Page 32 of Knockout Queen

Oscar’s grip tightens on my leg, but I pat his hand, letting him know it’s okay. Of course, I want to go in with Johnny. If Mag doesn’t want the others in there, it must be for a good reason.

“We’ll wait outside,” Brawler says. He gives me a nod, and I’m thankful he didn’t have to do anything to recover Johnny while we were at the track. Mag and his gun did all the work. Surprisingly, there weren’t a lot of people there to stop us from recovering him. Either out of arrogance or just plain dumbassery, I’m not sure. Either way, we used it to our advantage.

Oscar pushes the door open. Helping me crawl over him, he brushes a kiss against my cheek as I go. Mag struggles to get Johnny out of the back seat, so I lend him a hand as soon as I’m out. Johnny comes to a standing position, and the movement wakes him. He squeezes my arm, giving me a half-smile that warms my heart. I’ve seen his full smiles, the peek of dimples that come out when he’s actually trying to be charming. But this half-smile is special. A smile in the face of adversity. A big fuck you to the world. They tried to take us out, but we’re fine. We’re good. We’re all still standing, and that’s what matters.

“We’ll be quick,” Mag says, offering up the info to the guys in the car. He catches all their gazes. “I trust this guy. Everything will be fine.”

I don’t know if what he says will actually make a difference to the guys, but when I look in the back seat, I can tell it does. Concern is still etched on their faces, but it’s not as prominent.

Johnny slides his arm around my shoulders. Mag and I help him up the front sidewalk, climb the stairs, and then Mag knocks on the door. An older man answers. As soon as he sees Johnny, his frown deepens until predominant creases line the edges of his mouth.

He opens the door wide to let us in. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Gunshot,” I say.

The white-haired guy tsks, making sure to catch Johnny’s gaze. “I think you’re on to your seventh life, Friend.”

Johnny chuckles dreamily as we follow the doctor into a backroom. Oddly enough, past a normal kitchen and bathroom, a room to the right holds everything you see at a regular doctor’s office. Sterile bed. That weird paper that always covers it. Mag and I help Johnny onto it, and the doctor immediately finds the source of all the blood. He takes scissors, cutting through Johnny’s clothes so he can get a better look without disturbing the wound. He doesn’t ask questions. He just treats him, which is probably why Magnum was okay with bringing him here.

The doctor gives him a shot in the side of what I assume is a numbing agent. The doctor’s not much for talking, but that’s fine with me as long as he’s working. He grabs a pair of forceps inside a nearby drawer and digs out the bullet. Johnny’s knuckles turn white against the table.

Blood oozes from the wound, and Johnny’s doctor uses gauze to wipe it away. It’s obvious it’s an old wound, and I wonder why he hasn’t chastised us for not bringing him here sooner. Though, I suppose since he knows Johnny, he also knows anything can happen in the Crew and there are a million reasons why he wouldn’t have been able to come in right away.

I try not to look at the fresh blood coating Johnny’s skin. Not that the sight of blood makes me queasy, it’s just the fact that it’s Johnny’s blood. From a gunshot wound that happened days ago. The possibilities of what could’ve happened are endless, and I don’t want to think about it. Not to mention I witnessed actual footage of the fuckers who had him messing with it. Making it worse. Torturing him.

It makes sense that the Crew would have a doctor like this that they would trust to come to and have him not ask any questions. If we’d have taken Johnny to a hospital, it’s not as if they wouldn’t have figured out there was a bullet inside him. That would open up too many questions. Questions we’ve tried so hard to stay away from.

“It’ll be sore for a while,” the guy finally says.

When I peek back, he’s stitching Johnny up, and this part, I don’t mind watching.

“You didn’t hit anything too important,” the old doctor muses “Lucky.”

I glance up to meet Johnny’s gaze. We are, in fact, lucky. Very, very lucky. He’s finally back with us.

When will that luck run out though? We’re already pushing the cosmic limits of what’s possible. You can only throw yourself into the fire so many times without expecting to get burned.

Johnny reaches for me, more coherent now. I put my hand solidly in his, and he slides off the table as soon as he’s stitched up fully. “I appreciate it, Doc. I’ll wire you the money as soon as I get someplace safe.”

He nods, then he finally looks over at me as if he’s just realized I’m here with them. He looks me up and down, discerning without judgment. I’m sure this guy has seen it all.

“This is...my Kyla,” Johnny says, as if he’s unsure of what to label me as. Magnum shuffles from foot-to-foot beside us. He’s there with a steadying hand under Johnny’s bicep. Miraculously, it didn’t take that long to fish out the bullet and stitch him up.

I like his words. I’m his Kyla. Do we need more labels than that? Because I am his, and he’s mine.

“Anyone else?” Doc asks, wiggling his bloody fingers in the air like he’s ready to take on his next patient.

Mag declines and gives the doc a firm handshake. Then, we head back to the car again. Brawler and Oscar scramble out of the car and into the dark night as soon as they see us walk out. Johnny grimaces at having to walk even though Mag and I are taking the brunt of his weight. At the end of the sidewalk, Johnny plants his feet, and Magnum and I stop next to him. We all stand there looking at one another. Johnny looks worse for wear. He’s in days old clothes where we’ve had a chance to freshen up.

He swallows. “You guys came for me?” The way he asks it is almost accusatory, disbelief coloring his words.

What did he think we were going to do? “We didn’t know where you were. We would’ve come for you sooner,” I tell him.

He squeezes me lightly, but I get the feeling it’s taking a lot out of him to do and say all of this. Johnny Marx isn’t one to show weakness though.

“They cold-cocked me,” Brawler says, shaking his head. “I didn’t even see them. They came out of nowhere.”

Johnny peers at him, almost distrusting. Before I can step in and say anything, though, Johnny says, “I know. We were both worried about Kyla.”

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