Page 77 of Butcher

Opening my eyes, I stared at Toxic suspiciously as he tried to hand me something. “What is it?”

“Just some pain killers. Drifter had them in his bag. Guy was a field medic,” Toxic answered.

“Here,” Rip said, handing me a glass of water.

I waved them both off as they tried to help me sit up. Felt like my side was on fire, but I didn’t need help sitting up. “Thanks,” I muttered and downed the pain killers.

“You pissy because you’re hurt, or because you have to see Crash?” Priest asked with a chuckle.

“Not seeing him,” I growled rather groggily. Glancing over, I watched as Isla typed away at the computer she’d brought. I’d nearly swallowed my fucking tongue when I saw her running toward me like a fucking Viking warrior queen. The fear had been sharp and all consuming. I knew she was more than capable of taking care of herself. It didn’t mean I wanted to put it to the test. That was why she’d been on that hill during the fight. Or the start of it anyway. Plus, she was a damn good shot with that rifle of hers.

When I blinked and there were two of Isla, I glared over at Toxic. “You dosed me. You fucker,” I slurred.

“Lock’s orders,” Toxic said, tone too happy for my liking. “He knows how you are about seeing doctors. Blame him.”

I wasn’t blaming anyone because all I could do was fall back against the couch and let the darkness take over.

“How areyou holding up back there?” Toxic asked.

I groaned, shifting away from whatever was pressing against my side. It fucking hurt.

“He’s still bleeding. I told you to be careful of those potholes.”

That was Isla’s voice. I tried to fight my way through the drug induced coma those assholes had put me in so I could wake up.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be there soon.” Lock said. His voice was close.

Prying my eyes open, I managed to pick my head up. “Where are we?” I slurred. “What did you give me?”

“Just relax,” Isla said, rubbing her hand on my chest to soothe me.

“Just take me home,” I ordered.

“So you can bleed to death?” Toxic asked. “Not happening.”

Everything was swirling again. If I puked because they drugged me I was going to kick all their asses. Reaching down, I pressed my fingers into the bullet hole in my side. The bright blaze of pain helped hold back the nausea.

“What are you doing? Stop that,” Isla snapped, smacking my hand away. “We should just take him to the hospital.”

“Can’t,” Lockout explained, “Police will get involved. Besides, no one in this city is as skilled as Crash.”

I shook my head. “I don’t need to see him.”

“Butcher isn’t a fan,” Toxic said with a laugh. He hit a pothole, making me groan.

“Watch the fucking road, asshole,” I barked. Then I focused on Lock, who was turned in his seat, watching me from the front. “I’m fine. I don’t need to go see that psycho.”

Isla’s brows shot up. “You’re callinghima psycho? Who is this guy?”

“Butcher, lay the fuck down,” Lock ordered, because I was struggling to sit up. To prove I didn’t need to see Crash. “You’re going. End of discussion.”

“What’s going on?” Isla asked, clearly worried by my reaction.

My head was in her lap, so I stopped fighting. Didn’t mean I had to stop bitching though. “Just leave me here.” Wherever here was, it didn’t matter. I’d make my own way home. “I’ll rub some dirt in the wound and walk it off. I’ll be fine, just don’t take me to that Frankenstein house of horrors.”

Isla glared at Lockout. “Someone answer me. Who is Crash Cart?”

“Ex Special Forces field medic. Practically a surgeon. Better really. He’s good at what he does,” Lock told her. “He takes care of all our guys when we need it.”

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