Page 101 of 12 Months of Mayhem

His lips moved, but the words were barely audible. I leaned closer, straining to catch what he was saying.

“... Insulin...”

Shay’s eyes widened, and she swore under her breath. “He’s diabetic.”

“What do we do?” I asked, panic creeping into my voice.

“Help me get him into the car. We need to get him to the hospital, fast.”

We each hooked an arm under him and hauled him to his feet. He groaned weakly, his legs barely cooperating, but between the two of us, we managed to half-drag, half-carry him to the SUV.

“Back seat,” Shay directed, already pulling the door open.

We got him situated, his head leaning against the window, while Shay switched on the overhead light just to do another check of his vitals.

That was when I saw it.

The club cut he was wearing.

The patch on the front, the same one that sometimes haunted my dreams.

Hell’s Bandits MC.

“You keep looking at that patch like it’s going to bite you,” Mason said, his voice low and teasing as his hand brushed mine where it rested against his chest.

“One day it will, I’m sure. Right in the ass.”

“Calli, come on! We gotta go!” Shay insisted, shoving me toward the driver’s seat before she dived into the back with him.

“How bad is this?” I asked, glancing at Shay in the rearview mirror.

“It’s bad,” she admitted, her fingers pressed to his neck to check his pulse. “But if we get him there fast enough, they can stabilize him. Just drive.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Lock

The fluorescent lights of the hospital room buzzed faintly, a low hum that didn’t do anything to ease the tension in the air. Quill was lying in the bed, looking pale as hell, a stark contrast to his usual self. An IV snaked out of his arm, the machine beside him beeping steadily.

I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned against the wall, my jaw tight. Rune sat in a chair by the window, bouncing his leg, and March stood near the foot of the bed, his face as unreadable as ever.

“What the hell happened, Quill?” I finally asked, my voice sharper than I intended.

Quill blinked up at me, his expression sheepish, like he was a kid caught sneaking cookies before dinner. The door swung open before he could answer, and a doctor stepped in, clipboard in hand. He looked around the room, clearly sizing up the crowd of leather-clad bikers before clearing his throat.

“Mr. Seddon is stable now,” the doctor said, glancing at the chart. “But he had a severe hypoglycemic episode due to missing his insulin. If those young women hadn’t brought him in when they did, we’d be having a very different conversation.”

I straightened, my brows pulling together. “Insulin?”

“Yes,” the doctor confirmed, looking between us. “He’s diabetic.”

“Fuck me,” I snapped, the words coming out harsher than I meant. I turned to Quill, my voice dropping. “You’re diabetic?”

Quill winced, his eyes darting to the doctor like he wished he could disappear. “Yeah... I mean, it’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” Rune echoed, his tone sharp. “You’re lying in a hospital bed because you didn’t have your damn insulin. That’s your idea of not a big deal?”

Quill sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s what I forgot to grab before we left. Dime said if I went back…”

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