by J. C. Cliff
I stroke the back of her hair, trying to calm her frayed nerves, assuring her in a soothing voice, “Hunter is with him. He knows what he’s doing when it comes to kids, okay? He’ll keep him away from this scene.”
Val lifts her chin to look at me, her tears having left huge tracks down both sides of her face. “I’m so sorry,” she chokes mid-sentence, “so sorry for everything.” Her apology is palpable.
I know she’s talking about having kept James a secret from me. She’s had the past week to come clean with me and she didn’t. She’s knows better to give me excuses by this point, because there are none, and I can’t let myself wonder about when or if she was ever going to tell me. If I thought about it too much, I’d go crazy.
But to watch Valerie claim her love for me in front of Graham, and the fact she was willing to take a bullet for me tells me all I need to know. It means I can forgive the past, and that alone will allow us to move forward.
“Shh,” I whisper, “let it go for now.” Fierce conviction lines my voice. “We’re gonna get through this, babe. Mark my words.” She sniffles as I bend down to gently kiss her lips, a reassuring gesture before I rest my forehead against hers. “And when I say, ‘we’, I mean you, me, and James. The three of us belong together, don’t you agree?”
“Yes,” her voice hitches, wrought with emotion. I cup her cheek and swipe a tear away with the rough pad of my thumb. “I really want that.”
“I really want that, too,” I tell her. The men are discussing Graham’s situation which draws my attention away from Valerie. I look over her shoulder and ask one of the men who’s hovering over his body, assessing the damage, “What’s the verdict?”
“Well, since he was shot at such close range, it appears the bullet went through his diaphragm and exited out the back, but he’s left with a collapsed lung.” The soldier looks up at me, and by the panicked look in his eyes, I can tell he doesn’t know what to do for Graham. “I’m guessing that bullet knocked him clean off his feet, and when he fell from the impact, his head hit the concrete floor with enough force to knock him out cold.”
“What’s that mean for him?” Valerie interjects, whispering the words to me as if I hold all the answers.
“Graham is in a state of emergency - he needs a hospital - as does Celia,” I calmly tell her. I don’t explain that he could actually go into cardiac arrest at any given moment. Shoot, I’d love nothing more than for the both of them to bleed out and die, but that’s no longer my choice. The FBI is going to want a crack at him as soon as they can get their hands on him.
I kiss the top of her head then grasp her by the shoulders, pushing her back a little bit, making sure I’ve got her full attention. “Go upstairs and be with James and Hunter, okay?” I tell her, having decided she doesn’t need to see the remnants of war either.
“I don’t want to leave you, Stryker,” she softly protests.
“I need to help these guys,” I tell her sternly. “You know my medical training, and if you want me to help your husband,” I say the word bitterly, “I’ll need you out of the way.”
She swipes away the wetness on her cheeks with shaky hands, looking at me with remorse. “Go,” I repeat while arching a brow.
“Okay,” she softly replies in sadness. She slips from my grasp, my hands sliding down her arms as she backs away. I watch her turn and walk away, up the stairs, and out of sight. Satisfied she actually listened to me, I then amble over to Caleb who’s laying down on a leather sofa.
“You have any medical kits laying around somewhere?”
He looks up at me, replying with a grin, “Did you ever have any doubt we didn’t?”
I figured they did. What cartel doesn’t have a medical emergency supplies? Caleb has me reach into one of his side pockets to retrieve a set of keys. I hand them over for him to pick through. As he reaches out, his limbs tremble from having to move, the pain in his shoulder intense, causing him to wear a grimace as he clenches his teeth. The loose metal of the keys clang against each other as his hands continue to shake until his fingers land on the right key.
“Keys are a little old school for a cartel, aren’t they?” I ask, raising a brow.
