Page 76 of Wicked Surrender

“Your brother William is in the emergency room with a gunshot wound. He will be going under for surgery soon, and you are the only contact that he has listed.”

“I’ll be right there.” I didn’t have to know anything else, just that my brother would need me and he was hurt.

She gave me the instructions to where he would be and assured me that I should be able to see him before they operated, since there were multiple gunshot wound victims from what sounded like a massive fight downtown.

Without telling anyone where I was going, I burst out of my room and ran through the house until I reached my car. Speeding to the hospital, I tuned out all details—the speed I drove, the recklessness of my maneuvering, or anything that I passed.

Tunnel-vision led me to the busy hospital, and after I parked, I darted into the emergency room entrance. Turning my head, I scanned the area for someone who could help me.

People moaned and grimaced, so many of them in varying states of discomfort in the waiting room, but I sprinted past them all until I reached the check-in.

“Can you tell me where my brother is? William Reeves.” I swallowed hard with my mouth so dry from the panic. My heart beat so high and fast in my chest that I felt like it’d jump right out of my ribcage.

“Reeves?” A nurse turned, her brows raised. She glanced at an older person in scrubs, who nodded and beckoned for me to step aside with him.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck!

Every worst-case scenario filed through my mind. All the thoughts were dark and disturbing, so I held my breath as I followed the person off to the side.

“You’re his brother? Jason?” he asked, facing me with a sad expression.

“Yes. Where is he? Is he okay? Is he?—”

The man held up his hand to calm me down. “Easy. He’s alive.”

I let out a deep exhale of relief, feeling so bewildered to worrythathad happened. As I let my shoulders sag, my head dizzy from the anxiety, I glanced at the nametag pronouncing him as a doctor.

“And he’s gone.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What?”

“He came in here with a few other men who’d been shot. He was also shot, but he swore he could manage without medical help.”

I gaped at the doctor. “He wasshot, and you let him walk away?”

The man nodded, pursing his lips. “AMA. He left against medical advice, but I will say that his wounds were more superficial than the others’. Surgery would have assisted in his recovery, but he was adamant that he leave now.”

I set my hands on my head and breathed steadily. “How could he be so fucking stupid?”

“He wasn’t sober,” the doctor added. “We searched his emergency contacts, hoping someone could talk him into staying and getting help, but once they found you, his only contact, he was already trying to bolt.”

“I’m…” I shook my head, at a loss for what to say.

“He was intoxicated and high. Narcotics, too. His tox screen showed high amounts of it all.”

“And you still let him leave?” I was familiar with what AMA was. I knew those terms.

“He punched three nurses and aides to get out of here. With more serious cases needing our attention, we couldn’t hold him here.”

“Fuck.” I fisted my hair, as if I could pull it out from sheer frustration. “I need to find him.”

“I don’t think…” He sighed, pausing as if hesitant in offering his advice or opinion. “I don’t think he’s sticking around.”

“He’s got nowhere else to go. He’s just trying to stay alive until I can graduate and get through med school so I can give him money and help him.”

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