You’ll make it worse for yourself," she chided, gesturing for him to lie back down.

Hunter didn’t listen, instead swinging his legs off the bed to grab the supplies. "Unless I break into an Irish jig, it’s not gonna get any more fucked up."

The nurse scowled and slapped his hand away from the tray. "Sit still and let me do my job." She pulled the blanket over his legs, then hooked the stool’s leg with her foot and pulled it close to sit down.

Hunter watched as she folded a strip of gauze into a makeshift towel that she dipped in the bowl of water before bringing it to his face.

He leaned back. "I can do it myself." As he tried to take the gauze from her, the nurse grabbed his wrist with a tight grip and pinned his hand to the bed.

"Try to grab the medical equipment one more time, and I’ll come back with handcuffs," she warned, asserting dominance with a prolonged stare. "Which one’s it gonna be, tough guy?"

Hunter forgot to glare back, letting the blue eyes pierce through his stubbornness. He almost smiled unwittingly, feeling an odd sense of admiration for this woman.

"I’ll let you do your job," he said, his voice softer than before.

The nurse let go of his wrist and dipped the gauze into the warm water again. "You should be ashamed of yourself," she said, wiping the blood from his jaw, "cursing in a medical institution? Has nobody taught you manners?"

"I wouldn’t say slapping around your patient is great manners either," he countered.

The nurse pursed her lips and Hunter braced to be whipped with the damp gauze, but despite her frustrated exhale, she took care of him kindly.

"I admit that slapping your hands away from the tray wasn’t the right choice, but you should listen to what your nurse tells you," she relented eventually. "Being difficult only makes it harder for me to take care of you."

"I went to medical school, I can take care of myself."

Hunter watched her face, noting the two lines of focus between her light eyebrows. His eyes followed her short ponytail that bounced slightly as she turned to tear a new piece of gauze. Her hair was a color between blonde and ginger. Pretty.

She hummed, leaning back, her striking blue eyes finding his again. "Did you know? There’s a saying—those who repeat statements are trying to convince themselves it’s the truth."

"Never heard of it."

The nurse shook her head. "You can’t imagine how many men like you I’ve had to deal with in this neighborhood. You learn a thing or two."

Having been lulled by the soft, damp strokes of gauze on his skin, Hunter had slowly relaxed and closed his eyes. The fight had worn him out more than he’d like to admit. But the sting of the rubbing alcohol snapped him back. He winced, inhaling sharply through his teeth.

"Good, patience. It’s almost done," the nurse encouraged him. "The sting’s not as bad when someone does it for you, yeah?"

Hunter opened his eyes and made a face. "I didn’t sign up for a pediatric treatment."

"Is this your way of saying you want a sucker after it’s done?" she asked, gluing band-aids onto his face.

Hunter broke into a smirk, but before he could laugh, his nemesis shoved up in the doorway.

"Alice, a man just came in with glass stuck in his hand," Kant told the nurse. "He threw a fit and pulled it out. We tied him to a chair, and now he’s bleeding over it."

The nurse stood up and quickly gathered the supplies. "What’s with today? So many people coming in with injuries and attitude. Is it the full moon?"

Hunter opened his mouth to thank her, but didn’t manage to utter a word before she was out.

Alice. So that was her name. It suited her. He sighed, a little disappointed she had to go, but then scowled, noticing the quiet guy still standing there. Kant cleared his throat and stepped in.

"What?" Hunter grunted.

"You passed."

Hunter stared at the black-haired, insomniac-looking prick, his expression twisting in confusion, blood still pumping hot in his veins.

"Passed out?" he muttered, his voice thick with irritation.

"Passed the test," Kant corrected, looking at Hunter like he was speaking in a foreign language. "You can join the Bears."

Hunter blinked, then gave a sharp, bitter laugh. "How the hell do I ’pass’ the test when I’m flat on my back and barely conscious?" His voice rose with each word. "You messin’ with me?"

Kant paused, the awkwardness of the moment weighing on him. He scratched his brow, then cleared his throat.

"The fight wasn’t about winning," he began, almost like he was explaining to a kid. "It was... about holding your ground, pushing through."

Hunter’s scowl deepened as he processed that. "So you’re telling me I passed by getting knocked out? Is that how it works here? Or do you just take in anyone with a pulse?"

Kant’s eye twitched, like he was barely holding back an eyeroll. "You want the truth? Your attitude got you beaten up. Nobody ends up at the clinic after a test fight."

Hunter gritted his teeth so hard it felt like they’d turn to dust. His whole body tensed, ready to spring up despite the pain. But the prick’s calm expression made him realize that even if he tried, he’d be back on the floor in a second.

"Shut up," he muttered, rolling onto his side. He stared at the chipped wall, jaw clenched so tight it ached.

Fucking Bears.