I tossed the bag to the side and moved the rest out of the way to uncover one of the brothers. He was somewhat upright, having been propped up against the wall.
“Are you okay?” I bent down, placing my hand on the man’s cheek. I remembered seeing him go through the line. Checking his cut for his name, I called to him. “Tracker? You with me, buddy? I’m not sure how you ended up under a pile of trash bags, but let’s get you inside.”
Was this a prank? Get a poor guy drunk and toss him out with the trash? If so, that wasn’t very nice. Having been way too close to sleeping by a dumpster while I got on my feet, I didn’t see anything funny about this.
“Can you stand up?” I looped my arm behind his back when he gasped. For a brief moment, his eyes opened and linked with mine. Instead of drunk, he looked panicked.
“Diablo,” he whispered.
Diablo? As in the Devil?Was he hallucinating?
“Uh, Tracker?” I slapped his cheek lightly, but he was gone. Completely passed out. Well, I didn’t care what their hazing practices were. I was not going to leave this man by the dumpster. I moved my hand to the back of his head, intending to give him a little shake when I felt something wet.
Gross. What kind of nasty garbage juice had he been laying in? I pulled my hand out to examine it in the lamplight and realized the liquid was bright red.
“Did you knock yourself out on the wall?” I maneuvered his head toward the light. “Dang, you sure did. No wonder you’re seeing things. Do you hurt anywhere else?”
I don’t know why I bothered asking. Nerves, I guess. Of course he couldn’t answer. I quickly checked him over, and my heart sank into my stomach when I opened his leather cut. A bright red stain spread across the bottom of his white t-shirt.
“Hey! We need some help over here!” I shouted as loud as I could, hoping someone would hear me.
I needed to get him away from garbage and under the flood light. I moved behind him, locking my arms under his armpits like I’d learned in my advanced first-aid training. Dragging him into the light, I laid him down flat and called out again.
“Help! Somebody help!” I reached for my phone and remembered I’d left it in the kitchen since it kept falling out of the loose pockets of my shorts.Damn it.
The bottom half of his white shirt had turned red, soaked in blood. I lifted his shirt and found the problem, a two-inch gash that was steadily leaking more blood. I looked up at the trail of blood we’d created and didn’t think he could have much left. Where was the rest of the club?
“FIRE!” I’d heard if you were in trouble, people didn’t always respond to help. They thought you were playing, or they didn’t want to get involved. But if you said fire instead, they were more likely help because they didn’t want their stuff damaged. “FIRE!” I screamed again before turning back to the wound.
His eyelids fluttered and he groaned.
Thank goodness. “Tracker? It’s okay. Help is on the way. FIRE!” At least, I hoped it was.
“Diablo,” he mumbled. “Diablo here.”
Because of my babysitting and my job at the senior home, I’d taken Stop the Bleed training in one form or another every year since I was fourteen. Tracker was going to bleed out if I didn’t act quickly. And since there wasn’t a trauma kit anywhere around… I shrugged and pulled off my tank top. Gauze would have obviously been a better choice, but I was working with what I had.
Of course I would be wearing my lucky Tinkerbelle tank top today. I’d worn her during all of my culinary exams, my interview at the senior home, and then today when I’d landed my first catering job. Hopefully, she was about to save Tracker’s life. I shoved the corner of my tank into the gash, packing the wound like I’d been taught. When I couldn’t fit anymore inside, I bunched the rest of the tank on top of the wound and pressed down with my hands.
I raised my elbow to brush the hair from my face and screamed again “Fire!” I screamed until I was hoarse and tears streamed down my face. “Fire!”
I finally heard male voices and the pounding of boots. I continued to hold pressure on Tracker’s wound, terrified to move in case he bled out.
“It’s okay, Lexie. Stitch can take it from here.” Strong arms wrapped around me, but I fought them.
“No, I can’t let go. I have to apply pressure until the paramedics arrive.”
“Fuck,” the familiar voice swore.
“Lexie, look at me.” Stitch’s face was suddenly right in front of mine. “You did great, and now I’m here, and I’ve got this until the ambulance comes. Your arms are probably tired, right? After all that work you did today? Let me take over. I’ve done nothing but lie around and eat all evening.”
I blinked slowly, taking in my surroundings and realizing the brothers were there. I was just the caterer. Stitch’s handscovered mine, and I slowly pulled back. The warm arms surrounding me pulled me up, forcing me to stand before flipping me into his embrace.
“You did good, pixie.” Bear kissed the top of my head while stroking my ponytail. “Real good.” He squeezed me again, his tight embrace grounding me to the present. Then he bent down and whispered in my ear, “But I’m going to need to put a shirt on you before Stitch is stuck treating a few more injuries.”
9
BEAR
