Brad and Duncan were in the corner, their faces lined with tension, their bodies rigid. I barely spared them a glance as I raced to Flynn’s side, crouching down on the floor, my knees hitting cold cement.
“Flynn,” I said, my hand going to his forehead. He was sweating and pale and when he looked at me, his eyes were glassy with pain.
“Barrett.”
Scotch fumes wafted toward me. I looked at the man who I assumed was the doctor. He was pressing a cloth to Flynn’s left shoulder, a bloom of red marring the whiteness.
“I dug out the bullet. He still needs stitches,” the doctor explained.
“I’ll do this,” I said, going for the cloth and putting my hand on top of it. The doctor took a step back and went for his medical bag, but I kept my gaze trained on my bleeding husband. “What did you do to yourself?”
“Got myself shot,” he slurred, his brogue coming out due to pain and liquor.
“So I heard.”
“You came.”
“Of course I did.”
“I love you,” he muttered right before he passed out.
The doctor took a seat next to Flynn and put a needle and thread to his skin. He worked quickly and efficiently before Flynn woke up.
“Can we move him?” I asked, looking at the doctor who tied off the last stitch and backed away.
The doctor nodded and then gestured for Duncan and Brad to help him. I got to my feet and stood back and watched them struggle with Flynn’s bulk. Once he was in a sitting position, the doctor was able to put Flynn’s left arm into a makeshift sling. Flynn mumbled but didn’t awaken as they carted him out of the warehouse, Sasha in front to make sure all was clear.
We piled into the waiting black Suburban. I sat next to Flynn, keeping him upright around the corners. Every now and again, the doctor, who had taken the middle seat all to himself, would check Flynn’s arm to make sure the stitches held.
An hour later, Flynn was passed out in our hotel suite bed, and I was closing the bedroom door. Everyone was in the living room, including Lacey and Ash who had waited for us to return. Tiredness sank into my bones, but I refused to collapse in front of them. I wanted to remain strong, stoic, without giving away how terrified I felt.
“You should go,” I said to both of my friends.
“I’ll stay,” Lacey volunteered, her eyes landing on me and then sliding to Brad. “I can help.”
“Flynn’s asleep for the foreseeable future,” I said. “I don’t need help.”
“You can call me. Any time. Day or night.” Lacey said it to me, but then her eyes went to Brad again.
“I’ll go. I don’t want to be in the way,” Ash said, her voice tight, her face shell-shocked.
“I’ll take you home,” Duncan said to her.
She shook her head. “I’m sure Barrett needs you here.”
My friends hugged me goodbye, and I was left with the men I trusted.
“We’ve got a problem,” Brad said.
“Another one?” I nearly snapped. Pregnant, shot husband, what the hell was next?
“Marino is dead,” Brad went on, like I hadn’t interrupted him. “As you know.”
“Yes.”
“The deal didn’t include ending Marino,” Sasha said, picking up the thread of conversation. “Winters wanted to have someone in custody, turn him rat, so he’d give up others.”
“He’s going to take Flynn, isn’t he?”
