by Shayla Black
With only three hours left of my birthday, I don’t see that happening.
That’s depressing AF.
I always envisioned having some sort of bash on the day I became legal. It didn’t have to be a big one, but maybe some close friends, a balloon or two, and a piece of cake.
The only party I’m having now is all about pity.
Damn it, I hate this woe-is-me crap. I’m responsible for my own happiness, so I’ll stop at the twenty-four-hour diner on the way home, pick up a piece of pie, sing to myself, and start the rest of my life without Ransom.
It’s a solid plan—until I hear a volley of gunshots outside. That’s not unusual for this neighborhood, especially this half-abandoned shopping center. My boss, Dr. Robbins, keeps saying she’s going to leave since gangs have moved in recently. Drug dealers think it’s a great haven, too. I suspect one of the empty storefronts might even be a meth lab. Typically, those guys don’t bother me and I don’t bother them. But this… It’s a lot of gunfire, and I’m scared.
I call 911.
While I talk to the dispatcher, the shots continue. I consider leaving. Even my ratty rent-by-the-week apartment would be safer. But I don’t dare run out of the building during a hail of gunfire.
“Meow.”
One of the kittens who got spayed last week mewls from her cage. She has food. She has water. Is she crying because she’s afraid? Or because she wants affection?
“That makes two of us, Shadow.” I open her cage and gently scoop up the little black fur ball.
She cuddles up in my arms, nuzzling my neck and licking my cheek. Aww, she’s lonely.
Like me.
Her owner was supposed to pick her up days ago but never did—and never returned our calls. Dr. Robbins and I suspect the crazy woman who brought her in isn’t coming back.
I rub Shadow’s small head, and she looks up at me with sad green eyes. “I know how you feel, girlie. We’ll stick together, okay?”
If her owner doesn’t return soon, I’ll find some way to pay the doctor for the surgery and take this baby home with me. I could use the company—and a friend. My apartment doesn’t allow pets, but I can sneak her in. Just temporarily. I’ve been saving money to move out of the shithole I’ve called home since shortly after I left Ransom’s place. I’ll look for a new building that will accept Shadow.
“We’ll make each other happy,” I promise her. “Girl power and all that.”
She meows at me again and starts to purr. I hear her loud and clear since the gunfire abruptly quiets.
At least I’ll get a little peace for my birthday. And I made a new friend. It’s not all bad…
But you were really hoping for Ransom.
And I have to stop. He’s not coming.
Suddenly, Shadow quits purring. I feel a shift in the air, followed by sounds I shouldn’t be hearing this time of night.
No. That couldn’t be the back door opening and closing, right? It was locked…
I don’t know the first thing about guns, and Dr. Robbins doesn’t “believe” in them. That seems naive to me. At least she keeps a baseball bat here, just in case.
“Be right back.” I ease Shadow into her cage, open the door of the surgical room, then creep down the hall, bat in hand. I have my phone in my pocket in case I need to call 911 about an intruder.
If he’s already inside, won’t it be too late?
My heart thuds as I head down the hall. Then I hear a deafening crash, like all the supplies in the storeroom I spent the day organizing have tumbled to the floor, along with their metal shelving.
I bite my lip to hold in a gasp. Definitely an intruder.
Shaking, I whip out my phone and start a one-handed dial back to emergency services while gripping the bat with the other. Before I can hit the button to complete the call, I hear a splat like something—or someone—hurtled into the wall. Then comes a distinctly male moan of pain. He’s hurt. Was he shot?
I can help.
This instinct may be the worst mistake of my life, but I darken my phone and tuck it away.
Before I can rush inside, the man on the other side wrests the portal open.
I look down at the familiar face, my name croaking from the firm, wide mouth I remember him slanting possessively over mine. My heart stops.
“Ransom! Oh, my… What happened? I’ll call an ambulance.”
He must have gotten caught in the gunfire I heard outside. Jittery and stunned, I try to complete the call. My fingers are shaking too hard. I have to breathe. I can’t fall apart. Ransom needs me.
With a surprisingly strong grip, he grabs my wrist. “No. No police. No hospitals. Get to safety.”
