Burn (13 page)

I’m still freaking out. Still shitting myself, but the solid way he tells me that gives me a flicker of hope. I
can
do this. I have to.

A ragged gasping sound from the table steels my nerves. Alexis is dying. Alexis is fucking dying, and I’m not about to let that happen. Not after all letting her down so badly when she was taken. She needed me then and I couldn’t do anything about it, but I
can
do something about this.

“Okay. Okay, alright. I’m ready.”

The next few moments happen in fast forward. I drench my hands in the alcohol, and then I turn Alexis, giving her back one last look to make sure I haven’t missed the exit wound.

“Holy shit!” Zeth hisses.

It’s a good job I’ve checked. Since bringing her in, a massive, violent purple bruise has developed all over her back. Total renal failure and definite internal bleeding. In the weak yellow light from the pendant in the kitchen, I haven’t noticed a discoloration of her skin, but when I lay her flat and check here eyes, the jaundice is clear to see.

“Kidneys,” Zeth says. It seems he’s not completely unfamiliar with the workings of the human body. I nod, feeling a mild rush of relief. At least when I cut now, I know where the hell I should be cutting.

I make the incision, a bold deep line about four-inches long, horizontally across her abdomen on her right-hand side, and everything changes. This always happens when I operate. The world narrows down and fades, so that the short breadth of my attention is focused solely on the flesh beneath my fingertips. The panic, the delirious fear, the paralysing doubt—it all recedes, leaving a cold, clinical calm in its wake.

It takes time to inspect Lexi’s abdominal cavity. There’s a lot of blood, and I have no nursing team to provide suction or swab. I do have Zeth, though. He moves with a surety that bolsters my confidence, and when he applies pressure with the torn shreds of towel, clearing away the blood so I can see what the hell I’m doing, I’m not worried that he’ll damage her. In another world, in another entirely different reality, Zeth would have made an excellent surgeon. He is unshakeable. Completely fucking bombproof.

I soon begin to find shrapnel. The relief is like a punch to the gut. I could literally cry as I tweeze the small, wickedly sharp pieces of twisted metal from my sister’s stomach. As soon as I lay eyes on her right kidney, that relief vanishes, though. This is where I remove the largest bullet fragment from her body; it’s nestled in amongst the ruins of the organ, completely and utterly destroyed.

“Fuck.
Fuck
.”

Zeth places his hand over mine, fixing me with that look again. He can see the mess just as well as I can, but he’s not frozen solid with fear. “She’s still breathing, Sloane. She still has a heart beat. And she still has another kidney, right?”

“Right.” But it’s not as simple as all that. Removing a kidney is a massive operation; one people die from on a relatively regular basis, and those operations take place in ORs designed to deal with complications. But what choice do I have? None.

So I do what I have to do. I remove the decimated organ, stitching it neatly with a regular needle and thread from the sewing kit, and then I cuaterize the wound. After that it’s a case of cleaning out her abdominal cavity and sewing her back up. I take a look through my supplies and I don’t find what I need now.

Zeth watches me search frantically, expression completely blank. “What is it? What do you need?”

“I need to find something to use for a blood transfusion. We’re the same blood type. She lost so much. She’ll need more if she’s going to make it to a hospital.”

Zeth just grunts at that. “It’s unlikely they’re gonna let you take her to a hospital, Sloane.”

I stop rifling and look up at him, my heart lurching into my throat. “Hold up. What the fuck? What the hell are you talking about?”

“I mean, your sister was shot. Hospitals are obliged to report gunshot wounds to the police.”

“Yeah, I’m well aware of that, Zeth. I work in a fucking hospital.”

