My eyes caught on Freya, who ran after them, and I heaved out a breath, running a hand through my hair. I couldn’t stop one question from running through my brain.
What the fuck’s going on?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
BONES
Shifting my bike down a gear, I leaned left and took the turning for the lane leading to the hotel. My back wheel spun slightly, and I corrected my speed to slow down as I pulled up outside the clubhouse.
I was off my bike in seconds, then turning toward the hotel, I removed my helmet, dropping it to the ground as I raced toward Diablo, who waited for me by the entrance.
“Status report,” I ordered, falling into step beside him as we hurried down the corridor toward the medical wing.
“Iceman’s in surgery now, Sophie’s operating. Freya’s got Saint. Both have GSWs; Saint took one to the shoulder, and Iceman took two to the chest. Sophie thinks Sam shot Iceman in the back, and it ripped clean through him and into Saint. Both are in a bad way, though Iceman’s worse. He crashed as the guys took him down. She thinks the bullet hit his lung.”
“Traumatic pneumothorax,” I muttered under my breath.
“Soph said the same thing,” he concurred.
“What about Saint?” I asked.
“Freya’s got her,” he confirmed. “No exit hole to be found, so the bullet’s still in there. Freya’s main worry is that Saint lost a lotta blood. We thought it was Iceman’s at first, the crazy bitch was all over him, screaming that she wouldn’t leave him alone, but then she passed out.”
“Adrenaline’s a powerful thing,” I pointed out. “Seen similar shit on the battlefield.”
He nodded, then for the first time ever, at least in my presence, he gave a small piece of himself away. “Same.”
Approaching a door to one of the theatre rooms, I pushed it ajar, stuck my head around it, and barked, “How you doin’ in here, Doctor Stone?”
“I’ve retrieved the bullet,” she informed me, her golden eyes never leaving the open wound she was working on. “The patient’s stable. She had a small internal bleed that I patched up. Her vitals are steady.”
My eyes flicked around the room, taking in Gambit, who stood opposite Freya in scrubs and a face mask, holding a Yankauer Suction Tube.
“You need me?” I asked.
“No,” she replied. “Iceman needs you more. Can you send Gopher in, though, please? I could use some help closing Saint up. Gambit’s done a great job, but I’d feel happier with a medic.”
Gambit looked up at Freya and said in his clipped English accent, “I don’t wanna leave her. Ice would want me to stay and make sure she’s okay.”
“You can stay, honey,” she assured him. “But you don’t have to help me operate.”
Gambit breathed an audible sigh of relief, and his shoulders slumped. The poor guy wasn’t into this at all, and I almost grinned at the green-tinged pallor of his face as he watched Freya’s fingers deftly move while she inserted the Blake Drain into Saint’s shoulder.
I couldn’t help the wave of pride that washed over me.
Freya Stone had come to me three years before as an intern with a lot of enthusiasm but not much knowledge. Over time, she’d blossomed into an excellent resident and a talented surgeon, who wasn’t scared to get stuck into all the serious stuff.
I was confident she had everything under control.
My chin dipped. “I’ll be next door if you need me.”
“Got it,” I heard her murmur in reply before I closed the door with a softclick.
My head whipped around as the door opposite flew open, and Gopher came racing out. He saw me, and the angry twist to his mouth slackened. “Thank God you’re here. We need blood. Now!”
Quickly, I ran through all the matches for Iceman in my head. My eyes fell on Diablo, who stood sentry at the mouth of the corridor with his arms crossed over his massive chest.
“Need to hook you up, D,” I told him, pulling my phone out to call Prez while my mind raced through all the names of the men in the club, along with their blood types—information I’d had memorized since the day I joined the Speed Demons.
