Page 124 of The Fire We Crave

“No,” Butcher growls. “No hospital. I’ll…pay you.”

I grab Butcher’s hand. “Let her do what she needs to.”

With a mercenary look in her eye, she looks at Butcher. “One hundred thousand dollars, and you won’t have to step inside.”

“Done,” Butcher says.

“Fuck me,” I mutter.

After running to a car two spaces down, the woman returns with a thick T-shirt and leggings.

“Doesn’t need a change of clothes, Doc.”

But she doesn’t even blink. She presses the T-shirt to Butcher’s stomach. “Press down on that.”

Then, she wraps the leggings over his shoulder and beneath his arm.

“Fuck.” Butcher hisses as she tightens it.

She dangles her keys in my direction. “What proof do I have that you’ll pay me?”

“What proof do I have you won’t kill him?” I ask.

She huffs. “I spent my entire life, this far, trying to become the best possible doctor I could be. Would be a shame to kill someone now.”

“When you get back, I’ll get your details. Now, go do whatever the fuck you were about to.”

“Put him in my car while I’m gone.” She hurries to her car, shakes out the contents of her gym bag, then runs back into the hospital.

“This is gonna hurt, Butcher,” I say, lifting him off the ground.

He manages to stumble with me to the car and wheezes when he drops into the seat.

“You sure she’s a doctor?” Butcher asks.

“That’s what the ID on her lanyard says. You sure you don’t want me to take you inside?” I ask.

Butcher shakes his head. “Too obvious. You need to…get the fuck out of here. Quinn’s…waiting.”

“They’re dead,” I say to Butcher. “Zakharov and one of his men that I know of.”

He nods, then pats my cheek. “Good job…brother.”

When she returns, she’s sweating, her face red. But the bag is full.

“Got what you need?” I ask.

She nods.

I snatch the ID from around her neck. Dr. Greer Hanson. “If you don’t save him, I’ll find you and kill you.”

“If you don’t deliver the money when I’m done, I’ll find you and kill you too. Now get out of my way.”

I stand back and let her get in the car. But before I let them pull out of the lot, I make sure Butcher has his weapons and phone back. “Call me. Let me know you’re okay.”

“Lie…low. Few days,” he says.

Dr. Hanson dips her head so she can see me through the passenger window. “He’s going to be out as soon as I get him home. He’ll message when he can, but be prepared to wait six to eight hours.”

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