“Right. So none of the people here are going to want that kind of attention turned on them. If your sister talks, the cops are gonna come down on this place in two seconds flat. Julio’ll never allow that. They’re gonna want her to recover here. If she gets an infection—”

“THERE IS NO
IF
, ZETH!” I grab hold of the first thing that comes to hand—the vodka—and I hurl it at the wall. The heavy glass bottle splinters into a thousand pieces, shards exploding in every direction. Zeth doesn’t even flinch. After everything I just did… After Alexis pulling through all of that… “There is no
if
. There is only
when
. She needs some seriously strong antibiotics, not to mention painkillers and a
fucking blood transfusion
if she even has a hope of living through this! They’ll probably need to open her back up and fix the shit job I just did of
hacking out one of her organs
!” I cover my face with my hands, trying to catch a breath. Trying and failing. “And as for drawing the cops’ attention, I think it’s a little late for that.”

Zeth comes to me, placing his hands on my shoulders. “What do you mean?”

“She was shot with a Glock 22. A .40 calibre. You know who uses guns like that, huh? I’m sure you do. You’ve probably had a couple pointed at you in the past.” I shove him away from me, dragging my hands through my hair. Zeth narrows his eyes, staring me down.

“Yeah. Cops,” he replies.

“Not just cops. The
FBI
carry Glock 22s. The
DEA
carry Glock 22s. I see them on the hips of nearly every agent that walks through the hospital doors. If these friends of yours have that sort of attention already focused on them, if federal agents have been
fucking shooting at people
, then it’s likely they’re already looking for Julio and this fucking MC that’s just rolled up out of nowhere.”

“You’re exactly right, darlin.’”

The voice startles Zeth almost as much as it startles me. Our reactions are very different, though. I flinch back from the source of the voice—a short, broad guy standing in the open doorway—whereas Zeth pulls his gun.

The stranger doesn’t seem to mind. He takes a slow step into the room. “The cops
are
looking for us,” he says. He peers past me, looking at Lexi’s prone body, still lying in a pool of her own blood on the table. “Is she alive?”

My heart is in my throat. Who the hell is this guy? How long has he been standing there? And what the hell has he heard? Zeth looks like he’s about to shoot him in the face. I take a step forward, moving in between the two of them—one GSW victim in this kitchen is enough for one day. “Yes. Barely. She needs proper medical attention. Do you know her?”

The guy shrugs, leaning against the wall. He must be in his late twenties, early thirties, dirty blonde hair, and obviously not one of Julio’s men. He’s from the MC, then. He confirms this when he walks further into the room, going to stand by Alexis’ side, and I see the huge embroidered patch on his back. Widow Maker. The icon stitched to his leather is of a woman, head bowed, crying. She looks like some grunge version of the Madonna. “Yeah, I know her well enough,” he says. “I should do. She is the boss’s girl, after all.”

Alexis Romera has been dating the President of the Widow Makers. This information is admittedly more than a little surprising, but hey… Nothing should surprise me anymore. Carnie, the guy who nearly gave Sloane a heart attack with this news, informs us that Julio’s expecting us in his study. Outside the kitchen, a dozen people are leaning against the walls, sitting on the floor, all pale and anxious looking. A tall blonde beelines for Sloane as soon as she sees her, and grabs hold of her by the elbows.

“Is she okay? She’s fucking dead, isn’t she? She’s fucking dead!”

Sloane frees herself from the girl’s grip and guides her toward the kitchen door. “She’s not dead. Sit with her and come tell me right away if her breathing changes. Check for her pulse every few minutes, too.”

The blonde heads into the kitchen, gasping when she sees all of the blood. Carnie escorts us through the hallways, giving me the impression that Julio told him to make sure we came, or else he was to physically
make
us come. That thought is rather entertaining. I’d like to see the bastard try and move me. And if he even touched Sloane…

“In there.” Carnie jerks his head into Julio’s study; on the other side of the door, Julio, Michael, and Cade are waiting, sitting awkwardly around a large polished oak table. Cade and I barely got to speak before all hell broke loose earlier, but he did have time to tell me that Rebel is his friend. That he’s been a Widow Maker his whole life. I have no idea what to make of that. I’ve thought we were on the same wavelength, Cade and me, and yet this revelation turns that concept completely on its head.

