Page 16 of The First Cut
“They’re not hurting anyone.”
“Maybe not, but the girls eat at that table. Would you wanna eat off it if a bunch of brothers jizzed all over it?”
He grimaces.
“Exactly. Plenty of other places they can do that shit.”
I give him a local and wait for it to take effect before I start stitching him up.
“You’re lucky you didn’t lose a finger,” I say after the first couple stitches. “You won’t be able to work with these in.”
“I’ll be fine. I’ve worked with worse.”
I grunt but don’t argue. It’s his hand—he can do whatever the fuck he wants.
“Any news on Khan and Driller?” When Havoc returned from Ohio, church was called and he filled us in on everything that happened. We also learned that Khan and Driller took off. Havoc had sent Circus and Capone out to see if anyone from our other chapters or our allies had seen them.
“If they have, no one’s talking. Not that I’m surprised. They’ve been in the game long enough that people are loyal to them, and Driller knows how to turn on the charm. He could sell condoms to Durex if put his mind to it. Plus, Khan probably have some off-the-grid place they’re holed up in for exactly this situation.”
I focus on his hand as I keep the stitches as neat as possible. “The fuckers have to know running only makes them look fucking guilty.”
“I don’t think they give a shit. We know they’re planning something. They probably think it’s solid.”
“Honestly, I have no clue what their reasoning is––and I don’t care. Driller’s always been a waste of space. And Khan… I didn’t like the guy, but I respected him as president. But now he’s making Driller look smart.”
Circus chuckles. “Now, there’s a scary thought.”
I tie off the last stitch and wrap his hand in gauze, taping it in place. “Try and keep it clean and dry for a few days. No heavy lifting, and for fuck’s sake, don’t pick at it.”
“Sure thing.”
I roll my eyes. “If you get an infection and your hand falls off, don’t come crying to me that you can’t jerk off anymore.”
He jumps off the bed with a grin. “That’s what bunnies are for. Appreciate the patch-up. Catch you later.”
He’s out the door before I’ve even finished. Shaking my head, I get to work cleaning up. Once I’m done, I peel off my gloves, toss them in the trash, and wash my hands before heading over to the saloon for something to eat.
My phone starts ringing the second I step outside. Pulling it out, I curse when I see the social worker’s number.
“Hello,” I answer.
“Mr. Shaw?”
“Yes.”
“Hi, it’s Jane Taylor from CPS. I just wanted to call to give you an update. Melissa was transferred home this morning.”
I frown. “What do you mean she went home? She’s fucking sick.”
“She’s not sick, Mr. Shaw. She’s dying—and she wants to do that at home, where she’s most comfortable.”
“What about Millie?”
“She’s with her, of course. A hospice nurse has also been arranged and is with her now too. She’ll be staying with the family until the end. I just wanted to let you know.”
“Yeah, thanks,” I mutter, trying to wrap my head around it all. I guess some part of me was still holding out hope she’d beat it—become one of those medical miracles you hear about.
“Have you thought any more?—”
