Page 37 of Ruthless Son

“No, wait.” Threads weaved between the men, his hand outstretched toward me. “You’re a nurse, right?” The men waited anxiously, and I nodded at the tall man who stepped cautiously toward me. “We could use your help.”

“Threads!” the president warned.

“She took an oath, Prez. Do No Harm, right?” Threads stated, with his eyes locked firmly on me. “The doc can’t make it, and we need her.”

The men looked as worried as I felt. As the prez rubbed at his face, his thumbs digging into his eye sockets and letting out a harsh shit.

The men waited with bated breath for the prez to say something, and they watched him, waiting for an answer. With a nod, he stalked toward me. “You say nothing about what you see here tonight. Do you get me?”

I got that he wasn’t asking me a question, it was a warning. Keep my mouth shut. “I wouldn’t say anything anyway, patient confidentiality and all that.”

A glint of something indecipherable sparked in his dark eyes, and I couldn’t imagine what would happen to someone who betrayed a man like Callahan.

The doors flew open to grunts and shouts, and the men rushed over to whoever had just rocked up.

“Get him to the couch,” was shouted out, and I stood on the edge, unable to see over the leather wall. Groans of pain preceded a yell of ‘fuck fuck fuck’. Recognizing Sly’s voice, I shoved my way through, looking at every face that surrounded him looking desperately for those bright blue eyes.

Rex stood over the injured man, blood coating his hands, his face white with worry as he looked down at his friend. “It’s ok, Brother, the doc’s gonna be here soon,” he muttered, shoving a cloth to the wound.

“What happened?” I shifted into nurse mode, the other men moving aside to let me through with ease.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Rex growled, before twisting angrily to Cal. “What the fuck is she doing here, Prez?”

With resignation, Cal sighed. “She’s all we’ve got, Rex, the doc can’t get here until tomorrow.”

“Goddammit.” Rex scraped at his jaw, his bloodied hands leaving crimson trails along his skin. “Just… fix my brother.”

Sly lay along the sofa, bloodied towels padded along his chest. Pulling the sodden material away, I chucked them down, and pulled the leather aside. A neat hole resided in the thin cotton that was soaked with Sly’s blood, it had dripped along the floor and left a trail of scarlet in his wake.

I reared back, moving away from the groaning man. “That’s a bullet hole,” I whispered to the room. “He needs to go to a hospital.” Uncertainty warred within me, I couldn’t get involved in this. He needed to be treated properly, if something had been damaged in there… I was just a nurse, I didn’t fix bullet holes.

“He can’t go to a fucking hospital, Mia. It’d be flagged by the feds, there’d be questions and investigations, he could go to prison,” Rex snapped and grabbed my arm, pulling me toward him. His eyes filled with worry, fear for his friend tangible. His hand gentled on me, his thumb stroking the skin of my inner arm. “Please,” he whispered, pleading with me to help.

“Jesus,” I mumbled, grabbing antiseptic wash and scrubbing my hands, before rifling through the boxes of supplies, digging out everything I needed. “You fucking skotinyaki are going to get me fired.” Pulling on the latex gloves, I moved over to the patient, sitting on the edge to better see what I was working with. “OK, Sly. This is going to hurt but I need to see if the bullet is still inside you.”

He grunted through clenched teeth and squeezed his eyes shut as I tenderly prodded the open wound, and turned his shoulder to see behind him. “It’s a through and through, which is good, it means the bullet isn’t lodged inside him and I don’t need to dig it out. You’re lucky it wasn’t a bigger gun, the exit wound is minimal, but there’s a lot of blood loss, he’ll need a transfusion once I stitch him up.” I cut the shirt away, the little medical scissors sharp enough to rend the material and I pushed it aside to see the small dark hole that leaked his life blood. “What’s his blood type?”

There was silence, not one person made a sound as they looked at each other in confusion. “You mean you all practically live together, eat together, and fuck women together but you don’t know each other’s blood types?” They shrugged in unison, mumbling excuses. “Sly… Sly?” I slapped at his cheek, taking his attention from the pain that ate away at him. “What’s your blood type?”

His pain-filled eyes cracked open, delirious with the blood loss and agony that he must be feeling. “Dunno.”

“Brilliant,” I said sarcastically, turning to the men who stood around and watched me try and save their friend. “I need O-Negative blood. Please God tell me one of you at least knows that?”

“I’m O-Neg.” Threads shuffled forward, rolling up his sleeve to reveal scarred pale arms, his eyes downcast with a shame for revealing the healed slashes across his wrists. “Where do you want me?”

“Just wait there for now, I need to stitch him up first. Gauge, get me boiled water and fresh towels.” I turned to my patient, luckily he was out cold, because this next part was going to hurt.

The first aid kits were equipped with everything I’d need to perform minor surgeries. The lidocaine was perfect to numb the area while I stitched him up and hopefully gave Sly a small amount of peace.

Silently, I worked on the unconscious man, praying to God that the bullet hadn’t hit something vital that I missed, and that stitching him up now was not all for nothing.

“Mia?” Millie’s hushed voice came from the entryway, her petite frame outfitted in a large nightie dotted with flowers. I ignored her in favor of keeping my stitches neat and precise, but I was aware of Kannon moving toward her and ushering her back to the bedroom.

Finally, wiping sweat from my brow, I lifted my aching head, my neck creaking as I moved from my awkward bent position. My fingers cramped from stitching Sly up, which had taken ages trying to ensure the scarring was minimal.

“Do you need me now?” Threads stood to one side, standing sentinel over his fallen friend, his sleeve still rolled up and waiting for me. Grabbing an antiseptic wipe, I rubbed along his arm, cleaning the area before prompting him to get comfortable.

“You’ll be here a little while, it takes about 2 hours, so I don’t want you sitting on one of them hard seats.” He dragged something over, took a seat, stiff backed and stoic, his arm ready and in position.

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