And leave him here? Never. “Where are you hurt?”
“Go. Now.” His dark eyes slide shut, and he loses consciousness.
I stop arguing and start panicking.
“Oh, my god.” I need to think—fast. What can I do for him if he doesn’t want me to call for help? And why doesn’t he want me to?
Because he’s done something illegal?
Ethan used to claim that his father was a hitman, and I laughed, convinced he must be kidding or trying to make his life seem cooler by giving his dad a shady occupation.
One thing I noticed? Ethan never laughed in return.
Holy shit, was he telling the truth?
I’m not sure how I feel about being in love with a potential contract killer, but that’s a problem for later.
I scan Ransom’s prone form. If he faded out of consciousness, he must be injured and losing blood. He’s definitely soaking wet from the unexpected rain. I don’t want to move him, but if I’m going to help, I have to. First, I need to make sure we’ll be safe.
With a shaky breath, I stand just enough to flip on the storeroom’s light. The place is a disaster, but I don’t care. Ransom tied off the back door with some sturdy rope. It will hold for a bit, and the front door is locked tight. From both the parking lot and the alley, the animal clinic appears dark and empty. Thankfully, the gunfire seems to have ended. I pray that whoever shot Ransom fled when the police showed.
Dashing back to the surgical room, I hunt down the rolling cart Dr. Robbins uses to carry larger animals who come in injured. Since it can support a horse, it can easily handle Ransom’s weight.
I drag it into the hall, along with a piece of plywood we sometimes use to move an unconscious animal onto the rolling metal slab. I lock the wheels on the cart, then brace the wood against it. I don’t know how I’ll lift him, but I’ll find a way. This may be life-or-death.
Shoving aside my worries, I roll Ransom closer to the board so I can pull or lift him. Something. It’s looking as impossible as it sounds.
But when I get him on his back, the cement floor is covered in rain—and blood. He’s deathly pale.
My heart stops.
I whip out my phone again. He told me not to call 911, but he didn’t say anything about Ethan.
Thankfully, my ex answers right away. “Havana?”
Of course he’s confused. We haven’t spoken since the morning he walked into the kitchen and caught his father and me lip-locked, my body writhing shamelessly while I silently begged for more.
I can’t worry whether that hurt him now. “Your father is here. He’s bleeding. He won’t let me call for help. He passed out. I n-need to lift him, but I can’t and—”
“Okay. Slow down. Tell me where you are.”
I do. In the background, I hear him grabbing his keys, slamming the door of his car, and burning rubber down the street.
“I’ll be there in five. Fuck it; I’ll run red lights. Make that three.”
“Okay.” I can’t do anything but stare at Ransom while Ethan drives, so I put him on speaker and set the phone down. “Has this happened before?”
Ethan hesitates. “Yeah. Usually, he calls one of my uncles. But I’ve been with him a few times when shit went down. I know what to do.”
Oh, thank God! “We have to help him.�
�
I try to remove Ransom’s duster so I can get a look at his injuries, but it’s like a second skin, clinging to his mile-wide shoulders. There’s a hole in the arm of the coat where a bullet ripped in…and blood now seeps back out. I’ll probably have to cut this off.
But there’s even more blood around his neck.
Do something besides stand there. Apply direct pressure, idiot!
I don’t stop to think, just strip off my sunny orange T-shirt and press it directly against the left side of his throat, where blood oozes alarmingly fast. When I wipe it away to look at the wound, I see a chunk gouged out of his flesh that’s not inconsistent with a bullet.
Oh, my god. Oh, my god. Oh, my god.
Trying to keep my head together, I wipe away more blood and look closer. It seems as if the bullet missed his artery…but just barely. And he’s bleeding a lot.
Shit. I settle the T-shirt over the wound again and press my bloody palm down.
“What’s going on?” Ethan asks. “What do you see?”
I fill him in, and he responds with a blue streak.
“I’m applying direct pressure, but he’s lost blood… I think he needs more.”
“Fuck. Dad and I aren’t the same blood type.”
“I’m O-negative.” The universal donor.
“Do you mind giving?”
