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Celt: What happened?
Celt: Are you ok?
Celt: What the fuck, Bou? ANSWER ME
Belatedly, I realized he probably thought I was the one in trouble. Shit.
Bou: I’m not hurt, but I need help. Get here ASAP!
Bou: WITH DOC!
Celt: OMW
Satisfied with his response, I went to the couch, still fretting over what I should do next. I had to get the guy out of his jacket, off the couch, and somewhere more comfortable, but how the hell was I going to lift him? And the only option for the more comfortable part was in my own bed. It had been a long time since I’d had a man in my bed. The thought sent a thrill up my spine.
What the fuck is wrong with you, Bou? The man needs help.
Even so, I couldn’t help imagining the lines of his body out of all those clothes.
I started to remove his jacket, being careful not to cause more damage. Hell, his arms were heavy enough. No fucking way I’d be able to move him while he was unconscious. I had just freed his non-injured arm when . . .
“What the ever-loving fuck are you doing?” Celt came bowling into the room with a gun in each hand.
I bolted to my feet, confused that I hadn’t heard the door until I realized I’d left it wide open in my efforts to get the stranger inside. I let out a breath. “Put those away. I told you I’m fine.”
“Your shirt doesn’t look very fine.” He cut his eyes between me and the man on the couch.
I looked down, for the first time seeing that my shirt was also soaked through. “Celt, it’s his blood, not mine. Did you bring Doc?”
As his name left my lips, Doc’s salt and pepper head poked into the room.
I held my brother’s gaze for a split second more—his eyes a hard blue, like sapphires, and a few shades lighter than mine. A muscle ticked in his jaw, but he finally relented, shoving one gun in his waistband and the smaller one in a boot. When he’d finally put away his iron, I moved so Doc could get into the room and to the man who needed his help.
“His leg is wrecked for sure, but no blood there that I can see. He’s bleeding somewhere under this jacket though,” I said.
Doc didn’t glance twice, didn’t even bend over before he said, “We need to get him to the hospital. My van’s outside.”
We’d all thought the man unconscious, but a croak came through his clenched teeth. “No. Fucking. Hospital.” He struggled to sit up, then collapsed backward, his head bending at an awkward angle. He started sliding from the couch.
Celt stiffened.
I reached for him, but before I could get there, Doc braced him under the arm, preventing his fall. “Celt, help me get him somewhere flat.”
“My bed. Through there.” I pointed, trying to ignore my self-righteous brother.
“I’m not taking a stranger to your fucking bed, Bou.” He planted himself in front of the door that’d give the access we needed.
I rounded on him. “Goddamnit, Celt, get over your sanctimonious ass. The nearest hospital is an hour away. He’s passed out cold. What else would you do? Lay him out on a workbench in the shop?”
I caught a spark in his eyes as if he liked that idea.
“No. In my room. He can’t even sit up, much less do anything that’ll hurt me or dishonor your innocent little sister.” I rolled my eyes and slid past him into the bedroom to clear away the comforter and pillows.
Despite the objections, Celt and Doc followed, holding the injured man between them. His head lolled forward, and his feet dragged. They laid him on the bed, and Doc went to work. I grabbed a new shirt and ducked into the closet to change. When I returned, Celt stared daggers at me. I walked past my brother, plowing a shoulder into him. I wasn’t about to ask him to follow. The hit simply demanded he do so.
I grabbed a flashlight and reached for the shop door. A quick yank on the doorknob caused the blinds to clatter against the glass.
“Bou.” Celt snagged my arm. “Where are you going?”
