Vin shrugged. “Better than walking out in a dress.”
I started peeling off the gown, but my hands shook. I’d taken worse beatings, but never in front of a crowd, never with so many goddamn witnesses. I forced my legs over the edge of the bed and tried to breathe through the spike of pain in my ribs.
Red leaned in, her breath hot and full of coffee. “If you puke, aim for the nurse,” she said. “She’s a bitch.”
Vin looked at the IV in my arm, then at me. “You want a hand?”
I ripped the tape, yanked the needle, and watched blood bead up along the vein. “All good,” I said, but it came out like a lie.
I dressed fast, teeth gritted. The jeans felt like sandpaper, the t-shirt stuck to my chest where the nurses had shaved a patch for the heart monitor pads. I left the Santa suit in a heap on the floor.
“You got everything?” Vin asked.
“Not quite.” I looked at Red. “Where’s my knife?”
She grinned, reached into her purse, and handed me the K-bar, still in its sheath. “Wouldn’t want you to feel naked.”
Vin watched all of this, patient but not gentle. “We’re leaving now,” he said. “You got a problem with that?”
I shook my head.
He moved to the door, checked the hall, then nodded at Red, who slipped out first, hips swinging like she owned the building. She tossed a wink over her shoulder at me, then flipped off the nurse at the station, who’d just started to notice the cigarette smoke and the lack of hospital decorum.
I slid off the bed and followed, slow at first, then faster as the adrenaline started up again. My legs felt like broken broomsticks, but I wasn’t going to show it.
We made it halfway to the elevator before a nurse caught up, waving her arms and squawking about protocols and paperwork.
“You can’t just walk out,” she said, blocking our way.
Red smiled sweetly, then blew smoke in her face. “Against medical advice, sugar. Write it down in your little book.”
Vin handed her a slip of paper, a fake-out. “Here’s his discharge,” he said. “You want the copay, send it to the club.”
She hesitated, unsure whether to escalate. Vin made it easy as he stepped closer, crowding her personal space, and looked down at her like a wolf deciding whether to eat the sheep or just knock it over for fun.
She took a step back, hands up. “I’ll call security.”
Red laughed. “Do it. Last time they tried, they ended up with two broken walkies and a lawsuit.” She tapped her temple. “Precedent.”
Vin held the elevator door, and we crammed in, the three of us pressed together like a pack of dogs in a phone booth. The ride down was silent except for the rattle of the elevator and the wet wheeze of my breathing.
At the ground floor, Vin led the way out, straight through the lobby, past the security guard who didn’t even bother to get up from his plastic chair. Red gave him a little wave, then handed him a lighter as we passed.
Outside, the cold hit like a bag of gravel. My teeth rattled, but I kept moving. The parking lot was empty, except for three bikes lined up under the sodium lights. Mine was at the end, a battered old Harley with more duct tape than chrome.
I moved toward it, slow and stiff.
Red made a show of swinging her leg over her bike and firing it up. “You sure you don’t wanna ride bitch?” she asked, laughing.
I shook my head. “I ride my own.”
Vin smiled, just a twitch at the corner of his mouth. “That’s gospel,” he said, and got on his bike.
I straddled the Harley, hands clumsy on the grips. Kickstarting the thing was agony, but I did it anyway, because the alternative was lying down and never getting up again.
The engine roared to life, shaking my bones loose. The sound was ugly, raw, and perfect.
Red pulled up next to me. “You good, Ax?”
