Page 66 of Callum

Anita gives me a hard-eyed stare from her seat behind the counter, and I shoot her a bright smile in return. Her dark hair is pulled back in a messy bun, and she’s wearing thick-rimmed glasses that make her look far older than her thirty-five years. “How’s the patient?”

“What patient?”

“What patient,” she mimics under her breath, leaning back to cross both arms over her chest. “I didn’t think much about Lachlan breaking in to steal suture kits, but then you brought me all the medical journals from your home office. As if that hadn’t been suspicious enough, you asked me for a ‘week’s worth of women’s clothing’.”

She waits for me to give an explanation that contradicts my having a patient in my home, but I don’t have anything for her.

“That’s what I thought,” a small smile lights up her face, and I can’t help but laugh at how proud she is of herself. “So, how is she?”

“She’s fine, but I need more supplies.”

Anita waves toward the shelves around me, her attention dropping back to the massive book in her lap. “Help yourself.”

“I’ll pay for what Lally took,” I reach for the gauze kits on the shelf next to my head, running down the list of things needed to clean her injuries again. “Little shit shouldn’t have stolen anything.”

“No need,” she sighs, the sound carrying through the room easily. “We have a barter system going.”

That gets my full attention on her again. “Do I want to know what kind of barter system the Mouth could possibly have with the Family Doctor?”

She raises one eyebrow, a mischievous look glinting in her eyes. “Probably not.”

“You’re not fucking him, are you?”

“God no,” she laughs so hard her body shakes with it. “I do not have the countenance for that.”

“Most people don’t,” I agree, grabbing another suture kit off the shelf, just in case. I’m about to prod deeper into this barter system when the sound of screeching tires slices through the air. Anita is on her feet and halfway to the front door before I realize the car has come to a stop right outside.

“What happened?” The command in her voice makes pride swell in my chest. I hadn’t thought about what the Family would do for medical care when I left town, but quiet, unassuming Anita had stepped up to the task. Grant was so impressed by her that he arranged for Anita to have her own practice, something he would never have done for me.

“Gunshot wound to the chest. Found him at the Balkirk border about twenty minutes ago.” The man from the driver’s seat gives the information as he runs around the car, throwing open the passenger door. “He’s still breathing, but—” another man’s body nearly falls out before the guy can catch him, and I drop everything in my arms when his face comes into view.

“Malik,” his name is out of my mouth before I can stop it, and Anita spins on me with a questioning look. “He’s a MAC,” I explain, moving past her to help get Malik out of the car. His chest is covered in blood, and his breathing sounds shallow and wet.

“Get him inside. Room three is set for surgery,” Anita points us toward the hall at the back of the room. Malik isn’t a kid anymore, his long limbs having filled out with muscle, and we struggle to wrangle him into the surgery suite without causing more damage to his body. The moment he’s on the bed, Anita is barking orders again.

“You, out,” she points to the man standing anxiously in the doorway before rounding on me. “Suit up, Doc. I need two sets of hands for this one.”

I nod, moving toward the cabinet in the far corner. The guy is still standing near the door, his wide eyes locked on Malik’s ashen face.

“What’s your name, man?”

“Dane,” he grunts, not turning to look at me.

“You new?”

“I’m on the roll,” he assures me, even though that isn’t what I asked. The fact that he brought Malik to Anita’s and not to the hospital told me everything I needed to know about his loyalties.

“Is this your first time dealing with a gunshot victim, Dane?” I pull a set of surgical greens out of the cabinet but keep my eyes on him. He doesn’t seem to notice he has started swaying on his feet.

“Yes.”

“You did the right thing,” I assure him, reaching a tentative hand to pat him on the shoulder. “But you need to let Anita take it from here. Wait in the hall, and I’ll talk to you in a bit, okay?”

“Okay.” He doesn’t move. I don’t have time for him to go catatonic right now, and the sound of Anita rushing around behind me is a steady reminder that Malik doesn’t have time for it, either.

“Outside, Dane. Now,” I grab his shoulders, spinning him toward the door. He stumbles forward, and I watch just long enough to see him sink into a chair in the hall. He looks so stunned I want to offer him some kind of platitude about Malik being fine. Except, I don’t know that he will be.

If he dies, I will be the one who has to tell Harrison. I’ll have to look the man in the eyes and tell him I couldn’t save his only son.

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