A little while later, Kat, Connie, and I sat basking in the sunshine out back. Wes had gone to meet up with the guys who were surveying a potential property the club might purchase. Wren was sleeping, and I’d be headed to pick Bubs up from day care shortly with one of the guys trailing me.
I’d stopped by the club after my morning shift at the hospital, hoping to catch Cal. It was absurd that I missed him after just a few hours, but there you had it.
The sound of a disturbance silenced my conversation with the girls. With a cautious glance shared between us we stood up, moving inside to investigate.
Two bikers I’d never seen before were carrying a third injured man into the club. Despite my reservation at these strangers entering the club, the nurse in me stepped forward to help.
“What happened?” I demanded.
The men looked up at me in surprise. “Where’s Cal?” one of them grunted under the heavy weight of the man they half carried, half dragged further into the room.
“Not here.” I shook my head. “He’ll be back any minute,” I added, in case they meant us harm. “I’m his woman and a nurse. What happened?” I repeated.
The men eyed each other warily and I lost my patience. “I assume you brought him here instead of a hospital since whatever got him injured wasn’t legal. That’s not my business. If you need him cared for, you have to tell me the source of his injuries.”
“Shit, you’d have to be the prez’s old lady with that attitude,” one of them muttered before explaining. “He got shot while we were heading out of a bad situation. He managed to ride until we got to the outskirts of Hawthorne, but lost control and crashed his bike.”
“I’m fine,” the injured man growled.
I ignored his comment and pointed to the pool table. “Lay him there. Con, can you get my bag?” I kept medical supplies at the club. History had taught me that I’d need them.
Connie rushed to do what I asked as Kat held her phone to her ear, undoubtedly calling our men.
“I don’t need to fucking lie down,” the man argued, resisting his brothers as they neared the table.
I slipped on my gloves, eyeing my patient with a nurse’s eye. His complexion was pale, but his eyes were alert with a stubborn flare. “What’s your name?”
“Hunt,” came his terse reply.
“Well, Hunt,” I began, my hands on my hips. “The way you’re favoring that leg, I’d guess you either broke or sprained something.”
I’d been around men in the club long enough to know they hated showing any weakness. I sensed that was the source of his frustration now. Pride could be a real bitch to deal with when trying to treat a patient.
“You can either get up on that table and let me have a look at you, or you can sit here and bleed out like a stubborn ass.”
A shocked chortle sounded from one of the bikers behind me. I turned to glare at them. “Out.”
They gaped at me.
“I mean it. Out,” I ordered, pointing to the back of the club.
I thought I heard one of them mutter something about me being a ballbuster as they hesitantly did as I asked.
I turned back to my patient. “Now, on the table,” I directed.
He did as I asked, glaring at the ceiling the entire time.
He was a handsome man with sandy-brown hair that curled slightly around his ears, and big brown eyes. I guessed him to be around my age, maybe a bit younger. He was in great shape, which would hopefully help his body heal.
“I’m going to cut your shirt, see what’s what. All right?” I asked, my tone gentle as I detected a hint of worry flash in his eyes.
He nodded once and I got to work.
“Grazed,” I murmured with relief as I assessed the wound in his shoulder. “Lucky,” I told him meaningfully. “The bleeding looks to have slowed but you undoubtedly lost a fair amount. How did you crash? Did you lose consciousness?” I asked.
“Think so.” He nodded.
His torso was a canvas of road rash. “I bet that hurts more than the bullet.” I winced in sympathy.
