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“How could he do that to us?” Bianca asked, so furious that her cheeks flushed.
No one had to say his name. We all knew who she meant. Alaric Huber, the fucking bastard.
“It needs to come out right the fuck now,” I snarled, pulling Bianca into my arms. I tilted her chin up, trying to be as gentle as I could under the circumstances. “He’s probably on the way here already. We can’t delay.”
“I know.” She bit her bottom lip, and I caught the shadow of fear that flickered across her face.
“I’ll be with you the entire time,” I vowed. “Ex has already done this once. It won’t take long.”
“I can get it out fast,” he promised, “but it’ll hurt.”
I glared at him for telling her, even if I didn’t want him to lie.
“She needed to know.”
“Yeah, I fucking get that. I just don’t like it,” I growled.
“Patriot will assist.”
My head turned, and I noticed the quiet bar for the first time.
Grim stood a few feet away. He’d been the one to mention Patriot’s name. I trusted that Marine veteran. He had combat and wound experience, and his Reaper seemed skilled at human anatomy, injury, and repair.
Maddog mentioned once that they served together overseas for a short time. Patriot and Maddog were Devil Dogs with a friendship that ran deep. Becoming brothers in the RBMC only strengthened that bond.
Grim approached us, ticking his head toward the hall that led to his private office. “I’ve got a room back there set up for this type of thing. Follow me.”
He had a fucking room for surgical procedures? How often did members of this club get hurt? Weren’t they invincible?
Grim must have sensed my questions. “Only the Reaper is immune to injury. Outside of that, we can be harmed. Even killed.”
“But it’s not easy,” Maddog added, joining us. He came from one of the guest rooms down the opposite hallway.
I reached for Bianca’s hand and brought her close against my side. “The sooner this is done, the faster we move on.”
She nodded, but I still caught the anxiety in her pretty blue eyes.
We entered a sterile room with gray walls and white tiled flooring. Surgical equipment, an IV tower, and boxes of medical supplies were stacked on counters or placed against the wall farthest from the door. One window let in natural light, but I noticed the white blinds in front of it were closed.
Porcia guided Bianca toward a table on the left. “Lay down. It’s easier if we prop your arm up.”
Bianca glanced at me as I scooped under her knees and brought her close against my chest. My forehead lowered to hers. “I’m with you. Not goingany-fucking-where.”
Her teeth nibbled her bottom lip. “Okay.”
I placed her down on the squeaky green leather and helped her to get comfortable, smoothing her dress around her body. The slit below her hip kept gaping open as I frowned. “Need a blanket. Now,” I grumbled.
Porcia nodded. “I got one.” She made to cover Bianca, and I shook my head, holding out my hand.
“I’ve got it.” No one else was caring for my fiancé but me. I couldn’t promise I wouldn’t resort to violence just from the knowledge that she was about to be in pain. I fucking hated it.
I only felt a little less murderous when she was tucked in with the edges of the blanket around her body and only her left shoulder and arm exposed.
“Hold my hand,” she pleaded, blinking back tears.
Like I wasn’t already planning on it. “Done.”
