Page 164 of Scatter the Bones

“This one,” Margot says. She presses a button. A motor whirs and the table lowers.

“Guys, really don’t—" I protest.

“Got everything,” Murphy says, barreling into the room, holding up a large black duffel bag.

“I grabbed whatever I thought might help from the clubhouse, then stopped at the pharmacy for the rest,” Rooster explains. “Sparky sent a bag of weed gummies and cookies for you.”

“Perfect,” I mutter. The backs of my legs hit something solid.

“Come on, sit down,” Rock encourages, slipping my cut off my shoulders and handing it to Murphy.

Another wave of dizziness threatens to take me out. I sit on the metal table, then lie down, stretching out on my back. The spinny sensation slows and I exhale a long breath. “That’s better.”

“Good.” Rock squeezes my shoulder.

Three grim faces stare down at me like I’m already stretched out in a casket.

“Where’s Margot?” I rasp.

“Right here,” she calls out, though I still can’t see her. “This is good. Thank you, Rooster.”

She comes to my side. “I’m going to raise the table.” She rests her hand on my shoulder. A second later the motor whirs and the table jerks under me,rising, rising, rising.

My stomach lurches and horses tap dance inside my skull again.

“Can you guys get his boots?” Margot asks.

Rock and Murphy move to my feet and start unlacing my boots.

Margot reaches for my belt. I wrap my hand around hers. “You know damn well you don’t know how to work that buckle.”

Her shoulders shake. “Then hurry up.”

She watches my hands in a detached, clinical way while I work the buckle loose, then arch my back and pull the belt free and hand it to Rooster. “We’re burning these jeans,” I explain.

Margot nods and unties the bandage around my thigh. I bite back a scream from the pain. Then she carefully unbuttons and lowers my zipper.

I roll my head toward her. “This isn’t very arousing.”

Margot flicks her finger against my side. “It’s not supposed to be.”

She unfolds a small, white sheet and drapes it over my groin before carefully easing my jeans down my legs.So professional.

I hiss a pained breath as the denim scrapes over the wound. She’s gentle as she peels the sticky material away from my skin, doing everything not to cause more pain. Cold metal chills the backs of my legs and feet.

“How’s he doing?” Wrath’s big voice echoes in the room.

Margot turns her head. “Haven’t quite gotten there yet. He’s still cracking jokes. I think that’s a good sign.”

“It’s something,” Rooster mutters.

I close my eyes again.

The sharp snap of rubber breaks the air. Then another. Soft fingers press into the meat of my thigh. I flinch but try to stay still.

“I need to irrigate this. See how deep it is.” Margot’s voice—low, clinical, but shaking at the edges.

“Need one of us to help?” Rock asks.

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