Tears sting my eyes. “I’ll give him all I have if it will keep him alive.”
“Havana…” He sighs like he wants to ask me about my feelings for his father, but he doesn’t. “You’re at a vet’s office, right? You have medical stuff there? Antibiotics and pain meds?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
“Would he really get arrested if we called the police?”
Ethan doesn’t answer right away. “I’ve never asked too many questions. I didn’t want to know. Uncle Rand is a small-town police chief, and Uncle Rush has been a government operative for years. I know they’re on the good guys’ team. Dad and Uncle Ridge seem like they might be playing for the enemy. But he’s my dad.”
“I-I’m not judging. I just want to know.” Who I’ve lost my heart to. And who might own me for the rest of his life if he makes it through the night.
“That’s all I can tell you. I’m pulling up now.”
I hate to leave Ransom, but I have to unlock the front door for Ethan. “I’m going to disconnect. Give me a minute. And be careful out there!”
“Sure.” The line goes dead.
I scramble on my hands and knees until I find some bandages and accompanying tape on the storeroom floor. I tear my shirt from the wound and secure the bandage in its place. It won’t stop his bleeding, but it should slow the flow while I let Ethan inside.
On shaking legs, I stand and peer at Ransom’s too-pale face, trying not to give in to despair. “You can’t hear me but please, please…live.”
More tears fall.
Suddenly, a sharp rap on the door yanks me from my distress. I rinse my hands in the sink in the surgical room, dash to the front of the office, and turn the key to let Ethan in.
He gives me a quick once-over, raises his brow at my bra and jeans, then looks past me. “Where is he?”
I lock the door again. “Follow me. Anyone out there?”
“No one.” Ethan is right behind me as I lead him through the waiting area, into the surgical room, then to the back hallway.
He stops short. “Fuck. Let’s get him on the table and get his shirt off.”
“Yeah. Then I can see the damage. I know how to stitch him up. The doctor has shown me how to do some emergency care since I took over this weekend shift and…” I’m babbling nervously.
Ethan crouches beside his dad and slips his hands under his prone form. “Get on the other side. We’ll have to lift him.”
That makes me nervous. I’m not strong. I’m a couple inches taller than the average girl, but I’ve always been more curves than muscles. “What if I drop him?”
“You won’t. We have to do this now.”
“You’re right.” I need to keep it together.
On Ransom’s other side, I copy Ethan’s pose. Vaguely, I’m aware of my bra gaping, and Ethan is probably getting a great view of my cleavage, but if he cares about my boobs, it doesn’t show.
“Ready?”
As I’m ever going to be. “Yeah.”
“One. Two. Three!”
Together, we lift. My arms strain as I struggle to stand while bearing even a fraction of Ransom’s weight, but Ethan, bless him, plays football and works out. If his bulging arms and the tendons standing out from his neck are anything to go by, he’s supporting more than half the load.
Together, we get Ransom onto the board, then gingerly roll him onto the metal slab of the cart. As soon as he’s clear of Ethan’s arms, I kick the lever locking the wheels up, and we’re off.
In the surgical room, I flip on all the lights.
Ethan frowns at the bins of medical supplies. “I don’t know what half this shit is.”
This is where I can be useful. “I got it. Get his coat and shirt off. Find all his injuries. I didn’t even get a chance to check his legs or anything before I panicked and called you.”
He nods. “Go.”
I turn to the shelves that contain Dr. Robbins’s day-to-day surgical supplies. Syringes and gloves, check. I pull down vials of antibiotics and pain meds, doing the mental calculations she taught me on dosage per weight. Ransom isn’t an animal, per se, and I’ll have to estimate, but I hope this quick-and-dirty assessment will do in a pinch. Then I find some suture thread and a needle, along with some tubing that should work for a homemade transfusion kit.
It’s a blessing that Dr. Robbins takes on the occasional emergency patient. Along the way, I’ve asked questions. She always answers while she works, like talking through the situation helps her validate her care decisions. I’ve paid attention and memorized the important stuff since I want to be a vet someday.
I hate that all of this is probably way beyond my ability, but what choice do I have if Ransom won’t let me call professionals?
