Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 141464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
“Rooster’s coming with supplies,” Murphy says. “We didn’t know what you might have here.”
He must be talking to Margot. My eyes are closed again.
“I can suture the wound.” She hesitates. “But I don’t have anything to numb the area…”
Because she’s usually stitching up dead people. Who don’t need numbing.
“Help me get him inside the house,” Margot says.
Oh, man, the thought of those three flights of stairs to her apartment is brutal.
“Jigsaw.” Something not so gentle taps my cheek. “Stay with us,” Rock says.
“I’m here.” I blink and Rock’s right in my face.
“Come on. We need to get you inside,” he says. “Get you off your feet. Take a look at that hole in your leg.”
“That sounds great.” I grin at him. “Margot takes my pants off.”
He blows out an irritated breath and slings my arm around his shoulders, locks his arm around my waist, and barks at Murphy to get my other side.
“I got this,” Wrath says from behind us. “Go.”
“Jesus Christ.” Murphy huffs. Another arm wraps around my middle, flings my arm over his shoulder and helps take the pressure off my leg. “You’re heavier than you look.”
“All muscle.” I bear as much weight as I can on my uninjured leg, and we start the long journey across the parking lot.
“We got you,” Rock says. “Come on. Few more steps.”
My eyes open, tracking Margot hurrying ahead of us.
Then headlights sweep around the side of the house.
Shit.
The four of us freeze.
What looks like a station wagon jerks to a stop. The driver’s side door flings open.
“What the fuck happened?” Rooster’s heavy footsteps thunder over the pavement.
I lift my chin. “The fuck you driving?”
On my left, Rock shakes with laughter. “It’s Hope’s car. Told him to take it. Thought it’d attract less attention out here.”
“We need to get him inside,” Margot says. “Get him on the ramp.”
“Where’s he hurt?” Rooster asks, marching alongside us.
“Thigh. Fucker stabbed me in the thigh.” I side-eye Murphy. “I’m kicking Griff and Remy’s ass for not searching that dude better.”
He lets out a strained laugh. “I’m sure you will.”
“Murphy can you…?” Rock’s voice trails off. “Rooster, get his other side.”
Murphy transfers my right arm to Rooster.
I turn my head. “Hey, buddy.”
“Come on. Let’s go,” Rooster coaxes. “I brought all sorts of stuff to make you feel better.”
“Margot’ll make me feel better.”
He chuckles. “I’m sure she will.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Margot says in a strained voice.
Something clicks. Metal on metal screeches.
Finally, we’re inside. I flick my gaze at the long staircase in front of me. “I don’t know guys…”
“Where do you want to stitch him up, Margot?” Rock asks.
Margot bites her lip and stares at me with apologetic eyes. “The best place would really be…”
Realization of what she’s suggesting hits hard.
“No way.” I struggle to free myself from Rock’s iron grip and almost crumple to the floor. “No. You are not putting me on the table where you…no.”
“It’s sterile. The lighting. The right height for me to work and see what I’m doing,” she pleads.
“She’s right.” Rooster starts turning me to the left. “Unless you want to sprawl your big ass on that narrow little couch in there and bleed all over the furniture.”
“Wait.” I try to dig my toes into the carpet, but these two big fuckers keep right on moving. “What about the kitchen counter?”
“We could…” Margot hesitates like she’s considering it. “But it’s not really big enough.”
“Come on.” Rooster grips me tighter, lifting me higher. “Let’s give Margot the best conditions possible to work with. You don’t want her to accidentally stitch your nutsack to your leg.”
Rock’s body jerks with laughter.
“Why do you hate my nuts so much?” I ask Rooster, then turn to Rock. “He wished ticks on my balls the other day.”
“Jesus Christ,” Rock mutters. “Keep moving, chuckles.”
Blinding light sears my eyes as we cross the threshold into the large, white room full of cabinets and four separate metal tables.
“This one,” Margot says. She presses a button. A motor whirs and the table lowers.
“Guys, really don’t—" I protest.
“Got everything,” Murphy says, barreling into the room, holding up a large black duffel bag.
“I grabbed whatever I thought might help from the clubhouse, then stopped at the pharmacy for the rest,” Rooster explains. “Sparky sent a bag of weed gummies and cookies for you.”
“Perfect,” I mutter. The backs of my legs hit something solid.
“Come on, sit down,” Rock encourages, slipping my cut off my shoulders and handing it to Murphy.
Another wave of dizziness threatens to take me out. I sit on the metal table, then lie down, stretching out on my back. The spinny sensation slows and I exhale a long breath. “That’s better.”
“Good.” Rock squeezes my shoulder.
Three grim faces stare down at me like I’m already stretched out in a casket.
“Where’s Margot?” I rasp.
“Right here,” she calls out, though I still can’t see her. “This is good. Thank you, Rooster.”