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DOC
The ride in the ambulance seemed to elongate time. I’d left the rats on full lockdown. Moira Sharpe was out and secure. The sedative I’d given her would keep her out for a few hours yet. No one else could get into the clubhouse. There was no waiting for the others to return; Steph needed a hospital, and she needed it now.
Across from me, the paramedic worked in tandem with me to stabilize her. An oxygen mask was on her face, helping to push air into her lungs. A pulse ox monitor on her hand—her bloody, broken hand. The alarm went off as her blood pressure dipped. Internal bleeding…
Had to be.
“Hanging another bag.”
I registered the words but kept moving, looking for any open wounds. Hoping I could find something I could stop. There were gouges to her palms from her broken nails. Scrapes on her knees. The clothing was one of her suits—she’d been taken while working.
How long had they had her?
Her shoes were gone. One of her toes had been broken. A slice down the center of her foot oozed blood. Her knee was turned out slightly.
Dislocation.
Another alarm went off, yanking me from assessment mode.
“V-fib.”
I shifted my attention to compressions immediately. Her heart wasn’t getting enough blood flow. The ambulance screeched around a corner as the paramedic, Megan, sliced open Steph’s shirt. The bruises visible along her chest sent a wave of violence through me that had no outlet.
Mickey J had no place here. Steph’s brother couldn’t be treating her.
The Vandal in me wanted to gut everyone involved. He didn’t heal; he broke.
Doc—I had to be Doc. I’d fucking embraced Doc for years, and that was who Steph needed. Megan got the pads attached and the machine hummed as it charged up.
“Clear,” she warned, and I lifted my hands. Steph’s whole body convulsed up as the charge hit her.
“Still V-fib,” I said as I resumed compressions.
“Charging,” she warned even as she reached for the radio to update the hospital. Another corner, and like Megan, I braced myself to keep from falling as I kept on with the compressions. One eye on Steph and the other on the monitor. “Clear.”
Hands up, I focused on the heart monitor as Steph arched up off the bed.
“Sinus rhythm.” I nearly sagged in relief, and the paramedic nodded as we went back to checking her wounds.
“Two minutes,” came the warning from the front. We were almost there. Those two minutes stretched out as Steph opened her beautiful eyes and looked up at me.
When she raised a broken hand to me, I clasped it gently. “I’m here,” I promised her. “I got you.”
Then we were there, and the doors flew open as a trauma team rolled out to meet us. I helped lift her gurney out.
“Doctor James,” the ED doctor said as she nodded to me. “Doctor Adler. Fill me in.”
The thing about an ED was you didn’t stop moving for the brief, so I filled her in while on the move. We were heading straight into a trauma bay.
“On three,” Adler said, then we were transferring Steph onto the hospital bed. Bloody gauze fell away. “Get me the portable x-ray in here, and let’s get her out of these clothes.”
I worked with her to get Steph situated.
“Doctor James, you need scrubs if you are to remain in here.” It wasn’t critical, just firm advice. I backed off as a nurse took my place.
“I have you, Doctor,” another nurse said as she hustled over to me and directed me to another room. After cleaning my hands, I stripped out of the clothes and into the scrubs. Then I was back out to see that Steph was still in the bay. They passed me an apron as they shot x-rays.
The images began to populate on the screens and I lost count of the number of broken bones.
