Page 58 of Hot Soldier's Rescue

“Let’s move out,” he murmured to Elise over his shoulder.

He stood upright and moved out of the alley, walking rapidly down the street. He cleared every doorway aggressively, weapon first. But with each abrupt turn, his shoulder throbbed a little worse, the ice picks of agony shooting a little farther down his arm and across his chest. He had a matter of minutes of useful function left, and then he was finished.

They moved about three blocks from the hotel before he finally turned into the darkest alley he could find.

“I’m done,” he gasped as he slid down the wall.

“Idiot,” Elise whispered angrily as she squatted beside him. She efficiently tore his shirt clear of his shoulder and reached behind him to check for an exit wound. “The bullet’s still in there. You need surgery to remove it and stop the bleeding, not to mention to repair the joint.”

“You offering to do all that?” he gritted out.

She snorted and didn’t bother to answer. “Lean forward so I can take off your shirt.”

He complied with a groan. She was relieved to see he was wearing a bulletproof vest, but then spotted at least four big splats on the mesh fabric where bullets had impacted it. Shuddering at how close he’d come to dying more than once already, she tore off a strip from the bottom of the shirt, then wadded up the rest of it and jammed it against the entry wound. Her face spun and lights danced in his eyes as the worst pain he’d ever experienced ripped through him.

“Stay with me,” she bit out as she bound the impromptu bandage in place. “You’re too big for me to move if you pass out.”

He fought to hang on to consciousness and managed to pant, “Talk to me.”

She nodded. “You’re bleeding badly, but haven’t lost enough blood to die, yet. I’ve seen worse, but we need to get you medical care ASAP. Can you walk?”

“Don’t know.”

“Well, give it a try.” She hoisted him under his good shoulder, and with her help he managed to haul himself to his feet. He swayed violently.

“Lean against the wall for a minute until you get your balance.”

Finally, the world stopped spinning too badly and he nodded at her.

“Okay. Let’s go, Rambo. Where do you suppose the nearest hospital is?”

“No hospital,” he rasped.

She stared up at him in disbelief. “You need a hospital. You may die if you don’t get that treated.”

“You do it.”

“I’m not qualified to deal with that. You’ve been shot.”

He unclenched his teeth enough to mumble, “You’ve seen gunshots in New York, I bet.”

“This is a bad one, Drago. You need a pro.”

He shook his head resolutely.

“I’m not arguing with you,” she announced.

“Good.” He took a step and then stopped. “Gun.”

She frowned, then looked around on the ground. Impatiently, she picked up the weapon he’d stolen and flung the strap over her shoulder. “Where to?”

“Hotel.”

“I’m not going back there!” she exclaimed.

“We need wheels.”

“Oh. Of course. The Jeep. Then I can drive you to a hospital. Good idea.”

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