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“Somebody find the doc!” a person called.
“I already called him when Matthews staggered through the door and collapsed.” The woman that Wren had gotten chummy with the day before hovered over the fallen man. If Jennings recalled correctly—and he always did—Matthews had taken Tilly to bed more than a handful of times.
Another person leaning over Matthews held out a wad of bar towels, probably none of which were clean let alone sterile. “What about the vet? He can stop the bleeding.”
A familiar voice stopped all chatter and speculation dead. Kojak, the president of the Disciples, hadn’t been in residence for a few days. Nobody knew where he’d gone but the VP, and Jennings never could get him to talk so he didn’t bother to try. Easier to pry intel out of the rest of the club.
Kojak stepped into the ring of people. “The vet can’t be reached either.”
Jennings didn’t like the way he stated that, his tone flat and cold.
“Get Matthews onto the table.”
As a few guys reached for the man’s limbs and hefted him up, a sharp cry carried across the room. The sound rippled the hair on Jennings’s forearms, and he automatically swung his head to look forher.
Wren.
She shoved through the bikers. Determination blazed on her face.
She nudged aside more than a few whores to reach the middle of the room. Her hands fisted, her gaze locked on the dying man.
She whipped her head around and gave Jennings a piercing stare that told him just how dire Matthews’s situation was.
“I need all the first-aid kits you’ve got in the club. Ladies, I need towels—clean ones. And hot water. Anybody who’s not fetching me supplies can clear out!”
* * * * *
Wren took in the situation. The shooting victim was losing blood fast.
“Call an ambulance!”
Nobody reached for their phone. They all stared at her like the imposter she was.
Jennings stepped up beside her. “We can’t risk the police reports. Can you do anything for him?”
“I’ll try, but—” She threw her hands in the air. “I need a clean sheet for underneath him. Didn’t I just see people fucking on this table last night?”
“I’ll get one!” Tilly whirled and ran to fetch the sheet.
Several first-aid kits landed on the table next to Matthews.
“Tell me what you need,” Jennings said.
“Gloves. Gauze. Scissors. All of it.” She looked up at Tilly, who arrived with the sheet in hand. “Can you cut off his shirt?”
“Y-yes.”
Wren gave her a sharp look. “If you can’t, somebody else will.”
“I’ll do it.” She took up the scissors that Jennings handed her and slowly began to cut the blood-soaked fabric off his body.
“Does she know what she’s doing?” someone whispered.
“She said she’s a nurse.”
Ignoring the talk about her, Wren waited for Tilly to finish cutting the shirt off the man before directing two men to lean him onto his good side far enough for the woman to slip the sheet beneath him.
After they followed her orders, she moved close to examine the wound.