“We never felt the need to upgrade the medical room with electronic codes,” he tells me. “Have enough damn codes to remember as it is.” I take the set of keys from his hands, leaving the one I need sticking straight up and separated from the others. “Go through the library to the back of the room,” he jerks his chin in the direction I’m to go. “There’s a tall ladder that spans the height of the bookshelves. Push it all the way to the right then the medical door will be revealed.” He looks over at Graham then shakes his head, eyeing them with disdain. “Sure we just can’t let the motherfucker die?”
I almost choke on my spit, his sincerity eerily serious. I shake my head. “Ain’t up to me now. You had your one chance,” I tell him.
“Fuck,” he murmurs acridly.
“Tell me about it.” I wish he would’ve put that bullet between Graham’s eyes.
“There are treatment tables in the medical room. It’s like a miniature ER. Everything you’ll ever need is in there,” he explains with resignation. It’s more than obvious he has his own vendetta against Graham. I guess he finally got his opportunity to make good on his revenge, but failed.
I spin around on my heel and tell the men who are trying to help Graham to get up and follow me. Once they lift Graham in his makeshift stretcher, we head toward the library. The ceilings along the hallways stand at an ungodly height with an overabundance of crown molding and a decadent color scheme. Jesus, I can’t believe this mansion. Stepping through the ornate doors that welcome me into the library, my eyes rapidly scan the room. I can’t seem to take in everything fast enough. Graham sure as shit didn’t hold back even a damn penny when he created this place. This is the type of home that belongs to a Hollywood movie star. Damn shame it’s in the middle of nowhere, and even sadder, Graham will most likely lose it all – both house and family.
Our heavy boots pounding against the highly glossed wooden floor, making our footsteps echo through the huge room as we make our way to the back of the library. I slide the ladder to the right as Caleb had instructed, and true to his word, a section of the bookshelf moves out of the way, revealing a brown metal door.
“Whoa,” One of the men says behind me in awe.
I unlock the dead bolt, turn the door knob, and push open the heavy door. The lights flick on automatically, and I stand stunned for a brief moment. I’m blown away as I soak in the details of the room. To say I’m astounded would be putting it mildly. It is a fucking ER room, and unfortunately, I don’t have time to salivate over the set up; I’ve got a job to do. A job that if I save Graham’s ass, it might just keep the angry men in the compound at bay.
I step off to the side and hold open the door for the men behind me to pass through. “Put him over there.” I motion with my hand, directing the men. “Transfer him onto the operating table.”
As the guys do what their told, I immediately start looking around for IV bags and medications. He’s lost a fair amount of blood so this will be the first thing I need to do. I’ve got to be able to maintain his blood volume and deliver medications intravenously.
Graham groans out loud as the men place him onto the table. The deep pitch to his moan, perfectly reflects the severity of pain I know him to be in.
When I glance over at him, I find his eyes are staring right at me, wide in surprise. The centers of his eyes are the only thing that moves around in rapid motion before they settle back on me. I can see the moment when realization dawns as to where he is and who he’s with. The look on his face is priceless.
I give him a smirk. “Surprised to see me here, old man?” I ask, not expecting an answer. “Today’s actually your lucky day, if you can believe that,” I say with sarcasm. “Gonna try to save your sorry ass.” He just grunts then squeezes his eyelids tight, making deep wrinkles at the corners of his eyes,
merely trying to cope through his body’s distress.
I find a box of gloves, peel open the top of the box, and snap on a pair. “Any of you guys know how to start an IV?” I ask over my shoulder as I pull the IV supplies from a boxed container, blessedly marked for me.
“Yeah, man.”
“Good.” I quickly shove the bin into the guy’s chest, telling him, “Get this started while I try to look for a catheter and a miracle.” As I rummage through medical supplies, all I can think about is whether or not I can save his life. At this point in the game, there are simply more things that are scheduled to go wrong than they are right.
There’s real tension in the air; I can feel it. The restless vibes I’m getting is not from my personal anger or hatred for the man, but something far more ominous. In the back of my mind, I am aware of the discord and unrest that must exist outside this house, but I can’t allow myself to dwell on it. I have to trust that Quinn and Travis have Graham’s men under control. Although, the troubling thought fuels me to work faster. Urgently, I look for all the shit I think I’ll need for the procedure I’m about to do.