“Done,” Ethan says behind me. “Looks like a wound in his left biceps and a fucking bleeder in his neck, both where bullets grazed him. No penetrative wounds, and nothing on the lower half of his body.”
“O-okay.” It’s good information, but I’m so damn nervous. “Let me wash up, and I’ll get started.”
As I head to the sink and douse my hands in soap, Ethan follows. “What did he say to you? How did this happen?”
I shrug. “There were gunshots outside. I called the police. It got quiet, then he broke in through the back door. He told me not to call nine one one and passed out.”
Ethan frowns. “Any idea why he was here?”
I’d love to believe that Ransom came for me on my birthday, like he promised. But that’s wishful thinking. How would he even know where to find me? I wasn’t working here seven weeks ago when I left his house before, as he put it, he did something we’d both regret.
“No.”
I turn off the faucet with my elbow, dry my hands on a sterile towel, and grab a pair of gloves from the box on the wall. My fingers are shaking. I hold the life of the man I love in my inexperienced hands. If I screw this up and he dies, the guilt will kill me, to say nothing of the grief.
Drawing in a deep breath, I try to get myself together.
Ethan lays a gentle hand on my back. “Just do your best. Neither of us can ask more of you than that.”
Guilt assails me again. Why couldn’t I have fallen for him? It would have been simpler. But once I met Ransom, no other man in the world existed for me.
I have to save his life. I’ll apologize to Ethan for throwing myself at his father later.
“Thanks. I’m going to need your help, though. Scrub up and get some gloves on.”
“Sure thing.”
He moves in front of the sink, and I turn all my focus on Ransom. I’ve never seen him naked from the w
aist up, and if he wasn’t bleeding, I’d spend time appreciating how male he is—bulging shoulders, hair-roughened pecs, ripped abs, lean forearms striated with veins, and those insane notches above his hips that make my belly clench. But now I’m worried he’s lying too still and even paler than the last time I looked.
Tamping down my panic, I set my fingers at his wrist. I wish I had a blood pressure cuff, but I don’t, so I manage a quick check of Ransom’s pulse. It should be stronger…but it’s there.
Relieved, I draw a syringe with some pain meds—I don’t want him waking up in the middle of this—and administer it. I can only hope it will keep him under so I can patch him up. Thankfully, he’s got veins for days. Then I wipe away the blood on his arm and his neck. The latter wound is far more serious. I’ll need to suture it first. I’ve actually done a couple of animals, so it’s not my first rodeo.
Yeah, under Dr. Robbins’s guidance. Tonight, this is all you.
Gulping down my nerves, I bandage the wound on his arm to slow the bleeding and focus on the neck. I clean and disinfect it, spray it with a little lidocaine, then start inserting the needle into his skin. I wince. The feel is almost as horrible as the sterile smell. I don’t mind this on animals, but tonight I’m trying to save the man I fell for against all odds.
“Breathe,” Ethan encourages, now beside me, gloves in place. “You got this.”
I freaking hope so.
After I put ten tiny stitches in his neck as neatly as I know how, I back away with a jagged sigh, then set in again on his arm. Since I’ve managed the hard part, I’m feeling better. It only takes a few stitches to close up the gash in his biceps. I check his pulse again. It’s steady, but still not as strong as I want.
Two minutes later, I’ve managed to bandage his wounds to stem any additional bleeding. It’s tapered off and should stop altogether soon.
Finally, I hold up the syringes and tubing I pulled out for the transfusion. “I don’t know how to do this, but I think he needs blood.”
“I’ve done this part. Leave it to me.”
I’m horrified. “How often does he turn up in this shape?”
Ethan gets quiet again. “The first time, I was fourteen, right after my mother finally decided I was too much like Dad and dropped me on his doorstep for good. Probably the best thing she ever did, honestly. But it was late one night when my uncle Ridge barged through the front door, carrying my dad, who looked all kinds of fucked up. Ridge came equipped with tubing and blood packs he swiped from a bank, but he had me help Dad. It’s happened a couple times since. Not often…but it’s always rough.”
