“Fuck! I don’t know,” he exclaims, stabbing his fingers through his brown hair and giving it a tug before my eyes go back to the dark, empty road in front of me. “She’ll just have to help us!”
“Right,” I huff. “Because that’s how you get the best medical care – hold someone at gunpoint and demand it.”
“We’re not going to hold her at gunpoint,” Nash snaps.
“We’re not? Even if she’s our only option for saving Fiasco?”
“Dammit. I don’t know, okay? Let’s just pray she’ll do it without it coming to that.”
“Yeah, let’s hope.”
“Ah, guys,” Malcolm says from behind Nash’s seat, so I quickly glance over my shoulder and find Hunt slumped against his side. “I don’t know where we’re going but make it fast. Hunt’s out cold.”
“Shit, I’m going as fast as this big tank will go, prez,” I say when I press the pedal down to the floorboard. “We needed a car to haul people; and unfortunately, big ones can’t go zero to sixty in three seconds.”
“Take the next exit,” Nash tells me as he stares down at his phone. “We’re only about five minutes away.”
“Where is five minutes away?” Malcolm grumbles, which tells me all I need to know about his health. If he is his normal grouchy self, barking orders, then he is going to be fine.
“My sister’s place,” Nash swivels around in his seat to inform him.
“I didn’t know you had a sister,” Malcolm replies.
“I, ah, haven’t actually met her yet.”
“Well, fuck,” Malcolm huffs, echoing my sentiments.
If we’re wrong about Nash’s long-lost sister, then we could be signing Fiasco’s death warrant and possibly Hunt’s.
“How’s he doing back there, guys?” I call out to Silas and Devlin who have been quiet.
“Fiasco’s taking a little nap,” Silas says. “Sure, he’ll be just fine.”
“His pulse is weak,” Devlin admits. “He’s losing a shit ton of blood.”
“Hold pressure,” Malcolm tells them. “Tighter!”
“We’re almost there. Hopefully,” I call back to them.
“Who the fuck did this?” Malcolm asks Hunt’s guy, Preston.
“They had on masks, so I can’t be certain,” he starts. “But we have heard that the Irish aren’t happy about us coming to town.”
“The Irish?” Nash repeats. “Bikers, gang, or mafia?”
“Mafia.”
“Why the fuck didn’t you tell us that before tonight?” Malcolm yells at him.
“We just heard some gossip around town, nothing concrete! It’s not like they sent us a note telling us they were going to shoot up the place!”
“From now on, I need to know everything, even whispers. You hear me?” Malcolm growls.
“Yes, sir.” After several quiet moments as I take more directions from Nash, putting the SUV on two wheels a few more times, Preston goes on to say, “If we lose Hunt, we won’t have enough for a fucking chapter.”
“You’re not going to lose Hunt,” Malcolm grunts.
“You’ve got a prospect, don’t you?” I ask him.
“How the fuck did you know that?” Preston mutters.
“Why the fuck didn’t I?” Malcolm shouts at him.
“Yeah, we’ve got a prospect, but he’s too green. It hasn’t even been three months yet!”
The rest of the way the SUV is quiet following that comment – too quiet as we all retreat into our own heads.
Finally, after what feels like a lifetime, we pull up outside of a small white, one-story cottage. It’s in the cul-de-sac of a regular, lower-middle class neighborhood in a good part of town.
“We’re here,” I announce to the other guys as if it wasn’t obvious. “How we gonna do this?”
“You and I will go to the door with Malcolm if he thinks he can walk,” Nash says.
“I can fucking walk!” our president declares before he’s pushing open his door and jumping out with Nash and I right behind him. The two of them are halfway up the paved sidewalk by the time I walk around the front hood of the SUV, so I have to jog to catch up to them when they’re already ringing the doorbell.
A few long seconds later, the main door opens and a woman in a blue robe stands on the other side of a glass storm door, the entry way behind her lit up. Just a glimpse, and it’s easy to see the resemblance to Nash in her lean face, her long, chocolate brown hair frizzy from the pillow and her golden eyes confused and…scared.
“Ah, hi,” Nash says to her calmly through the glass, realizing the same thing I have. “Sorry to bother you so late, but we’re desperate here. I think my girlfriend Lucy called you…”
“How did you find me? H-how did you know I’m a nurse and where I live?” she asks, her voice shaky and words muffled by the glass.
“That’s a long story for another time. Can you please help my friends? All he needs is a few stiches,” he tells her, pointing to Malcolm. “But um, two of our other friends are in bad shape in the SUV.”
Her gaze goes around us to the vehicle sitting at the curb.
“Your girlfriend warned me there were three patients,” she says as she thankfully unlocks the glass door to open it for us. “That’s more than I can handle on my own, so I called a friend. She’s on the way. Until then, I’m going to need your help.”
“Okay, I’ll do whatever you need. Thank you, Joanna,” Nash says with an exhale of relief.
Chapter Seven
Maeve
The bar is a mess.
Several of the Knights are arguing with the officers out front like they’re trying to keep them out of the building, so I sneak into the back. Inside, several other girls are sweeping up and wiping up blood stains while crying. I get to work helping them, feeling awful and worried about the three injured men. While I’m praying for them, especially Hunt and what his loss would mean to the club, all I can think about is murder.
I’m going to fucking kill Cormac.
That asshole and my brother told me that it was just going to be a quick drive-by to try and scare the MC out