Unable to push the nagging thoughts away, I last about five seconds before I find myself asking, “What were you all up against out there? Are we outnumbered?” All I can think about is a retaliation getting ready to form. It could easily be carried out. There are too many of us in here, and we’re too distracted.
The one guy looks to his partner, and they give each other a silent exchange which pisses me off. “I asked a goddamn question,” I bark out, causing both men to flinch in response to my brashness. “I didn’t ask you to ask your partner for permission to speak. What’s your name?” I point to the younger looking man who’s starting the IV.
“Phillip,” he nervously replies. He hangs the bag up high on the metal stand then focuses on me.
“Well, Phillip?” I prompt. “How many are out there?”
“I’d say both sides have an equal amount of manpower.”
I nod, digesting his words, and before I can ask another question I’m interrupted. “You’ll never get out of here alive,” Graham assures me through a raspy breath. He’s still full of his own arrogance. Being at my mercy as done shit for his humility.
“If I don’t get out alive, you sure as fuck won’t,” my tone clearly conveying the promise with passionate hostility. I hold up the heavy gauge needle so he can see it, and his eyes go wide then quickly narrow. “Got your attention now?” He bares his teeth as if he’s preparing himself to be stabbed.
“I’ve got to let the trapped air out of your chest cavity,” I explain. It’s called a needle decompression, but I figured he doesn’t want to be bothered with semantics. “What’s it gonna be?” I ask, waving the needle around. “You plan on keeping your dogs off us?”
“Yes,” he hoarsely whispers, his upper lip curling in anger, or revulsion, can’t tell which. “How do I know you’ll keep to your end of the deal? If you even know what the hell you’re doing.”
“Men like you aren’t used to taking a leap of faith, but I’m afraid all I can give you at the moment is my Hippocratic oath. I’m good for my words, unlike some.” I look down on him, my voice cold. “You got communication on you?”
“My watch,” Graham responds quickly. He must know his time is limited unless he gets help. I give a quick nod to Phillip silently telling him to get it off Graham’s wrist.
When he hands it to me I access it, but not before asking, “What’s the passcode?” His answer is a four-digit code which is Valerie’s birthday. Once I navigate to his communication app, I hold the watch close to his face and give him a hard glare. “You fuck this up…” It’s my only warning. I jerk my chin at him, telling him in so many words to have his men continue to stand down.
“This is Graham,” he starts off, his voice terribly strained, “I’m going to be fine, but I’m in need of medical attention. I need everyone to back off–no retaliation. I repeat, no retaliation.” I click off the device, satisfied.
I feel as if I’m fighting a game of life and death, racing against the clock. I’m saving his life for them, and not wanting to lose another second of precious time, I go ahead and inject morphine into Graham’s IV. As I depress the syringe, I eye him warily.
“What are you giving me?” he hoarsely asks.
“Nervous?” I arch a brow, toying with him, not caring about what the other two in the room are a witness to. “Unless you want what it is I’m about to do to you to hurt like a motherfucker, I’m trying to play nice here, and give you something for the pain.”
He holds my glare for a moment before he speaks. “She’s mine, you know.”
“And just so you know,” I casually state, “I can kill you much faster than I can heal you.” I shrug my shoulders, acting indifferent as to whether he lives or dies. “Maybe her voice wasn’t clear enough for you in the basement, but it didn’t sound like she wanted you. In fact, I remember her stepping into the line of fire, telling you to fuck off,” I callously remind him that his own wife was willing to take a bullet for me.
“She’s been misguided.”
“And you’re delusional.” I snap back. He sucks in a sharp breath, his eyes squeezing shut in both pain and mental anguish.
“I’ll never give her up… never,” he sneers, and I almost laugh, because the man will be in jail and Valerie will most assuredly be unavailable. I’m done with banter, I let him ramble on, praying to God he passes out from the drug real soon.
