“Go.” He waved me off.
I gave him a nod in thanks, and then I was in the driver’s seat moments later.
I didn’t let myself overthink. Didn’t allow myself to wonder what would happen if the cops pulled me over. Technically, I didn’t have a license, but I didn’t care, either. I had to get PD help, and Grant was our go-to when we didn’t want to come up with a plausible story. From what I could see in the limited sight I had from the headlights, PD had bullet wounds in his leg and he was beat up, but nothing told me it was life threatening. Still, I hit the accelerator hard, my heart jumping and battling in my chest.
The drive took forever, and my mind fought between slow reflexes and racing with the energy of a jackrabbit. My thoughts were jumbled and stringing together two wasn’t feasible, notwhile my blood pressure skyrocketed and my adrenaline worked overtime.
Get PD to Grant.
That was my goal. It didn’t matter what was going through my head. I needed to get PD to Grant.
I took corners sharply, missed cars as I weaved in and out of traffic. Someone beeped their horn at me and a biker on a Yamaha gave me the middle finger.
I didn’t care. Didn’t stop.
Desperation surged and I went faster. A sound never left PD. The silence scared me more than anything in the world.
Finally, I swept down Grant’s street and veered into his driveway, narrowly avoiding Reaper’s bike. I slammed on the brakes.
“Shit. PD? You with me?”
Nothing.
I shot out from my side and around to PD’s, yanking open the door and carefully extracting him. As soon as I reached the front steps, Grant threw open the door, concern flashing across his face in a furrowed brow and scrunched nose.
He looked nothing like King, despite them being brothers. Grant had always been softer with short blond hair and gentle brown eyes. He barely came to my shoulders, but he was resolute and firm as he stepped across the threshold and waved me inside.
“What happened?” he demanded with the dominance of someone twice his size as he led me into his kitchen, where Reaper was already rolling out a tarp onto the kitchen table. This wasn’t the first time we’d shown up to Grant’s house with someone injured, wouldn’t be the last. He knew his shit when it came to medical stuff, and while he wasn’t a doctor, a physician assistant was as good as one as far as we were concerned. He’d saved our asses a lot.
“I don’t know. Shot. He passed out when we got there.” I laid PD on the table as gently as I could and the tarp crinkled under his weight.
Reaper moved around us like a man who knew his job. Within seconds, he passed Grant a duffel bag. Grant unzipped it and yanked out tools with a calm that I couldn’t remember ever feeling. I pulled in air through my nose sharply as my chest heaved. Panic buried itself in my throat and I forgot how to swallow. I had to remind myself to do it.
Reaper grasped my shoulders and shifted me, and I went because my muscles ached and my limbs hung loose and useless. Thankfully, he only moved me out of the way and forced me into a chair. “You okay, brother?”
His gruff voice startled me, and I shot a look of surprise at him. “What?”
Reaper frowned, his forehead scrunching as he went to one knee in front of me. Even the fire dancing in the eyes of the skull tattoo on his neck managed to look concerned, but maybe I was imagining things there. “Are you all right?”
No. Not while PD was lying on that table, unconscious and hurt. But I didn’t say that. I nodded. “Yeah. He....Is he okay, Grant? I love him.”
It felt like a confession and sat heavy between us. We hadn’t told anyone yet, even if it was probably obvious. No one else knew. Until now.
Grant threw me a small, strained smile as he cut PD’s jeans from the ankle up with a pair of scissors, then tore at the material until he had access to PD’s thigh. “I don’t know yet. I need to check for wounds. He’s been shot twice in the leg.” He was careful as he turned PD’s leg, searching. “Both bullets are still inside. Kai, I need a hand.”
Reaper moved fast. One moment he was beside me, the next at Grant’s shoulder. Or maybe my brain was traveling slowly. Too fucking slowly. What was wrong with me?
I fell back against the chair and watched. Or at least, I thought I did. At some point, my mind shut off. Time warped and shifted. When I came back around, Reaper was in front of me again, the worry scrunching up his nose and narrowing his deep brown eyes. Behind him, Grant was cursing. The simple “fuck” was enough to make my spine snap straight.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, barely recognizing my wrecked voice.
Grant glanced up from where he was leaning over PD’s leg, the gloves on his hands bloody. He was holding a scalpel and tweezers. “Are you with us?”
“What’s wrong?” I repeated, shoving to my feet. Pain ripped through my chest from my ribs and I hissed, slapping a hand to my side. I ignored the fiery agony and took the two steps between me and the table.
PD was still unconscious, his skin pale and clammy, mouth parted slightly. I stroked his cheek with my knuckle, the ache in my chest not from something physical.
“I managed to get one bullet out.” Grant gestured to a plate with a bullet on it, dented and damaged but whole. “But the other one fragmented. It’s dangerous. If I miss one piece, he can get sepsis or have long-term damage. I can’t do this alone. It tore through his muscle and hit bone. PD needs surgery. Femurs this damaged don’t heal on their own. We have to take him to the hospital. If we don’t, he could die or be permanently screwed.”
