I scan the supplies—surprisingly comprehensive, including IV bags, antibiotics, suture kits, and even some prescription medications that I decide not to ask about.
"Yes," I say, already pulling on latex gloves from a box on the table. "It'll work. I need everyone out except for someone to assist me."
The bikers exchange glances, then Dice speaks. "I'll stay. Everyone else, give them space."
The room clears reluctantly, though Maddie lingers at the door. "I'll be right outside if you need anything," she tells me.
Once they're gone, I cut away James's blood-soaked shirt and the bandage beneath. The wound looks worse than before—angry red edges, several torn stitches, fresh bleeding. But there's no sign of serious infection yet, which is miraculous given the circumstances.
"I need to clean this thoroughly, then re-stitch," I tell Dice, who hovers anxiously nearby. "Can you help me?"
He nods, moving closer. "Tell me what to do."
His hands are steady as he follows my instructions, holding equipment, passing supplies, helping position James for better access to the wound. Despite his obvious worry, he's remarkably composed.
"You've done this before," I observe as we work.
"Club life," he replies simply. "You learn to patch people up when hospitals aren't an option."
I clean James's wound, irrigating it with antiseptic solution before preparing to re-stitch. The supplies here are better than what I had at the gas station, allowing for a more thorough job.
"He needs blood," I say, noting James's pallor. "He's lost too much."
"What's his type?" Dice asks immediately.
"I don't know," I admit. "But given the amount he's lost, it would be safest to have actual hospital care."
Dice shakes his head firmly. "Not an option. Prison break, remember? Every hospital will be on alert for him. For both of you, probably."
Reality crashes back. Of course. James is now an escaped convict, and I'm his accomplice. Normal medical care is out of the question.
"We have someone who can get blood if needed," Dice offers. "What else do you need?"
I consider the situation. "Strong antibiotics, which you seem to have. Pain management. Rest. And time." I look at James's unconscious face. "Mostly time."
I finish the new stitches—neater this time with proper equipment and lighting. Then we set up the IV with fluids and antibiotics. By the time we've cleaned up and made James comfortable, over an hour has passed.
"He's stable," I announce finally, removing my gloves. "The next twenty-four hours will be critical for preventing infection, but the wound itself isn't life-threatening now that it's properly closed."
Dice releases a breath I hadn't realized he was holding. "Thank you," he says, with such sincerity it makes my throat tighten.
"I need to check him every hour," I say, suddenly realizing how exhausted I am. The adrenaline that's been sustaining me is crashing hard.
"I'll stay with him," Dice offers. "You need rest. There's a room next door where you can clean up and sleep. I'll call you if anything changes."
Reluctantly, I agree. My body is screaming for rest, and I'll be no good to James if I collapse.
Dice calls Maddie back in, asking her to show me to my room. She leads me next door to a small but clean bedroom with an attached bathroom.
"Shower's decent," she says, opening drawers. "I put some clothes in here for you. Nothing fancy, but clean." She pulls out sweatpants and a t-shirt. "And don't worry about your safety. This place is locked down tight. No one gets in or out without the club knowing."
"Thank you," I say, suddenly overwhelmed by her kindness despite the strangeness of the situation. "For helping us. For coming when James needed you."
"James is family. Has been since forever." A ghost of a smile crosses her face. "And anyone who risks their life for him like you did is good in my book."
"I was just doing my job," I say.
"No," she shakes her head. "Your job ended when the riot started. What you did was choice. A brave one." She heads for the door, then pauses. "Get some rest. We'll figure out next steps when you're both stronger."
