Page 5 of His to Keep

From the outside, the bar had looked like a small place. Inside, it was a different story. Dark, luxurious, and surprisingly spacious, the place seemed like a secret little den, tucked away from the rest of the world.

It would have probably been lovely, were it not for the shooting.

Men in sharp suits stood clustered around a figure slumped in one of the leather armchairs, their faces a mixture of concern and fury. Some were barking orders into their phones, and some were trying to press down on the gunshot wound.

Without thinking, Liam shook off the man holding him and moved towards the gunshot victim. He took in the victim: male, late thirties or early forties, maybe, his body tense with pain but still conscious. A crimson stain was spreading across his crisp white shirt, evidence of the serious — but hopefully not lethal —wound he'd sustained. His skin was pale with shock and blood loss, his lips curved in a snarl of pain, but his sharp green eyes flicked up to Liam like a switchblade.

Good. He was still conscious. Liam felt a surge of competence. This was where he belonged, helping those in need.

But no sooner had Liam taken another step forward than he was stopped by that vice-like grip on his arm. "You're really a doctor?"

"Yes. Emergency medicine."

"And you just happened to be walking past, huh?"

"I just wanted a drink, but your man outside— look, never mind." Liam's eyes darted back to the gunshot victim. The other men in the room still surrounded him, looking furious but unsure of what to do. They didn't have the conviction of the man who was currently calling the shots and holding Liam like he was a jailer.

The dangerous-looking man who held Liam firm was nothing like the others. There was a sharp intelligence in his eyes; with a flash of recognition, Liam saw that this man was the one running triage on the scene — in his own way.

The gunman had clearly managed to shoot the man who gave the orders around here, and the man holding Liam captive was the next in the chain of command.

"What's your name?" Liam asked.

His captor glared down at him, his expression sharp as a knife, assessing him. Finally, something about Liam seemed to pass muster, although the man's grip on Liam's arm didn't loosen. "Colt," he said gruffly, introducing himself.

"Colt," Liam said, relief bubbling up in his chest. "I'm going to start tending to your friend here, but I'll need your help. Get me something to apply pressure to his wound."

"You can save him?"

"I hope so," Liam said, working to keep his voice steady under the weight of those piercing eyes.

For a brief moment, Liam feared that Colt might balk at being ordered around like this. But to his relief, Colt simply nodded. "Vince, Romeo — find the doc some bar towels. Clean ones!"

The men scrambled into action, moving fast. It was clear that beneath the dangerous-looking appearances of everyone in the room, they shared a fierce loyalty to the injured man that superseded any pride or ego.

One of Colt's subordinates threw over a bartowel — clean, as ordered — and Liam dropped to his knees beside the victim. He pressed the towel against the wound, staunching the flow.

"Colt, here. Keep applying pressure," Liam instructed, never taking his eyes off the gunshot victim. "We need to slow the bleeding until the ambulance arrives." He guided Colt's hand into position, and then looked up at the men surrounding him. "Someone here has already called for one, right? Yes? No? Okay, you there, you get on it."

As Liam bossed Colt's men around, Colt did as he was told, his hands surprisingly steady for someone who looked like he could snap a man's neck without breaking a sweat. Liam couldn't help but be impressed by how quickly Colt adapted to his instructions. It was almost as if he had done this before — although, stuck in the middle of these threatening men, that was a thought Liam didn't want to dwell on for too long.

"Hi, there," Liam said, turning to the victim. "I'm Liam, I'm going to be helping you today. Can you tell me your name?"

The victim's face was drawn. Usually when Liam saw an expression like that, it was from pain. This time, it appeared to be from annoyance. "The fucking Colbys are going to kill me," the victim groaned. "They're going to be goddamn insufferable."

Not quite what Liam asked. He looked helplessly up at Colt.

"Zane," said Colt, grinding his teeth. "His name is Zane."

Liam gave Colt a quick nod of thanks, and then turned to his patient. "Alright, Zane? I need you to keep focusing on me," Liam said, easily slipping into his professional manner. "Or, um, start focusing on me. We're going to stop this bleeding and get you stable."

He glanced at Colt, who nodded, ready to follow instructions.

With a constant supply of bar towels and strong hands being volunteered, Liam was free to keep checking Zane over. God, he wished he was in the ER, with everything he needed and a full team with him — but for now, all he could do was to keep Zane there with them.

Beside him, Colt was his second pair of hands, keeping pressure where he needed it, and barking orders for his men to bring them anything that Liam requested.

Liam continued to guide Colt through the emergency first aid process, impressed by how well the intimidating man followed orders. With every minute that passed without Zane losing consciousness, the tension in Colt's jaw eased slightly.

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