Page 32 of Ash

He wrapped his hand around my wrist and started to tug me toward the van. Even as I struggled against his hold, he turned to one of the other guys and ordered, “Grab whatever shit you think she’ll need from the back of the ambulance.”

Realization hit me…I was being taken by these men so I could provide medical care to someone. To an unknown location where my patient could be fighting for their life from something I couldn’t treat. And if they died, odds were good that these men wouldn’t be happy.

I started fighting as though my life counted on getting away from them—because it likely did. “Mark, help!”

My partner rounded the front of the ambulance just as the guy holding my arm lifted me off my feet to toss me into the van.

“No, stop! You can’t take her,” Mark yelled.

The driver turned in his seat and aimed a gun at me. “Come any closer, and I’ll shoot her.”

Mark stopped, holding his hands high in the air, his eyes agonized as he stared at me. “Take me instead.”

“No way in hell,” the guy who’d manhandled me growled. “She’ll be a fuck of a lot easier to handle than you.”

The man who’d been ordered to grab supplies dumped a bunch of stuff into the back of the van before climbing in with me. I was relieved to see my trauma bag was one of the items since it had most of what I needed on a variety of calls, and I had a feeling that I could use whatever help I could get.

On that thought, I shouted, “Call Eli! Tell him what happened.”

“Will do. Stay safe,” Mark answered, a muscle jumping in his jaw as the two remaining men climbed into the van. Then they slammed the door shut, and the driver stepped on the gas.

From my safety training, I knew that being taken to a secondary location was bad. Getting shot in the head would’ve been worse, though. As long as I was still alive, I had hope. And a secret weapon who would look for me and had an entire club to help.

“Who’s Eli?” the guy who’d manhandled me into the van asked.

“My boyfriend.” I’d been awkward when Mark had used the term earlier to describe him since we hadn’t really made our relationship official. And calling Eli any word that started with boy seemed like an odd choice, but under these circumstances, it was a heck of a lot better than explaining he was the biker I was sleeping with…and was supposed to move in with if I made it out of this situation alive.

If these guys knew about my connection to the Hounds of Hellfire, either it’d scare them into letting me go or make them freak out enough that they’d decide to get rid of me right away to limit their chances of getting caught.

“Do what we say, and you just might get the chance to see your boyfriend again.”

I rubbed my damp palms against my thighs and asked, “Are you taking me to someone who needs medical care?”

“Keep your mouth shut until we get where we’re going.”

I pressed my lips into a flat line and twisted my hands together while I did what he ordered. The ride felt as though it took forever, but it was probably only ten minutes later when we pulled in front of an abandoned warehouse in the industrial sector of the town between mine and Eli’s.

I didn’t put up a fight when I was dragged from the van. Or when I was shoved through the rusted door that the driver opened for the guy who was manhandling me yet again.

The place was filthy, and the lighting was awful, but there was no missing the man sprawled on the floor. The piece ofclothing pressed against his abdomen was covered in blood, and a small red pool had gathered beneath him. Even from here, I could see how pale his skin was.

As I approached, I took in the perspiration dotting his forehead and upper lip. “What happened to him?”

The guy behind me shoved me forward before answering, “He got shot.”

“In the stomach?”

“Yeah.”

I rushed over to the injured man and dropped to my knees next to him, gently moving the blood-soaked shirt up so I could see where the bullet wound was. “Did it happen here?”

“Why do you want to know?” one of the guys carrying in the supplies snarled.

“Because I need to know if you moved him or if he was mobile on his own,” I explained. “With where he was hit, there’s a high risk of spinal damage.”

“Didn’t happen here,” the man I’d coined their ringleader in my head answered. “He was able to climb into the van, but we had to help him out when we got here.”

“How long ago did this all happen?”

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