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“No can do. They trashed all the cameras. Keys had to dip into the city street cams to make sure the cops had left the area so we could go in.”
I scowl at him. “That’s even more dangerous, then. Keys can’t monitor you two if there aren’t active security measures for him to watch through.”
“We’ll be better off with just the two of us. If we bring you, that’s just risking our only doctor."
My arms cross over my chest, and I snort at him. “Doctor is being generous.”
Kendrick pulls me close and kisses me. “I trust you more than any licensed doctor out there. Now shut up and go eat before it gets cold.”
“What about Bunny’s breakfast?”
He holds up a takeout container that I hadn’t noticed him carrying beneath Bunny’s clothes. “Got her covered, Doc. You know I wouldn’t let her skip a meal.”
Having run out of reasons to argue, I kiss both of them goodbye and join Neil and Keys in the cafeteria. I pull a beaten-up deck of cards out of my pocket and set it down on the table. “Gin rummy, anyone?”
We play cards for a solid two hours before Kendrick storms in with Bunny in his arms. There’s blood everywhere, so much that I fear she’s dead, but she groans and rolls her head against his shoulder. I shoot to my feet and snap my fingers at Keys. I don’t know if Neil has any first aid experience, but I’ve trained Keys well enough that he can help Kendrick and me in an emergency—and I believe this qualifies as an emergency.
A quick assessment shows two gunshot wounds, one in her shoulder and one, more superficial but definitely messier, that grazed her scalp. No wonder there’s so much blood.
We head for the clinic at a dead run. I skid to a halt by the med cabinet and yank the door open, grabbing a syringe of sedative. Bunny’s tough, but I don’t want to try to stitch her up while she’s conscious. She’s a fighter, and last time I operated when she was awake she gave me a black eye. Poor girl didn’t know what she was doing—she was delirious from blood loss—but I’ve since learned to take precautions.
Without need for instructions from me, Kendrick sets her down on a stretcher and straps her wrists and ankles down. More cautionary measures, as Bunny’s been known to kick out even when sedated. I inject the drug directly in a vein, and as soon as she stops moving I take a closer look.
The scalp wound is miraculously mild. Slightly deep, and she’ll need stitches, but still just a graze. Her shoulder, on the other hand, still pumps blood. Shit. The bullet went in under the joint, and it looks like it hit the axial artery. I’ve gotta get the projectile out and stitch her up fast, before she bleeds out.
Gloves appear in my line of sight as if by magic. I snatch them out of Keys’ hand and put them on, the nitrile snapping my wrist. I hold my hand out to Kendrick, my eyes still on Bunny, and he lays a pair of forceps in my palm. I set to work digging out the bullet.
Once the bullet’s out, Kendrick irrigates the wound so I can see what I’m working with. Yep. Nicked the artery. Fuck.
Keys sets up a sterile tray, opening sutures and needles and bandages and letting them fall onto the drape. I reach out without even looking, knowing that Keys has arranged my tools often enough to know what goes where on the tray.
No one says a word as I work. They both know better than to interrupt me with stupid questions. I may be a quiet man, but even Kendrick defers to my expertise in situations like this. He’s learned not to ask, “Will she be okay?” over and over again during a procedure. Let me operate, let me close the wounds,thenhe can fret.
I rip off the gloves the second I’m done and gesture to Keys as I grab a fresh pair. “You’re our O-neg, dude. Sit down and roll up your sleeve.”
It’s a shame that the one universal donor of the group happens to be Keys. Kendrick would have been a better choice if he were the right blood type, as I’m less likely to have to deal with him passing out on me, but this is a “make do” kind of situation. If Keys faints when I start the I.V., I’ll just have to have Kendrick hold him up until the transfusion’s done. Bunny’s lost too much blood.
Keys is so weird. Show him someone else’s blood and he’s fine, but if he sees his own—or sees a needle coming at him—he’s a diva. To his credit, though, Keys stays conscious. He looks away from what I’m doing even after the tubing is hooked up, but he doesn’t pass out.
Once I’m sure Bunny’s in the clear, I sit down and finally allow myself to breathe as Kendrick cleans up the clinic. We can’t go do our normal post-op routine until the transfusion’s done, and he doesn’t like not being busy. I’d help, but I’m too exhausted. Fixing Bunny up after an altercation is always more mentally tiring than operating on a stranger like Neil. Bunny’s … well, she’s Bunny. She’s special to all of us, so the pressure’s on whenever she’s hurt.
Speaking of Neil, I’m surprised to see him watching us from just outside the clinic. I wouldn’t have thought him the type to tolerate seeing that, but he’s there anyway, clutching the now-dripping ice pack to his hand.
I wave him over and pat the other side of the stretcher I’m sitting on. If he’s going to be here, to be part of this crew, we’ve got to start including him in everything—even the bad stuff.
“What happened?” he asks with a shaking voice as he takes a seat.
“What does it look like? She got shot when we were checking out your office.” Kendrick’s voice is gravelly and rough, but when he catches sight of Neil’s pale, worried expression, he softens. “Some of the Vipers came back to the scene. Dressed up as cops, though they didn’t even try to hide their snake tats. She got one of them, but the other popped off two shots before we could get out of there.”
Neil looks down at his hands in his lap. “So it’s my fault. There’s something that the Cobra thinks I know, and Bunny got hurt because of that.”
I shrug. “We don’t know that. He could have been following her after she killed his bodyguard at the club. This could be a coincidence. Hell, they could have trashed your apartment and office just to draw Bunny out.” I put a hand on Neil’s shoulder. “Don’t take all this on yourself. In the end, it’s Samson Ramsey’s fault. No one else’s.”
Neil nods, but I suspect my words did jack shit to comfort him.
To my surprise, Kendrick perches on a counter to Neil’s other side and offers him some ibuprofen. “She’ll be okay, man. Doc’s the best.”
I swipe the pills from Kendrick and check my watch. “He needs another couple of hours before he can have more, dude.”