“Daylight’s burning, old man. Stop fighting the drug so I can get on with business.”
Graham is almost my build, full of muscle, and I know I gave him a decent-sized dose of drugs, but dammit, he’s fucking with valuable minutes here. I watch his struggled breathing, and I grow on edge, debating whether or not to start the procedure while he’s cognizant. I’m about to decide to do just that, but hesitate when I see him starting to fade out, the drugs finally taking their hold.
Just before Graham passes out, he makes sure to have the last say. “I will kill anyone who keeps her from me.” His voice, although a whisper, is full of resolution.
I narrow my eyes on his, and I file that threat away for the future. I will not forget for a second all the evil he’s done. When he finally passes out, I whisper in relief to no one, “Thank fuck for small miracles.”
Carefully inserting the 14-gauge needle between his ribs, the trapped air begins to escape. Movement catches my eye so I avert my gaze to Phillip. He sways on his feet, and I have to choke back a laugh. “You’re looking a tad green there, buddy. You gonna pass out on me?”
He clears his throat, trying to shake off the sick feeling from having to watch me insert the Penrose tubing. His friend steadies him by the shoulder. He’s trying to act like a brave and manly soldier, but I know better.
“You pass out, you’re on your own in here,” I warn. “I’ve got my hands full.”
“I’m good,” he utters while looking away, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Stryker,” Quinn calls out from the doorway. I know it’s him without even looking up, I’d know that commanding voice anywhere. “We need to pack ‘em up and move ‘em out,” he orders gruffly, “and that includes your patient there.”
“Well, fuck me, Quinn. What the hell am I supposed to do?” I growl in annoyance. I turn my head to the side, giving him a heated glare. “The man needs a fucking vacuum hook up. Gonna be a tad problematic if I don’t have a wall outlet and power.”
Stretching his arms out, he rests his hands against the top of the door frame. “You’ll figure something out. You always do,” Quinn replies calmly, but I know he’s anything but calm.
“How long do I have?” I ask in vexed resignation.
“I’ll give you five to get him stable.” He then nods toward Phillip and his buddy, adding, “You guys pack up whatever shit he tells you to, and do it quick.”
“Yes sir,” they both reply in unison.
“Well just fucking hell. I�
�ve got five fucking minutes to get some negative pressure on the outside of this man’s lungs so they can re-inflate,” I mumble. “I should be in the Guinness Book of World Records.”
“And I will personally submit your record to them if we all get out of here in one piece,” Quinn says before he turns to leave.
“Phillip, find me a damn chest seal,” I pause in frustration as I struggle to find the lost words that were on the tip of my tongue, “find me something… plastic wrap… anything that’ll seal up this gunshot hole.”
Everyone works furiously against the clock until Quinn comes back, keeping true to his word, and not a second late. I knew he would. Quinn comes to stand beside me then clasps his hand over my shoulder.
“We’ll see if all this shit holds,” I tell Quinn. “I’ve got a chest seal on him, was able to drain the excess air, but he needs a whole lotta help to get his lungs re-inflated. He’s no where near optimum.”
“It’ll have to be enough for now. Should hold him over until we can get him to the hospital, right?”
“I don’t have a fuckin’ magic ball. He’s better than he was, if that’s what you’re asking.” He gives a curt nod as I remove my gloves then toss them carelessly to the floor. “Is that where we’re doing our tradeoff?” I ask. “At the hospital?”
“That’s where he’ll be traded off, yes.”
“But our job is done, right?”
“Yes,” Quinn states as we grab some extra supplies. “There’s a van out front, where you can lay him down in the back.” Quinn glances at me, adding, “I’ve got another medic there waiting to take over. He’ll be riding with Graham.” I know without another word Quinn means for all of us to stay together, and I’m relieved, because once my adrenaline takes a nose dive, I’m going to crash hard. I can only ignore so much of my own pain for so long before it’ll take its toll on me. My ribs are screaming at me right now to keep all my movements to a minimum, and every step I take is laced with pain.