Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 50653 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 253(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50653 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 253(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
“He lost a lot of blood, but his body will make more.” Just when I’m about to give up hope of finding the bullet my finger scrapes against something foreign. A hard little nugget. “I think I found it.” I gasp, pulling my finger out, and shining the overhead light in the hole. “Lucky bastard,” I breathe, “It’s okay. It went in a straight line. Nothing important has been hit.” He’ll live. He’ll live.
“Are you going to get the bullet out?” Kitty asks.
“No, I don’t want to risk fucking around in there when he can live with it just fine. I need to sew him up and get antibiotics into him.” Callan grasps my face and pushes his lips to mine before releasing me. He then bends to drop a kiss on Cutter’s head, and then then Kitty’s. “We stopped the bleeding with the pressure. That saved his life,” I breathe.
“You saved his life,” Kitty sobs, throwing her arms around me.
“We don’t know that,” I say. I want to cry, but I hold it together.
“Yes, we do.” Kitty’s eyes glass over. “Thank you.”
“I need to get him stitched up.”
Callan brings over a suture kit and places it on the table beside me. “We go through a lot of these.” He runs his bloody hands through his hair, leaving it sticking up all over his head. There’s dried and flaking blood splattered all over his face. He looks like an artist or a serial killer back from a spree.
“You okay?” he asks me with a frown for the millionth time.
“Yeah, it’s been a lot.” I smile without humor, my body starting to uncoil. Opening the kit, I begin sewing Cutter up.
“He will have a cool scar to boast about.” Kitty laughs, but it turns into a sob.
“You’re okay. He’s okay,” Callan reassures her, pulling her into his arms.
“I know. It’s just so fucking crazy—a robbery!” She throws her hands up. “It’s so random and doesn’t seem real. Especially after Dad.” She sniffles into Callan’s shirt.
“Was your dad random too?” I ask, not looking up at them.
“He was found shot. Three times. Two to the stomach. Once to the chest. He was left by his bike in the middle of fucking nowhere.” She curls into her brother’s chest.
“What was he doing out in the middle of nowhere?” My hands tremble a little, making Cutter’s sutures not nearly as pretty as he is.
“We don’t know. Meeting someone we think.” Callan’s gaze burns into me, and I turn to look up at him.
“No suspects have been arrested?”
Kitty scoffs, pushing off her brother. “The cops wouldn’t have a chance to figure it out before we do. Any attack on one of us is an attack on all of us. Dirt is the only prison we offer.”
“I wouldn’t want to be on the wrong side.” I turn my eyes to her briefly.
“Oh, Rogue, you’re one of us now. We’re bonded for life. We’ve spilled blood together.” She reaches for my hand as I step away from Cutter, finished.
Callan tucks a finger beneath my chin, turning my head toward him. “She’s right. You’re a King now.”
CHAPTER 13
THE DEVIL IS CALLING
My head is a mess, my thoughts are too turbulent, and there’s so much to unpack, but all I feel is relief. None of them died. We left a shit show at Ray’s, and that might come back to bite us in the ass, but for right now we’re all breathing. A knock comes from the door, and Diamond opens it a second later.
“Doc’s here.”
“Bring him in,” Callan tells her.
“Talk to me,” an older guy enters, going straight over to Cutter. It dawns on me that I don’t even know Cutter’s real name. “Who worked on him?”
“Me.” I raise a hand, forgetting where I am and who we are. This is a biker club not a hospital and I’m a freaking vet not a doctor.
“The bullet?” he asks, feeling around the wound with the pads of his fingers.
“Still inside. Didn’t make sense to remove it.”
We wait while he checks Cutter over. My nerves chew their way through my guts.
“You did a good job. Med student?” the doctor asks, lifting the eyelids and flashing a light into Cutter’s eyes.
I drop my head and exhale, my muscles loosening. “No. Veterinarian school.”
He pauses and looks over at me, a web of age lines crinkling his features. “I’m impressed. Very tidy.”
Kitty’s smile is megawatt as she reaches out to squeeze my hand. “He needs fluids and antibiotics.” I say, shoving my free hand into my jean pocket, the adrenaline waning, exhaustion taking its place.
“I’ll give him that. Why don’t you go clean up?” His eyes run over my clothing, and I follow their path to see my outfit ruined by blood. I thought Callan looked bad, but my jeans are consumed by the crimson aftermath. The gravity of what I’ve done soaks into me, settling in my chest.