“You ain’t fit for this.”
“Bullshit,” he snaps wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Grabbing the little juice box off the side table he takes a swig, gargling then spitting the mouthful in the bin. “Had worse in the cage. I’m a bit fuzzy but I won’t let you down.”
“You feel anything,” I flick my head at him and despite being groggy as fuck, and probably concussed he knows where I’m going straight up.
I try not to make a sound, as he sorts through what’s chemical and what’s metaphysical and the instant he finds his bonds his eyes flare before he brings them to mine. “Tristan’s there.”
“Steel?”
“Hey?” He shakes his head again, swiping a hand over his face.
“Fuck! Just answer the question. Can you feel Steel?”
“Jesus, calm down.” Maverick stands up, letting the gown fall away. He pulls on his jeans and I catch a glimpse of his bruises. And while he’s testing his pack connection again, I start sorting through the treasure trove of drugs the medical staff left behind in their haste to escape. Someone is going to get their ass chewed out for leaving narcotics in a patient’s room, but I literally have zero fucks to give.
I find a vial of lidocaine and a couple of patches. I throw the patches at him and find a clean syringe, before using the computer to Google safe dosage for cracked ribs. Since he needs to be awake and alert I’m not dosing with any Opioid shit. As Maverick puts his back to me, I force him forward, holding him face first into the mattress as I administer a dose of pain relief. He screams into the mattress. The pain from the jab in hiscracked ribs would be rough as guts, but nothing compared to the pain our girl is going through.
He knows it. I know it too. No point getting fucked off about it or arguing over it.
Maverick turns to me, his face white, small beads of sweat on his brow betraying how bad he is, but within a few minutes he won’t be hurting.
“Steel?” I press again.
“Sort of. What’s going on?”
“I’ll tell you in the truck.”
“Tell me now,” Maverick barks. His Alpha comes out to play. I stare at him wordlessly as he challenges me, holding my ferocious gaze with his own. I knew Maverick was a strong Alpha, and his showy performance confirms it, but it gives me fucking hope too.
“Dial down, I’m not in the fucking mood. And you’re in enough pain already.” I bark, demanding his submission by the way I speak and the imposing step closer I take. “We’re taking a drive me and you, and when we’re in the car and you’ve got your seatbelt on like a good boy, I’ll fill you in on the fucking details. Unless you ain’t up for it, and then you can climb back in the bed and I’ll catch you at visiting hours.”
Maverick’s chest hits mine, but that wasn’t my doing. He’s not got a grip on his rage yet; his brain’s got him fighting for dominance. But I get it. I’m fucking shit scared too.
I take a step back, my eyes not falling away though. He drops his eyes after a few tense, drawn out minutes, rubbing his side. “You didn’t have to jab me so fucking hard. Asshole.”
“You’re just being a baby.”
When his eyes move back to my face he is more his normal level self. Still looks green around the gills but. “Maybe bring a bucket. You spew in my truck, and…”
“Whatever,” he bites back but we get moving. “Tyson coming?”
“Yeah,” I mumble, shooting him off a text with the level I parked on and making sure he’s got a decent first aid kit with him. I’ve got one in the truck but I’m pretty sure the wound Steel’s got needs a hospital grade kit until we can get him to an actual hospital. But that ain’t happening until we get Tristan back and after I slice Rex’s throat.
Maverick strides past digging in his pocket for change for the vending machine and I press the button for the lift. Lucky for him there’s a slight delay so when the lift arrives he walks straight in, with a soda in his hand. And instead of asking questions the two of us glare at all the other passengers riding down the floors with us.
We still don’t talk as we move through the carpark. We find Tyson, looking fucking too put together in his crisp button down, and combed neat hair waiting at the back of my truck. But I know he’s barely hanging on, I can feel his anger as clearly as I can feel my own. Unlocking the truck he stows the two oversized bags in the back.
“You gonna get busted for stealing from the place of your employment?” I ask climbing in the driver’s side; I watch through the rear vision mirror as Tyson helps Maverick climb up and then he’s in the front.
“What are we dealing with?” he asks, his voice nearly devoid of all emotion as he hides behind his clinical persona.
“Rex stuck a hunting knife in Steel.”
The mood in the truck drops, and I leave the two of them sorting through the ramifications while I make a call.
“Joker, your sick leave is over,” I snap as soon as my handsfree connects, reversing the truck and driving too fast through the carpark.
“On it,” he says, not bothering to hide the strain of pain in his voice. “What am I doing?”
