Page 42 of Flyboy's Nightingale
The door swings open, knocking every ounce of oxygen from my lungs. Nothing in my line of sight is left undamaged. I hear white noise all around me, people start going around me, gently moving me to the side. All the men but Duck, Noah, and Coin enter, going from room to room yelling, “Clear” as they move about, leaving Flyboy standing just inside the door.
“Why are you all standing outside?” Candy marvels from behind us.
I turn to look at her, still unable to get my brain to form words.
“Her place has been trashed, we're waiting for them to clear the house before going in,” Coin advises her like she’s a complete idiot.
His tone, once again, doesn’t make sense to me. I start to turn away from them and back to my house when the glint of something shiny catches my attention as I hear the revving of a motorcycle in the background. Noah must have caught it too, because faster than my brain can register it, I’m on the ground under a hard body. At the same time I hear him yell,“GUN!”
The blasting of gunfire vibrates through my eardrums and sounds as if it’s coming from everywhere. The screams from the women, and angered commands from the men is overwhelming to my fraying nerves. I don’t think about trying to fight the weight on top of me. Hell, I don’t even attempt to move. I just lay there and pray that everyone is safe and no one gets hurt because of me. The gunfire stops just as fast as it started. The only thing left in its wake, is the sound of revving motorcycles.
Noah slowly starts to stand, pulling me up with him. “Are you injured in anyway?”
Like a bobble head, I just shake my head.
“Your man needs words. Are you injured in any way?” Noah firmly states, looking me over once again.
“Noah, you better tell me not a hair on her head is harmed.” I hear Flyboy plead, but to my shock, the voice comes from the front yard instead of from the house.
“I’m good, Flyboy. Just a little rattled,” I reassure him.
“Good, because I fucking need you,” he calls back, sounding like the doctor he was training to be.
I rush down the stairs of my house and come across Coin and Candy, both laying on my sidewalk, bleeding. Flyboy is frantically working on Coin, trying to stop the bleeding from the bullet holes in his body. When I make it to Candy, her eyes are wide and lifeless. I choke back the sob threatening to tear its wayfrom my throat. Reaching over, I close her eyes and double check for a pulse. I don’t find one, and just like every time someone doesn’t make it, I say a small prayer for them before locking it away in a box and sliding it on the shelf to deal with at a later time.
Stepping over her, I fall to my knees at Coin's side, and ask Flyboy, “What do you need me to do?”
“Please, tell me you have a medic bag and it’s somewhere these assholes wouldn’t be able to get to it.” Flyboy doesn’t look away from his brother, pulling the shirt over his head to press on Coin’s wounds.
I take a moment to assess the man who’s bleeding out in front of me. I don’t answer him, looking up to see everyone standing there, watching. The men with women are holding them close while every other man is standing like sentries. I close off plain Riley, and channel nurse Riley, the badass that gets shit done.
“Smith, Wesson, and Noah, we need your shirts. Noah, come down here and help him while I go get my med bag and some towels.” I give the orders with no second thought.
Before the commands have left my mouth, the men are moving. Noah is at my side, waiting for further orders as the others toss their shirts to us. I show Noah exactly what I need him to do before I jump up and run for the medic bag in the garage. I don’t bother trying to open the garage door, instead, taking the route through the house while ignoring all of the broken and shattered pieces of my life spread all over my home. Once in the garage, I can’t help being grateful at the fact the assholes seem to have left it untouched.
As I make my way out into the garage, I slap the button on the wall to open the garage door. I rush to the cabinet on the right side of the garage, pulling it open. I first grab my bag and then several other supplies that will come in handy consideringI don’t know if we are calling for an ambulance or not. I make it back out to the sidewalk noticing the puddle of blood growing.
“You truly are fucking amazing! Please, for the love of God, tell me someone has called 911!” Flyboy shouts, digging in the bag for what he needs to try and staunch the bleeding.
“They’re three minutes out,” Duck says. His tone is laced with panic, unlike anything I’ve ever heard released from him.
“Fuck, brother. You’ve got to hold on for me. I can’t keep you alive if you don’t do your part of the work,” Flyboy directs, begging the man under his skilled hands to fight.
We work side by side, like we’ve done a hundred times in the E.R., directing Noah where we need him to be. What seems like a lifetime later, I hear the wail of the ambulances, the sirens from the firetrucks, and police cruisers as they come up my street. I sigh in relief at their arrival, until the sound of another motorcycle puts us all on edge. Then men usher all the females inside as Smith, Wesson, and Noah surround them with a sentry position of protection.
The ambulance screams to halt, and the EMTs, and Paramedics jump from both ambulances and firetrucks, calling out commands. They split into two teams, the first set going to Candy, and the second coming to us. Noah and I slowly step away as Flyboy gives everyone the rundown of what has happened, and what we’ve done to try and stabilize Coin.
They proficiently load them both into ambulances and tear off like bats out of hell. I fall to my ass, hanging my head low, letting the adrenaline leave my system, fighting the wave of pure exhaustion that always follows.
“Hey, can we take a look at you?” a voice asks me.
“I’m good, the blood isn’t mine. I was helping Flyboy work on him until you got here,” I tell her.
“Are you sure?” she pushes.
“Yeah, I’m sure. Thank you.” The fire medic gives me a nod before leaving to check on everyone else.
The police come over and I give them vague answers to all their questions knowing that this is club business and cops are a no-no. I know by the looks on their faces that they aren’t happy nor do they believe the stories we’ve given them as they leave. Everyone gathers close inside the garage, not liking the eerie feeling we got from being left out in the openness of the front yard. That’s when I notice for the first time that Pretty Boy is standing there with us.
