by Davida Lynn
I grabbed an X-ACTO knife from the table and pushed the blade out. It wasn’t the obsidian scalpel we’d been promised in med school, but it would do. When I looked up, most of the bikers were standing around the table. An audience, just what I needed.
“I need maybe one of you to stay. I need the rest of you anywhere but here.” Some of them didn’t get the hint, or they weren’t prepared to listen to a woman in their bar. “Go!”
The one that had gotten me the booze seemed to be handling himself well enough now. “You, Prospect? You stay.”
I handed him the knife. “Cut the shirt off. It’s going to bleed. I need to see what the wound looks like. Okay?”
He nodded, taking the knife from me. I got a clean bar rag ready to wipe away the blood as soon as the shirt was clear. I waited as he sliced through the stained fabric. Trask’s breathing was shallow and slow, but it was steady. I was surprised to see the prospect’s hand was steady, too.
Once he sliced through my blouse, I leaned in. As he pulled it out of the way, I immediately wiped away the dark blood that was already leaking from the gunshot wound. Even after the wipe, blood was coming up. It was a good and bad sign, and I pressed on.
Handing the prospect the rag, I said, “Keep pressure on it.” He nodded and pressed the rag against the wound.
I picked up the long, pointed pliers that would have substitute for forceps. They were much larger, and they'd be much harder to work with, but they were the best thing available. I leaned over Trask, noting the color change in his face. Time wasn’t on his side.
I looked down from the stage to Bear, who was sitting at a table watching like there was nothing more important. “I’m going to cut away some dead tissue and then remove the bullet. We’re then going to pack the wound and wait. He’s going to need antibiotics in case of an infection, so if anyone has anything, go get it. He’s going to be touch and go.” A few of the Rising Sons got up and headed for the door.
Turning back, I nodded to the prospect, and he removed the cloth. For a few minutes, I cleaned the wound. My heart rate was up, but I found a focus I didn’t know existed. They always say not to operate or even consult on someone you know, but it did something for me. It drove me like I’d never felt. My movements were steady and deliberate.
Once the wound was cleaned up, I took a breath. “Move to the head of the table. If he starts to fight, you hold him down.” The young biker nodded, but I wanted to be certain. “I mean it. He’s a hulk, and this isn’t going to be a tickle.”
“I got it.” I believed him. If the young kid wasn’t enough, I could call for backup and a dozen others would be up in a heartbeat. Bear was right; it really was family.
With the kid ready to hold Trask down, I steadied my mind. I’d seen a bullet removed once, but the patient was under a general anesthetic. He had been awake, and didn’t feel a thing. Trask wasn’t on anything, but I knew he’d feel it all. I had a lump in my throat. Hurting him was going to shatter my heart, but I had to get it out.
I moved the rag and slid the pliers into the hole. I saw the muscles in his neck tense before I even found the bullet. I got the pliers around it, and I was so relieved to discover it was a small caliber slug. Pulling it out was a different matter entirely.
As soon as I began to retract the pliers, Trask started fighting. The prospect did his job, though. Trask was weak, despite his size. He’d lost most of his strength staying up on the bike.
I struggled to get the bullet out, but finally managed to pull it free without agitating Trask much more. I dropped it into a circular metal tray that had been laid out with the tools. The hard part was done. I cleaned up the wound as best as I could. Then I took a break to wipe the sweat from my brow. I did the same for the prospect.
“You did good, kid. You’ve got a strong stomach.”
He smiled. “My mom’s a nurse. She’d slap me if I hadn’t learned a thing or two from her.”
I smiled and gave him a wink. “She sounds like a good mother.”
I packed the wound. I had two types of tape to choose from. I went with electrical tape to save Trask’s skin. Someone would have to go out for supplies, and proper gauze and medical tape would be on the list.
In the meantime, the electrical tape would have to do. I taped the rags down across Trask’s chest and wiped his forehead. I checked the rest of his body, making sure there wasn't something I missed. The bullet in the shoulder was the only injury that I could find. I pulled off my gloves and tossed them into the large trash can set up for us.
I came down the steps from the stage and sat down across from Bear. I was surprised to see such worry on his face. He hung his head and let out a long sigh. Someone brought me a tall mug of beer, and despite knowing I should have been drinking water, I took a long drink of the cold brew. There was also a Rising Sons Motorcycle Club t-shirt folded over a chair. I threw it on, not so much because of any body shame, but because now that the focus of surgery had worn off, I could see the bikers’ eyes on me.
