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However, they didn’t risk a brother’s life over some inconvenience with the Tulsa PD. The Bulls paid a hefty fee straight into the chief’s pocket to make sure that the issue never rose above inconvenience. If JJ had been hit that bad, Duncan had been right to call it in.
At this hour, when Monday morning was still really Sunday night, the waiting room was mostly empty. But not entirely. Eight grabbed Dunc’s kutte and started to drag him off to a corner of the waiting room, where they could talk without being heard. Before he got more than a couple steps, the doors slid open again, and Maverick barreled through.
“Dunc!” the boy’s father yelled and grabbed his son, yanking him into a terrified embrace.
“I’m okay, Dad. I’m not hurt.”
Despite the kid’s protest, Eight noticed he wasn’t in a big hurry to let his dad go.
Maverick pushed him back and scanned him with the thoroughness of an MRI. His face was a twisted snarl of fear, worry, and anger. “All this is Jay’s?” he asked, with a sharp wave at Duncan’s blood-soaked t-shirt.
“Yeah.”
“Any word?”
“Not yet,” Duncan muttered, looking down at his boots. There was blood on them, too.
“Jesus Christ.” Maverick dragged his hand down his face. Then he looked at Eight. “What the fuck happened?”
“We’re just moving over there to talk about it.” Eight nodded at the little overflow waiting room. It was much smaller, the chairs were flimsier, and the lights were out. No need for overflow tonight.
Keeping his hand on his son’s arm, Maverick led the way to that room. As soon as they were inside, he repeated the question. “What thefuckhappened?”
“We were up near 11th, ‘cuz Jay had to meet with a couple guys. Was supposed to be simple—a couple minutes, and then we’d hit the Dawghouse and play some pool, like usual. But they shorted Jay, and he wasn’t havin’ it. He knocked the guy around, and before we knew it his buddy was shootin’. We didn’t even know he had a piece. Jay went down, and they ran off. My piece was in my bike, so I tried to get Jay’s Sig out. But he was layin’ on it, and he was bleeding so bad, it was pouring out of his mouth—”
He cut off because Maverick had grabbed him by both sides of his kutte, and he just about threw him against the wall. He leaned in and got right in his son’s face, that snarl now absolutely rabid. “You assholes were fuckin’freelancing?”
For all his rebelliousness, Duncan showed no resistance now. He was scared and showed it openly.
Mav was a good dad, as far as Eight knew about shit like that. He didn’t hit his kids, or yell much, and damn sure not anything worse. Until Duncan put a prospect kutte on, these two had had a good relationship. This right here was the harshest Eight had ever seen Mav be with Duncan—or Kelsey or Hannah, for that matter.
But he was fire and rage now. Eight figured fear had a lot to do with it.
Wide-eyed and gasping, Duncan tried to explain. “Jay needed to make his dues! I was just with him, that’s all!”
Maverick growled through clenched teeth and punched the wall at the side of Duncan’s head.
Eight had been keeping one eye on the entrance, and he saw Willa and Rad barreling toward the doors. The Jessups lived out a ways, a few miles past the edge of suburban Tulsa, so it had taken them a bit longer to get here. As the doors swept open, Eight stepped out to meet JJ’s parents.
But Rad waved him off. “We’re goin’ back. Zach’s comin’ in, too. Keep your phone close. I’ll text when I can.”
Eight nodded, but Rad and Willa were already past him. They both looked awful.
Turning back, Eight saw Maverick and Duncan watching JJ’s parents, too. Father and son stood arm in arm.
Father-son relationships seemed really fucking complicated.
Eight fucking sucked at complicated.
He nodded to indicate they should go back into the overflow room. “Let’s start from the top,” he said, and gave Duncan a push toward a flimsy plastic chair.
~oOo~
Within a few minutes of Rad and Willa’s arrival, Eight got a text from Rad that JJ was in surgery and to meet them upstairs. Zach ran in a few minutes after they made it to the surgery area.
In that waiting room, Willa had explained what they knew: JJ had been shot through the lung and the kidney, both bullets clean through, doing a lot more damage on their way through than tearing up a couple of organs.
Now, hours later, with morning light streaming through the windows, most of the club was at the hospital. The women were clustered together around Willa in the surgical waiting room. The Bulls were across the hall, in an alcove that looked like a gurney parking area or something.
