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He breathes in, his chest expanding. “I gotta go see Doc. But I want ya with me.”
I pull back just enough to look up at his face—pale skin, a grimace, sweat dripping down his forehead. “What’s wrong?”
Beside us, wrapped in a cocoon of their own, White Boy rubs Jade’s back. “He got hit,” he answers for me.
“Hit?” Huh… how?
“Yeah. Here.” Gunz peels back the edge of his cut, exposing his side. There’s a hole through his stained shirt.
Brow furrowing, I take a small step back and watch blood leak from his body. “What… the… why didn’t you say anything?” I glance down at myself. I’m stained, too, in his blood, on the matching side.
Not giving a single damn he’s hurt, Gunz seizes my hand and folds his clammy fingers through mine. Those intense blues bore holes through me as he speaks. “I wanted to see you first. To make sure you know I’m sorry and I’m never fuckin’ leavin’ you again.” The sentiment is sweet, his care palpable… but he’s… hurt.
“Jesus Christ.” I scrub a palm down my face. “That can come after we get the bullet out of you.” Like right now.
Before I panic, I squeeze Gunz’s hand in the tightest hold I can muster and drag his stubborn ass behind me, over to the ambulance where his brother’s outside, stitching up another Sacred Sinner on the lid of a cooler. I drop Gunz’s hand, throw up his shirt, and expose the wound to Bonez.
His brother’s wide eyes, pursed lips, and head shake say it all as he motions for us with the flick of his chin to climb onto the back of the ambulance. Before we do, I help Gunz out of his cut and hand it to Niki to keep safe. She hugs it to her chest, her eyes pinched closed, and smells it. I do my best to ignore the jealousy it bubbles to the surface as I tug his shirt over his head. He trembles and loses his breath for half a second as I discard the ruined fabric into a nearby bin. Not causing any fuss, he uses the railing to climb into the ambulance first, leaving bloody fingerprints on the steel in his wake, me hot on his tail.
Ever so slowly, Gunz perches his behind on the edge of the stretcher as I sit across from him on the bench, out of the doc’s way. Like he can’t stop touching me, to make sure I’m okay, Gunz reaches out for me to take his hand into mine as he uses his other to cover the swollen injury. Gently squeezing his fingers in support, a slender, clean-shaven, white-haired man enters through the side door, takes one look at Gunz, and rolls his eyes heavenward. “You’re a dumbass.”
My injured guy… friend… whatever you wanna call him… tries to pull a smile, but it ends in a wrinkled scowl. My expression mimics his in sympathy. “I know,” he wheezes out as his shoulders hunch forward in noticeable discomfort.
“This’ll be the fifth I’ve dug out of you, boy. You’d think you would’ve learned by now,” the older man half-chastises, a hint of humor simmering beneath the surface.
Holy crap… Five times. F-i-v-e.
I shake my head at the thought.
“It’s been almost a decade, old man,” Gunz grumbles.
“Since the last?” Doc fusses with supplies on the wall at the head of the bed.
“Yeah.”
The male chuckles. “Well, alright, then. Guess you’ve learned a lil somethin’, huh?” He pops open a small compartment.
Gunz looks up at me through dark lashes and rolls his eyes. “Seems so.” Despite his misery, a tiny smirk twists at the edge of his lips, just noticeable through his unkempt beard. I deliver him a sunnier one in return, so he knows I’m here to stay. That he’s gonna be okay.
“Now, who’s this, pretty lady?” Doc flashes me a flirty smile over his shoulder and winks. Out of courtesy, I return a polite grin.
Gunz is not impressed. His deepening frown says as much. “No more questions, Doc. Just cut me open.”
The white-haired man tsks his patient. “Now. Now. You talk. I work.”
“She’s my old lady.”
Whoa. I’m… his…
I don’t get a moment to contemplate whatever that means before the old man fires a high-pitched whistle and slaps his knee. “Damn. You gotta old lady now. Didn’t think I’d see the day.”
Patience hanging by a thread, Gunz chews his bottom lip for a long, painful pause before speaking. “Just cut the fuckin’ bullet from my gut,” he forces out.
If he’s done, I’m done. Old lady or not, Gunz is hurt, and I don’t enjoy seeing him this way. Sweating profusely, the hair curls on his chest, and his skin glistens in the overhead lights. Speckles of blood dot his face and bald head. I watch him breathe. Each respiration’s more difficult than the last.
Doc lays a small bag on the floor beside Gunz’s foot and digs around in the thing. “Might need to put ya to sleep for this.”
“Just give me the morphine.”