With his head still hanging down, Bear asked, “Well, what’s the verdict?”
I took another long drink. On second thought, the beer was just what I needed. “He’s lost a lot of blood. I’m going to need someone to get a list of things. If he has a fever in a few hours, we might have to take him to a hospital, no questions asked.”
He looked up, hopeful, “I knew he’d go all mercenary to help you. As soon as I saw you next to him, I knew you were Hope.”
“You know me?”
“Trask talks about you all the damn time. You two in high school, you in med school. It’s nice to meet you in person.” He gave me a smile.
I was dumbfounded. I never would have expected Trask to talk about me, especially to his biker brethren. I looked over at my wounded man on the makeshift table. It was hard to imagine the high school version of him anymore. After the twenty-four hours we’d had, I could only see the rugged, stubborn, sexy man with his Rising Sons cut on.
I spoke low, as if he could hear. “I didn’t know he felt that way.”
Bear scooted his chair towards me, the screeching sound snapping me out of my girlish haze. “Tell me what went down.”
I kept it short, like the emergency call. “Three guys, two cars. I think Trask got one of them pretty good, but I’m not sure. They sped off after a short fight.”
“And you said the dealer’s name was Beezer?” I nodded, and Bear went on. “One of the guys here knows him. He’s new in Bakersfield. He’s small time with big time confidence. We’re going to rally the whole club and come up with a plan. You give me that list of supplies, and me and a few of the Sons are going to run some errands. Sound good?”
I nodded, “Sounds good. I’m going to stay here. He needs to be watched closely.”
***
I knew what errands meant. Bear took six Rising Sons with him. It didn't take seven bikers to get some medical supplies, but I figured that they were riding in numbers for safety. The hired goons must have known Trask was with the Rising Sons, and I was sure the dealer was assembling his own men.
I sat next to Trask the entire time. A few of the bikers stayed with me. We talked a bit, but not about anything in particular. The prospect was the one I talked to the most. His name was Ryan, but most of the club was calling him Vegas.
“I ride out there twice a month. They think it’s because I love to gamble, but it’s where my family lives. The ride to the desert is incredible. You have nothing but time to think.”
He was just a kid, and I imagined Trask not being much older when he started riding with the Rising Sons Motorcycle Club.
“What’s Trask like around here?” I asked him, dabbing some sweat from my man’s forehead.
“He’s a force.” Vegas’ eyes lit up when he talked about Trask. “I mean, the guy doesn't take shit from anyone outside the club. We’ve had rival gangs come in here stirring up trouble, and we’ve had to go up against some guys out in the streets, and Trask is always at the fron
t and always there for every brother.”
I smiled and listened as Vegas talked. It was nice to hear someone talking about Trask as a biker, not as the baseball pitcher I knew. That image was slowly being scrubbed from my memory. It was being replaced with the stubborn biker willing to take a bullet for his girl.
Some time later, I dozed in my chair on and off. When I woke up, I checked on Trask. He seemed to be stable. I changed his bandages, checking on the wound. There was nothing I could do but wait.
My phone woke me up just around midnight. The vibration startled me, and I struggled to get the phone out of my pocket. As it buzzed, I yanked, finally getting it free. It was Nick calling. I took the call, hoping for some good news.
I twisted my neck, trying to get rid of the stiffness. “Hey Nick. You still out of town?”
“No, Hope. Nick is no longer out of town. He’s with us.”
I had no idea who was speaking.
“Who is this?” I sat straight up in the chair, focused only on the sound of his voice.
There was a long pause. “Nick knows who this is. I’m not too pleased with you, Hope. Whatever thug you hired to push me around has only succeeded in pissing me off. And before you go asking if I really have Nick, here’s a scream to let you know I’m serious.”
I heard a scream that couldn't have belonged to anyone but my brother. He swore and then screamed again. I guessed he hadn’t been too safe, after all. Once again, a simple task fucked up by my brother.
“Let me guess. Beezer?”
“Oh, so you do have some fucking brains. Let’s see just how smart you are. Your brother owed me how much?” I could hear him toying with me. There was nothing I could do, though.
“Ten grand.”
He laughed. “I guess you aren’t too smart. It’s fifty grand.”
Mess with the bull, get the horns. That was the thought running through my head. The price had gone up by forty grand, and I was sure the dealer knew there was no way I could pay that much.
He went on, “I’ll see you at Nick’s shithole trailer bright and early at seven in the morning. I’ll have your burnout brother, you’ll have my cash, and then I never want to see either of you again. You got it?”
