Page 13 of Fighting

“Dr. Jones?” The one asks as he takes one step closer to me. I don’t answer. He takes another step closer and grabs my badge that was clasped to my scrubs. Acting on instinct, I swing my fist. It connects with his cheek and splits his lip. Instead of attacking in return as I expected, he takes a step back and grabs a handkerchief from his pocket. He dabs at the few drops of blood, then returns his focus to my badge. The damn thing gives me away. “You’ve got a mean swing Doc. I wish I had the time to explain, but I need you to come with me.”

I start to back away. I don’t get far. There must have been a third guy in the car that circled around behind me, because I back up right into a hard body. Before my mind has time to process the danger, a pair of zip-ties are tightened around my wrist and a bag is thrown over my head.

The brute then throws me over his shoulder. I kick and scream. I fight with everything I have, but once I’m in the vehicle, they restrain my legs. I continue to scream until I’m hoarse. With the bag over my head I can’t tell where we are going. They haven’t really hurt me yet, but they could be waiting until they get me wherever we are going. Deciding to focus my attention on learning more about my captors and our destination, I stop screaming. “What do you want with me? Why are you doing this?”

“You’ll find out when we get there.” Says someone to my right. It wasn’t the one who spoke to me earlier.

“Why can’t you tell me now?”

“It’s need to know. Boss told us to find you and bring you back to the compound.”

“I haven’t done anything.”

The man grunts. “Didn’t say you did.”

I wish the bag wasn’t on my head so I could give him an incredulous look. “Then why was I kidnapped?”

“Time was of the essence. I had started to ask nicely. You became defensive quickly. I admire your tenacity, but I didn’t have time for it. I apologize for the theatrics. Once we get inside, I can release you.” I feel the car slowing down. “Do me a favor. Don’t provoke the boss. He’s not in the best of moods. He’ll make what I’ve done seem like an afternoon tea with Granny.”

“My Granny was a bitch, and liked bourbon not tea.”

The man snorts as the car comes to a stop. I’m lifted from the vehicle and thrown back over a shoulder. I don’t fight this time. I’m tired and sore, and I have a feeling I’m going to need whatever strength I have left for what is to come.

I can feel the air pressure around me change. We’ve entered a building. The man continues walking for about thirty paces before turning and descending some stairs.

There is a hell of a commotion going on somewhere ahead of us. The bag is still on my head so I can’t see, but I get the distinct smell of blood and disinfectant wafting into my nose. Strangely it smells much like an operating room.

“Got some help for you Doc.” Hollers the man holding me as he drops me to my feet. Thankfully he had the good sense to keep hold of me or I would have crashed to the floor.

“Jesus, did you kidnap her?” The voice sounds familiar but I can’t pinpoint who it is.

“You said it was urgent. She was asking questions and trying to get in her car to leave. What else should I have done?”

The other man huffs before saying, “take the damn bag off her head.”

The man follows the order. Unfortunately he leaves my hands and legs tied. Blinking a few times from the brightness of the lights, my eyes start to focus and land on the man who gave the order to remove the bag. He’s a doctor at the hospital. “Dr. Moro what the hell is going on?”

“Sorry Dr. Jones, I don’t have time to explain everything. I need your help, and he asked for you specifically.”

Looking around the room I don’t see anyone I recognize. Turning my attention back to Dr. Moro, I see his hands are covered in blood. A man is on the table in front of him. Not sure how I missed it before. There is a lot of blood. Too much. I try to step forward to assist, forgetting my legs are still secured together. “Hey Goliath,” I say to the man still holding me up. He looks down at me with a scowl. “You going to untie me so I can help?”

The man says nothing, but turns to another man in a suit who steps out of the shadows. He’s got a gun strapped to his hip. I don’t know his name, but I know the type of man he is. Mafia. Fuck. How did I get involved in this? If this has anything to do with Killian I’m going to kick his ass. Are these guys Irish, Russian, or Italian? It’s hard to say. From what I know, they all tend to wear suits, scowls, guns, and tattoos.

The man in the corned says nothing. His eyes rove over me. Sizing me up. He must decide I’m not a threat, or that he can always kill me later if I am, cause he gives Goliath a nod who then proceeds to cut off the zip ties on my hands and feet.

I rub at my wrist to calm the sting as I walk over to the sink. Working quickly I get my hands sterilized and slide on some gloves. The man on the table looks like he took one hell of a beating. His face is so swollen and bruised, I’m not sure even his own mother would recognize him right now.

While his face looks like shit, it’s his chest and abdomen that are the main concern. Dr. Moro’s has a pair of forceps deep in what appears to be a bullet wound. Lower down the man has multiple gashes that look like someone tried to carve him like a Thanksgiving turkey. Good news is, the a bulk of the blood I see is dried, and may not all be his.

Dr. Moro looks like he is struggling. I gently take the tools out of his hands, then roughly bump him out of the way with my hip. The boss man in the corner doesn’t like this and immediately draws his gun on me. I don’t flinch. It’s not the first time someone’s drawn one on me. I doubt it will be the last, unless he decides to shoot. I ignore him for the moment and grab the spotlight and drag it closer. I can see the glint of the bullet lodged in the man’s chest. “Either put one in my head and two in the chest, or put the damn toy away. If I wanted to kill him, I could have done it four different ways already.” I say gruffly as I notice the man still has it aimed at me.

I shouldn’t provoke the man with a gun. Logically I know this, but he’s pissing me off, and I’m tired and hungry, it’s a bad combination.

My forceps latch onto the bullet. I pull it out slowly. Not wanting to hit or nick anything as I pull it out. Dr. Moro is at my side with a dish. I plop it in as Doc gives the bullet a rinse. “Fuck.” We both say together.

“What, what is it?” Asks Boss Man as he joins me across the table, but I pay him no mind as I get back to work.

“Luca,” Doc says to the man. “The bullet is fractured. There is a piece still inside your brother.”

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