“Not often I get luck these days.”He removes his oxygen completely and sits with a grimace.He pulls down his t-shirt.
“What are you doing?”I ask and slam my hands onto my hips.
“We’re out of here.”
“No, you need to let that drip go through.You lost a lot of volume.”
“Nothing a few beers won’t cure.”He chuckles and swings his feet off the gurney.
“Hey, stop that.”I try to prevent him from pulling out his IV line and fail.It falls to the floor and leaks saline onto the stark white linoleum.A drip of his blood lands next to it.
He grabs an Elastoplast from a trolley and tears it open with his teeth.He secures it over the small wound on his arm.“There, all fixed.”He steps up to me.He’s at least six feet tall, perhaps six-two, and his wide shoulders fill my vision.“Thanks again, and remember.”He places his index finger on my lips and leans his face close to mine.“Not a word, honey, not a damn word.I was never here.”
I inhale his dark scent: oil and heat and danger, and stare into his eyes.My heart is clattering and a tingle runs from where he touches my lips to my chest, my pelvis, and my knees.
“But youarehere.”I speak against his finger and my voice holds a small tremble I hope he doesn’t notice.
“And so are you.”He tips his head, his eyes narrow.
“What does that mean?”
“We’re all running from something, including you.”
I catch my breath.How the hell does he know that?
He smiles as though my reaction is confirmation.
“Hiding takes effort, sacrifice too.Keep doing what you’re doing and fate will do the rest.”
He steps away and turns, leaving me a little dizzy.“Take some dressings, change that every day.Sutures will dissolve in a week.”
His buddy grabs some adhesive gauze and shoves it into his cut pocket.
Then as quickly as the bikers appeared into my life, they are gone.All that is left is the debris of their visit cluttering bay one.
“Scarlet.”Todd appears again.“I thought your patient would need ...oh ...where is he?Where are they all?”
“Gone.”I turn off the IV.“Upped and left.”
“But he...”
“I know.He was hypovolemic.Said he’d cure that with beer.”
Todd snorts.“Honestly, the Sons of Sin are an entirely different species.”
“The who?”
“Sons of Sin.They’re an MC group based on the outskirts of the city, near Bear Lake, some old auto repair place, or at least that’s where the Denver chapter is.”
“How do you know this?”
“I’ve lived here all my life and been working in this department for nearly twenty years.I know stuff.”He shrugs.
I’ve only been in Denver a year and I’m still learning about my new home.“He was most insistent about no cops.”
“They would be, wouldn’t they?”
“Why?”I frown and pull off my gloves, wash my hands.
