Page 99 of Nightingale

Preacher Girl and Hack were locked in a hold so tight Amber’s heart burned wishing she could have swapped places with the girl.

Red and Nova worked on Mountain alone as the other club members gathered outside the clinic and waited.

Amber didn’t know if she could do this. Tears muddied her eyes as they flowed down her cheeks and she couldn’t hardly see to work on her man. How could she live a life like this? These guys did dangerous work. Going on runs, saving people, then what they did today. Mountain didn’t even tell her what they had planned, but it couldn’t be good, not with him getting shot.

How could she live a life with a man like Mountain? Risk losing her kids over him? This wasn’t good.

“Nightingale, he needs you.”

Red’s voice broke through the cloud formed around them in the room with the name given to her. One she’d barely acknowledged until this moment. Her hands swiftly pulled her trauma scissors out as she cut through layer after layer of shirts until his chest was fully exposed and Roadkill quickly began attaching leads as she worked to cut down his jeans enough to get the ones for his lower legs.

A faint tone sounded as a line formed on the monitor and Red slapped pads on Mountain’s chest before calling out, “Clear.”

No longer a loud thump, the soft jolt didn’t show the power behind it. Only the slight arch of Mountain’s back and the gasp of air he took had her bracing on the counter behind her.

“He’s back, let’s do this, I need two lines now, one for normal Saline, the other blood,” Red said as Roadkill established one line and she worked on a second after they both stripped his gloved hands. “Preacher Girl, pull his file to verify type and get me blood. Both of you try to pull a full panel. Between the two of you, we might get one and she can run some tests.”

“On it, I’ll call Hollywood to go lights and sirens for extra if he’s rare.”

“Quick before you set up the lines, let’s roll his ass and see if I’m going fishing or just doing patch work.”

The lifeless Mountain weighed three times the man who laid on top of her while making love. The weight better than any blanket telling her a barrier, a line of defense was between her and the world outside. Now all three groaned as they rolled him and she pulled down on his sleeve to strip his right side fully.

Red spat out, “Fuck.”

Mountain’s back was clean, perfect in a way. He’d told of a full back tattoo he’d be getting soon since he was a full member. His first, unlike most of the men in the club that had ink prominent and not so prominent.

“Fishing it is, no quikclot for me.” Red shook his head. “Roll him back, I’m going to intubate.”

“Do we need to get a helicopter in route?”

“No time, besides his weight would complicate the transfer,” Red said as she and Roadkill worked on starting IVs. “They’d have to limit the medical personnel on the flight. I’ll have to do it. Any chance you have surgical experience?”

“Trauma stabilization waiting on the team to come down,” she replied, her mouth dry.

The sound of air being pumped in his body had Mountain’s massive chest rising and falling as she focused on his cold hands. Holding it in hers as she got the flash she needed once the line was established and she could pull the tubes needed.

“I got a full panel,” she called out as she taped down the IV port and cleared the saline line of bubbles.

“Good, because this side is being difficult,” Roadkill said. “Must be your touch having him be compliant.”

“Got the blood, and I cross checked twice just in case,” Preacher Girl said as she passed it off to Roadkill and then took the vials from Amber.

“I need to know his counts,” Red said. “And how are we on supply?”

“Depends on how you look at it,” Preacher Girl said. “He’s O negative so in a pinch—”

“We can use all the blood we have,” he said. “Get in the files for our club, anyone who’s sober drain them, but try to find his type if you can.”

Preacher Girl nodded. “Hack’s already on it and Hollywood is working with the Staties to get a run from the bank in Billings.”

“We’re really doing surgery here?” Amber asked. “Is this to cover up what he was doing?”

“No,” Roadkill said. “It’s to give him the best chance at living. He’ll have a scar, but trust me. I know from experience and not from this side of the table that Red is the best surgeon in Montana. Especially, in trauma situations.”

“Mountain doesn’t even fit on the gurney,” she blanched.

“You think he would anywhere?” Red said as he raised the bed up to make the surgery easier. “Nova and I can do this, but his chances for survival will only increase if you’re here.”

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