My fists were clenched. I was backed against the wall, a place I’d found myself far too often the last few days. I spoke through clenched teeth. “Yeah. I fucking got it.”
Click.
Until the bikers got back, there was nothing I could do. I decided against calling Bear because we had all night, and I needed to stay with Trask. He was stable, but a fever was starting to brew beneath his skin.
I looked around. Vegas was behind the bar, leaning back against the till on his phone.
“Vegas, I need some advice.” He looked up at me and started heading over.
“Shoot.”
I recapped him on the phone call, and I could see the anger rising in him. His fists balled, and I saw veins in his neck bulging. He seemed so even tempered, but apparently he just hid it well.
“We’re going to hit them with everything we have. I know we will. Bear won’t take this. I won’t take this. Don’t worry, Hope. We’re going to get Nick back, and that dealer is going to be six feet under before noon. I can promise you that.” He punctuated his anger with a solid kick to a chair. It slid across the empty bar and slammed against the wall.
I flinched, but immediately turned to Trask when I heard him grumbling. I forgot all about Vegas and turned my attention to my man.
His eyes were barely open, and he was trying to sit up on the makeshift table.
“Hey, hey. Stay down. You’ve lost a lot of blood.” He looked up at me as I spoke, my voice only barely reaching him through his haze. He turned his head toward his shoulder as if he was just realizing what had happened.
“I dug the bullet out. As far as I can see, there’ll be no permanent damage. How are you feeling?”
Trask took my hand in his good one. “I’ve certainly felt better. Where is everyone?”
“Out for supplies. They should be back soon, though.” I felt his forehead again. “You’re running a fever, but they’re getting you antibiotics. I’m going to change the bandage, since you’re up. ‘Kay?”
Trask nodded. He took in the rest of the room while I removed the rags. Vegas stood beside him in case I needed any help.
The young prospect talked to Trask, giving me a perfect distraction. “You rode that Harley all the way here, man. Passed out right at the front door. Very badass.”
“The only way I live. Ask Hope why we took the bike.”
He gave me a smile, but I made it clear I wasn’t amused. “There was a perfectly good car, but Trask shot out one of the tires. What an incredible idiot you are, Trask Rivers. You could have killed us.”
He brushed some hair from my face. “But I didn’t. Forgive me?”
I stopped what I was doing to look him dead in the eyes. “Forgive you for what? Being a stubborn asshole who places adrenaline rushes over his own life?”
He looked at me for a minute. “I guess so, yeah. It was stupid, I know. Let’s just say it’s been a long time since I’ve had someone to be gentle with. Hope, I’m sorry. I never meant for anything bad to happen.”
My heart was aching. He was making me sorry that I got angry with him. I had forgotten Trask’s remarkable ability to do that.
“I hate to forgive you. I really do.”
He smiled and squeezed my hand. “Makes sense. You could put that bullet back in me, if it would make you feel better.”
“It might, actually.” I couldn’t resist. I changed his bandage and taped the new one down. “Vegas, can you get him some water?”
The prospect nodded and jogged toward the bar. “That kid,” I said, motioning over my shoulder, “can handle some blood, and he’s dedicated as hell. He’s been here with you as long as I have.” I decided to omit the news that Beezer had taken my brother. I wanted him to get some more sleep before his anger got the better of him.
Vegas brought the water, and I made Trask drink the whole thing down. He was low on fluids, and the ice water would help cool him until the antibiotics arrived. It wasn’t long before Trask was out cold again.
I tried to sleep, but it wouldn’t come. The drug dealer had my brother, and the club was off running “errands.” Finally, around two in the morning, I nodded off.
I woke up to the roar of motorcycle engines outside the bar. I checked Trask out of instinct. The fever was still there, but his shoulder looked to be clotting over well.
I stood up when they came in through the door. Bear pulled something out of a bag and tossed it up to me.
It was a prescription pill bottle with about seven Norfloxacin in it. The name was familiar, but I couldn’t remember what it was normally treated.
“Bear, what was this prescribed for?”
He leaned in closer to me, “An infection. That’s all. Just some infection.”
The big man didn’t seem to happy about my question, so I just ignored it and opened the bottle.
I shook Trask’s chest to rouse him, and he woke with understandable reluctance. “Time for your meds. I’m going to put real bandages on your shoulder, too.”
Trask nodded like before and swallowed two pills and a glass of water. I hoped the dose would be enough to stave off the infection. Another biker brought up a bag with gauze and medical tape.