Page 111 of Rags's Awakening
Rags met his eyes, hands slick with blood. “Throttle’s bad. Real bad. I gotta get him outta here. Now.”
“Hang on. Lemme tell Hawk.”
Rags kept pressure on the gash, ignoring the panic ripping through his chest. He couldn’t let an ounce of emotion compromise what needed to be done. He looked down on the pale face of his friend. “You’re gonna be okay, buddy. Just hang in there.”
“What the fuck?” Hawk growled, stepping into the space with Smokey. “Did you nail the fucker who did this?”
“Yeah. I gotta get him to Doc.”
“Go. Now. Tank, Smokey, and Animal will help you carry him,” Hawk said, dragging a hand over his face. “I’ll stay and make sure everything’s handled here. Go.”
Twenty minutes later, Doc met them at the clubhouse entrance with a gurney. They lifted Throttle onto it and hurried him down one of the twisting hallways toward the surgical room.
Doc had been the club doctor for as long as Rags could remember. An avid Harley rider, he liked the rough-and-tumble world of the Insurgents but never fully embraced it. He’d patched up more members than anyone could count. The club had installed a full surgical room, and Doc kept it stocked and ready.
“I’m going to need assistance. Get Kristy,” he said.
Kristy and Brandi were two of the club girls who’d been with the Insurgents since Hawk had prospected. Kristy had once been in love with Hawk, and after he married Cara, she decided to do something with her life instead of moping around. She went to Banger with her plans to attend college and become a nurse. He thought it was a good idea, and the club voted to pay her tuition.
Everyone figured she’d leave once she got her nursing degree, but she never did. She decided to stay to help Doc whenever the guys came in with busted noses, cracked ribs or worse. It was nice having a nurse on call twenty-four seven, and Kristy still loved being a club girl.
“Is he gonna be okay?” Rags rasped.
“I don’t know,” Doc said, locking eyes with him. “But I’ll do everything I can.”
Kristy burst through the door, her eyes scanning the room before landing on Rags.
“Scrub up. We’ve got a critical one,” Doc said.
“Who is it?” Kristy asked.
“Throttle.” Rags’s voice was steady and firm, but inside everything was shattering.
“Doc’s good,” Kristy said, her eyes misting as she stepped up to the gurney. “Go get some shots. We’ve got this.”
Rags nodded, but before heading straight for the main room, he dashed up the stairs to his room. He needed to scrum the evidence off his skin. Standing over the sink, he washed away the blood and sweat from the fight, then threw on a clean set of clothes. After shoving his bloodied cut and ruined jeans deep into a duffel bag, he headed down the stairwell.
When he walked in, a hush fell over the room. All eyes turned to him. He strode to the bar, picked up the Jack Skinless had set on the counter, and downed it.
“How’s he doing?” Animal asked.
Rags shrugged. “Don’t know. Doc said he’ll do whatever he can.” He grabbed the next shot and tossed it back. The burn slid down his throat and settled heavy in his gut.
“He’ll be okay,” Tank said, clasping Rags’s shoulder.
“What the fuck happened?” Banger asked, stepping up behind him.
“Throttle said the fucker blindsided him.” Rags kept his gaze on the empty glass.
“Did you get the bastard?” Anger edged Banger’s voice.
“Yeah. I wasted him.”
Banger’s fingers tightened on Rag’s shoulder. “Good. What does Doc say?”
“He’ll do his best.”
Before anyone could say anything more, Doc rushed into the main room. A sheen of sweat coated his face. His eyes flicked between Rags and Banger, finally landing on Banger.
