Page 111 of With A Little Luck
I need my phone.
We’ve got to call 9-1-1.
We need medical assistancenow.
Not to mention, there could be more of them.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Hartley
Quincy will have no part of being guided to the truck. She rips out of my arms and holds up a short finger. “Don’t try me right now, Hart. We have to help Ridge.”
“I’ve got this. You’ll only get in the way.” Trigg hits his knees next to Ridge, who now lies on his back with his hand against the gunshot wound.
Bright red blood spills around both their fingers, and my stomach tightens. That doesn’t look good at all.
“Holy fuck that burns,” Ridge groans.
He’s better than me. I’d probably be wailing in agony if I were him. He didn’t even scream when the bullet hit him, and everything in me says that’s because he didn’t want to scare Quincy.
Trigg shoves his hand against Ridge’s and uses his other to lift the giant alpha’s shoulder. “It went all the way through. That’s a good sign. Can you wiggle your fingers?”
“Yeah,” Ridge grinds out, doing exactly that.
“Excellent. Maybe we had a bit of luck on our side today, after all. It clearly missed your subclavian artery—otherwise you’d be dead by now or much closer to it,” Trigg says. I stare at him incredulously. He needs to learn how to censor himself. Quincyis already on the verge of freaking out. “The other concern in this area is the brachial plexus, but your movement is good. You took out both of the men on the left after being shot. I doubt you could have done that if the bullet hit your brachial plexus. It’s like having molten lava poured into your shoulder and chest.”
“Not to be a baby, but this doesn’t feel great,” Ridge hisses.
“I’ll bet not.” Trigg rolls his eyes, splitting his attention between Ridge and glancing over at Quincy and me. “Hartley, toss me your shirt and get her into the vehicle.”
“I already peed a little. Unless you want me to ruin the interior of Ridge’s truck, I need a bathroom right now,” Quincy sobs. “Ridge is bleeding out. Someone needs to go get to a phone so we can call for help?—”
“Hell no,” Ridge growls, gritting his teeth.
“The only assistance we need has been alerted. They’re already on the way.” Trigg nods at us. “Head over by the bushes. Hartley will help hold you up. I haven’t had the chance to secure the interior of the house.”
“That is not happening,” Quincy says, her tone leaving little room for negotiation. “I’ll just hold it until I can’t anymore. God, Ridge, we are going to have a talk about you using your body as a human shield. You can’t die. Think of King and the baby andme.” She pushes up on her tiptoes and dances around, shaking out her hands. “This is all my fault. I should have peed before we left the office, and I know that, so I have no idea why I’m so angry with the three of you. Could I be in shock? Is anger a side effect?”
“I’m fine, sweetheart,” Ridge says, raising his head.
Fuck.
His coloring is bad.
His deep tan complexion is almost ghostly pale.
“You arenotfine,” she hisses. “And if I wasn’t about to pop at any second, I would be right there holding your hand, but I don’t want to risk contaminating your wound.”
The fact he immediately falls back to rest on the snowy grass is an even worse sign.
“Don’t we need towels?” I ask. “What if I go in with her?”
Trigg sighs. “Take off your shirt and hold it to the front and back of his wound. Don’t be afraid to apply too much pressure. You can’t—not in this situation.” His eyes narrow. “Now, Hartley! I can’t remove my hands until you’re here to put yours in their place.”
I take a tentative step back.
Holy fuck.
