CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
"Put pressure on that, and get him outside," Pete ordered. "I'll get my truck. We can't set him down in here, this place is a shit-hole of bacteria."
It took three of them, but T's brothers bore him away.
Manda ran after them, intent only on going where he went. For once in her life, she managed to out-maneuver every man around her, scrambling into the back seat of the pickup, and beckoning to them to lay T's head in her lap.
He was pale and sweating, his eyes wild. "Fuck—hurts," he groaned. "Manda—should'n' be here. Gotta get... y' safe."
Then he squeezed his eyes shut and quit talking as Knife scrambled in after him and crouched beside him, holding a bunch of cloth that looked like someone's tee to the bullet wound.
"You're gonna be fine, big guy," the silver-haired biker called to T as the truck roared to life and jolted into motion. "Gonna get you back to the club, give you some good shit, get you taken care of."
When T didn't answer, Manda took her hand from T's head to grab Knife's arm. "Is he okay? Will he be okay?"
"Yeah, if you let go my arm, and let me do my job," Knife snarled. "You wanna pet his hair, okay, but back off."
"Knife, how bad?" Rocker demanded, leaning over the back of the front seat.
"He's stable," Knife repeated. "No exit wound, which means I'm gonna have to dig out the slug, but it's high so probably went through without hitting any bone. I'm guessin' the slug's sittin' subcutaneous, rear area of his shoulder. The size of Faro's pistol, he wasn't usin' cop killers, so I ain't expecting to see internal damage too bad. You put a little speed on, that'd be good."
"I'm not takin' a chance on gettin' stopped by the cops," Pete snapped from the driver's seat.
Afterward, Manda remembered the ride as if in a dream. Riding through the night with T's head in her lap, an occasional groan issuing from his lips the only sign he was still conscious.
Lights flashed past outside, the echo of other vehicles, an occasional horn, and once the heart-stopping wail of a siren. It faded in the night, and everyone except T breathed a sigh of relief. The men's voices echoed around her, increasingly jumbling together.
She was cold, so cold. She could feel the heat radiating off T's head and shoulders, but for once even he could not warm her. Her teeth chattered for a while. Then she grew sleepy, and let her head fall back on the seat.
The truck skidded to a stop. "All right, hold on," Pete called. "Goin' for a stretcher."
Manda sat up with a gasp. The lights of the clubhouse veered dizzily before her.
"C'mon, woman, out!" Rocker barked at her side. "Let us in there to get him."
Hard hands lifted her out, set her on her feet. Manda wavered for a moment, and then gave up the effort, and let the dizziness take her.
She fell into the darkness, not even knowing when the pavement behind the club rose up to meet her.
* * *
Sara got Stick's call at two thirty that morning.
"Don't speak, don't interrupt," he said in her ear. "I'm fine, but we have a situation I need to stay and clean up. Second, Pete will be arriving at the clubhouse soon, with T, who is... unwell. Knife is with him."
"Okay," she said faintly. T was 'unwell'? As in... shot, knifed or thrown off a tall building. Pick one. Knife was the club medic, which meant T needed immediate care.
"You up for taking charge, making sure Knife has everything he needs to take care of T?" Stick asked her.
Sara closed her mouth, put a hand to her chest to still her racing heart, and set her jaw. "Yes, Ivan. You'll be home soon?"
"Soon as I can, blazhenka," he said. "Be strong, da? Show everyone what I know, that you're the finest old lady the Flyers have ever had."
Then he disconnected the call, which meant as usual he got the last word. She was used to this by now, but it still irritated the heck out of her, especially when she'd just received frightening news in the middle of the night.
She got out of bed and called Velvet. "I need you to come and watch the boys. I'm needed at the club house."
Velvet assured her she and Webb would be there in moments, and Sara hurried to dress and grab the extremely large first aid kit she'd learned was necessary as the step-mother of two extremely active boys, and the old lady of a man who occasionally flirted with death.
She arrived at the back of the clubhouse just before Pete and Lesa's SUV skidded to a halt beside her.
She noticed Rocker lift Manda somewhat roughly from the seat and drop her on her feet beside the SUV. What was she doing here?
Then Rocker, Pete, Cooler and Knife bore T's big body from the SUV and deposited him on the rolling cot that was occasionally called into service as a gurney. Sara stared in horror at T-Bear's pale face and the bright blood splattering his shirt and Knife's hands.
Then, caught by something badly wrong in Manda's stance, she looked back just in time to see Manda sway and crumple.
Streak, who had dashed out in only his skivvies to help, caught the little blonde and lifted her in his arms.
"Fuck me," he called, his voice just audible over the creak of the gurney and scuffle of boots as the Flyers pushed T into the club house. "She get shot too? She's bleedin' all over me."