Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 60234 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 301(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60234 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 301(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
She shrugs as if it’s no big deal, but I see the lines pulling tight around her swollen lips. “No choice but to be ready, Doc.”
She’s a tiny little scrap of a thing, topping out at five-feet-two-inches and weighing about a buck fifteen soaking wet. Her arms and chest, and even her neck, are inked up, telling the tale of her hard life.
Her eyes, swollen from injuries, barely allow her to see. I don’t even bother to ask if she needs help; she clearly does. With gentle but firm hands, I guide her into a wheelchair.
We make our way toward the X-ray room, me pushing the chair and watching her pretend she’s not in a world of fucking pain when she is. I know the act. I’d done it myself many times, particularly during the early days of my time in the Army.
Fake it till you make it. That’s what my buddy Ricky used to say during Basic Training. It’s what I’d done, pretended I belonged until I did belong.
When we arrive at the X-ray room, Maggie, Margaret—what do I call her?—squints at the equipment, confusion apparent even through her swollen eyes. “Where’s the bed thingy?”
I laugh. “Sorry, this is the ghetto version,” I tell her, then scoop her up in my arms and lay her gently on the X-ray table. Her body tenses at my touch, a fleeting reminder of her vulnerability. I try like hell not to let it affect me.
The image of Reynolds flashes in my mind; his pale face, lifeless eyes, and that gaping hole in his chest. My hands were on him, trying to stop the bleeding, watching the life drain out of him. My breath catches as the memory lingers.
“Yo, Doc,” she says, her tough girl tone holding a hint of concern. “I’m over here. You okay?”
I shake the memory off and focus on the task at hand. The machine sounds a low but intrusive beep to signal the images are ready to view. I must get this shit under control. I can’t be an effective doctor if I keep getting yanked back to the past while I need to be firmly in the present.
Something has to give. I can’t let this fucking PTSD get in the way, not now. These symptoms are coming more frequently, and they’ll only get worse if I ignore them.
If I’m going to be useful to Banger, to Maggie, to the Reckless Souls, then I need to be at my best.
Otherwise, they’ll all die, and it’ll be all my fucking fault.
CHAPTER NINE
Maggie
Something is up with the doctor.
Is he on drugs? “Is anything broken, Doc?”
“It’s just a small crack in a rib, a fracture instead of a full break, so you’ll be fine in a few weeks. You’ll need a pain reliever, ice, and plenty of rest.”
“Does that mean you’ll give me the good drugs?” I ask, and my mind tries to come up with someplace I can heal in peace without worrying about my crew—my former crew—finding me and ending my life.
“Yes, Margaret. I will prescribe you some pain medication.”
“Good. Then yeah, it’s okay. Resting’s doable.”
Dr. Bishop looks at me, and he lets out a long, shaky sigh. “Is it?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Because, Maggie, you’ll have to rest someplace that the Bloodthirsty Devils won’t find you.”
Maggie? He says it calmly, as if we’re old friends. But I don’t remember telling him my name is Maggie.
It scares the living shit out of me, and I try to get up, but it hurts too bad. “How the fuck do you know about Maggie and BTD?”
Now I’m afraid. What is this fake Doc going to do to me?
“Not too difficult to put together with those tattoos, not around these parts.”
My tattoos aren’t associated with BTD. They’re from my days as a Las Sangrientas, long before BTD took us over and put us to work for them. “Who are you? Tell me the truth, or I’ll scream.”
“Jesus Christ, woman. Don’t start screaming. I’m Nova Bishop. Dr. Bishop to you. I’m also an Army medic and a patched member of the Reckless Souls.”
Shit. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. “Reckless Souls?”
I’m in trouble, and I know it. I can hardly squeeze a breath out for the panic that rises inside of me.
Demon killed one of his brothers, and just like my crew, the Reckless Souls probably blame me. “I, uhm, need to get the fuck out of here.” I turn and try to lift myself from the X-ray table, hissing as another lightning bolt of pain shoots through me.
“Fuck!” I wheeze and fall back down.
“Maggie,” he growls, wrapping his big hands around my shoulders. “Stop it, Maggie. Please.”
His tone is firm, but his voice is calm, even gentle, through his frustration.
“Maggie, I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Damn right, you’re not,” I growl and manage to slide past him off the table. It feels like something is tearing in my neck, and my knees buckle.