“Come join us,” Julio says, gesturing to the empty chairs at the table. There are three of them, one each for Sloane and me, and then an extra one. “I hear you’ve had quite an eventful morning, Ms. Hawthorne?” Julio asks. He bridges his hands in front of him, spearing Sloane through with an arctic gaze.

“You could say that,” Sloane answers. She looks like something out of a fucking horror show. There’s blood all over her hands and up her arms, as well as speckled all over her face. It’s all down her shirt and in her hair, too. The clipped, dry response she shoots at Julio doesn’t hide the fact that she’s not impressed by his glib remark. “We’ll be leaving soon. To take the girl to hospital.”

“Oh, I don’t think so, Ms. Hawthorne. Sophia’s a strong girl. She’ll be just fine.”

I was right. I knew he would say that, of course, but I’d perhaps hoped… I catch the look of fury on Cade’s face, and the sight of him cuts off all thought. He’s so angry that a tideline of crimson is slowly rising up his neck.

“The girl’s going to the hospital, Julio.”

The bloated Mexican tilts his head toward Cade, smiling ever so slightly. “You’re just a mouthpiece, Signor Preston. Please remember that you’re a guest in my home, huh?”

“I may be a guest, but Rebel’s on his way. What do you think he’s going to say when he gets here and his girl’s dead?”

So Rebel’s not here yet. But on his way… This could be a good thing. Sloane sees the opportunity, too, and grasps it.

“If we leave now, we can get her to a private practice in San Bernardino. I know them there. They’ll keep her off the books if I ask them to.”

Julio plants his hands face down on the table, considering them for a moment. When he looks up, there’s a cold malice in his eyes that makes me think he doesn’t give a shit what Rebel is gonna do to him when he arrives. But I’m mistaken—this look isn’t about Rebel. This look is all for me. “You lied to me,
ese.
I had a very enlightening conversation this morning with an acquaintance of yours.” Julio nods to Teo, who does as his master bids him and brings a single sheet of paper to the table. He puts it down in front of Julio.

“And he told me some very interesting things about you. See, I’ve thought you were here to spy for Charlie this whole time. I didn’t expect you to have come here to steal what belongs to me.”

Julio slides the paper across the table, and this time I know there’s no point in bullshitting. Rick, who I left in Anaheim fishing for information on the DEA bitch investigating Charlie, is tied to a chair, while the fuzzy silhouette of a man partially out of shot lays into him with a tire iron. I push the photo back to Julio, raising my eyebrows.

Shit. Shit, fuck, shit.
I don’t really care all that much about Rick taking a beating, I have to say, but this means everything is over. The whole ploy goes up in smoke. “You got me.” I hold up my hands. “I wanted to take one of your girls. She’s currently dying in your kitchen right now, so you might as well let me have her. I’ll take the whole mess right off your hands.”

“You’re not taking shit,
ese.
” Julio nods to Teo; the guy comes and stands behind me, gun held loosely in his hand. In a moment, I imagine Julio’s going to tell him to blow the back of my brain out. I have to admit having Teo lurk behind me with a gun is a whole lot less appealing than Sloane doing the same thing. “Sophia isn’t my mess. Rebel bought her ass off me years ago and she’s been sticking her nose in here, riling up my girls ever since. If she dies, it’ll be because she’s a nosy bitch who gets caught up in things that don’t concern her. You, on the other hand, are going to wait here with your fine little piece of pussy until Charlie arrives. Then I’m gonna let him take care of you. He seems highly motivated toward that end. He was especially pissed off when I sent him a shot of your little friend here.”

He gestures to the image of Rick. Fucking perfect. Charlie’s probably had plenty of time to put two and two together, but seeing physical evidence that Rick’s living and breathing after he betrayed Charlie to the Wreckers…the guy’s gonna be fucking raging.

Michael’s sat through all of this with the same nonchalant acceptance he always exudes when watching something terrible play out. I’m not fooled by it, though. He’s a viper, not a rattlesnake. With him, you don’t get a warning. He stands up and casually takes a throwing knife from the waistband of his pants. Julio gapes up at him, face drawn into an angry scowl.