Crash (Brazen Bulls MC #1)(90)

Then there was nothing but the roar of motorcycles, until that died out and there was silence. Nobody inside moved.

A sudden burst of commotion coming from the side door—yelling and hurrying and slamming—overwhelmed Willa’s sense of self-preservation, and she charged in that direction, nearly running straight into Eight Ball’s broad back. He and Ox were carrying Rad in, Eight at his feet and Ox at his shoulders. Dane was with them, at Rad’s side, holding pressure on the wound.

A chest wound. Oh God.

Rad was unconscious, and far, far too pale. Willa didn’t know how to be a nurse right now. Right now, she was a frightened woman seeing the man she loved hurt and in pain.

“The pool table!” Mo shouted and then grabbed Willa with harsh, clawing hands. “Pull yourself together, love.” Her fierce tone belied the endearment.

“I can’t…I don’t have the skill for this. He needs a hospital.”

“Take a look, honey.” Delaney had come up and pulled his wife back. “Take a look. You know what’ll happen if we take a gunshot wound to the hospital. We will if he needs it, of course we will, but see if you really can’t do it. Okay?”

Hospitals were mandated to report injuries due to obvious violence—and a gunshot wound certainly was that. It meant police reports, investigations, possible arrests and everything that followed.

“Okay. Okay.” She went to the pool table and pulled on a pair of latex gloves. Griffin was already there, already gloved, waiting to be her assistant. Her Igor.

Rad was sweating; his skin, usually an olive tone, was a pale greyish-green, like wax. He wasn’t wearing his kutte, and the full front and one sleeve of his light grey t-shirt was sopping blood.

With a shaking hand, she set her fingers against his throat and checked his pulse. Rapid and shallow. She set the stethoscope in her ears and listened to his heart to confirm. Regular but too fast. She listened to his lungs—and they were clear. Thank God.

She picked up a pair of medical scissors and cut his shirt down the middle, spreading it open—and nearly fainted from relief. The wound was high and to the side—in his shoulder, not his chest.

Setting the scissors down, she put her hand on his shoulder, above the wound, and gently slid her hand under, seeking an exit point. Please, let there be an exit point. But as she searched for one, she could see that his t-shirt was not soaked in blood on the back. The bullet was still in him.

“Fuck. I need to find the bullet.” She looked up at Delaney, who stood on the other side of the table. “I’ve never done this.”

“Can you?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know.” It was Rad! If she did something and hurt him more…

“Sure you can, baby.”

His voice was almost too weak to be even a whisper, but Willa heard and swung her attention to him. His eyes were closed, but a hint of a smirk canted his mouth at an angle.

“You can do it. I know you can.” He found a little more strength to put into those words.

She leaned close and put her hand on his face, and his eyes fluttered open. Seeing her right there, his smile stretched out.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Already feels like a hot poker goin’ through me. Don’t think you could make it worse.”

She absolutely could make it worse, but she would do what he wanted. “I’m going to use some Novocain and try to numb it.” She didn’t know if she could get the numbing to go as deep as he would need it to be, but she would try.

He moved his head in a scant suggestion of a nod. “Do your thing.”

Griffin handed her a vial of Novocain and a syringe, and Willa prepared the injection. She was going to send Griffin’s black market supplier a fruit basket or something, because they were now fairly well set up. She was kicking herself that she hadn’t asked for IV morphine, or IV anything—but she hadn’t thought she’d be performing surgery in the damn party room.

She leaned close to Rad again. At his ear, in a soft, calm voice, she said, “You’re going to feel a sharp poke where you hurt. That’s the Novocain. It’ll make it better after it makes it worse. I promise.”

He chuckled weakly. “I can take it. I’m a tough f*cker.”

“Yeah, you are.” She pushed the needle into the wound and suppressed the plunger—when the drug went into the tissue, he moaned weakly.

“Fuck, f*ck. Jesus f*ck.”

“I know, it burns. I’m sorry.”

“This is the chaos, Wills.” His voice had weakened even more—he was losing consciousness again.

Recalling their conversation the day before, when they’d decided to keep the baby, she said, “I know. I’m not scared.” That was a lie in this moment, but the truth overall.

“Me either. You’re gonna be a great mom,” he mumbled and was out.

She looked around at the people watching them: Delaney, Griffin, Mo, Gunner, Eight Ball. They lifted wide eyes, almost in unison, from Rad to Willa.

So much for waiting to share the news.

But she had more important things to worry about, so she sent them all a tight smile and got to work.



oOo



Rad moved in and out of consciousness throughout her work, moaning and trying to fight when she had to dig down to get hold of the slug. Willa was glad, actually, despite knowing the pain he must have been in, because his consciousness suggested strength—and no shock, which meant the blood loss wasn’t catastrophic.