Page 8 of Wrecker

I bared my teeth. “Touch her and lose your fucking hand.”

The guy backed off so fast he tripped over his own boots.Smart move, asshole.

“She’s hurt,” Bodie said, carefully moving to stand next to me. “We need to get her to the hospital.”

“No,” I rasped, my voice scratchy from inhaling all the dust, and the tightness in my chest because Peyton still hadn’t woken up. “Youdon’t.”

His brows drew together. “You can’t keep her from medical?—”

“She’ll get medical,” I grunted. “But not at some random hospital. This is Iron Rogues business.”

That shut him up.

I didn’t know for sure if Peyton had been targeted, but my instincts were rarely, if ever, wrong. Which meant taking her to a hospital might give whoever tried to drop that fucking garage on her another chance to take her out.

A female EMT edged closer. “May I?” she asked softly, motioning to Peyton.

I didn’t like it, but until my people could arrive, Peyton needed to undergo at least a cursory exam. And we needed to take care of her shoulder.

Finally, I nodded and carried Peyton over to an ambulance. Her partner, the young guy who’d tried to take her before, wisely stayed a good distance away.

The female EMT was gentle and professional. Her hands were soft and steady as she checked Peyton’s vitals. Then she examined her more thoroughly, wincing when she got to the bruise.

She looked up a moment later. “She’s stable. Might have some bruised ribs along with that contusion. No signs of internal bleeding, but she needs a more thorough examination. She’s dehydrated and needs fluids.”

“I’ll get her what she needs.”

“She really should be monitored—” the EMT tried again, but I shut her down.

“She will be.” I was already reaching for my phone. “But by someone I trust.”

I called Blade. “Need a favor.”

“You sound like shit. What’s wrong?”

“Got called to a collapsed garage. There was a woman inside, and I pulled her out. Minor injuries for the most part, but she’s severely dehydrated and needs fluids and a full examination.”

“You want me to send a private medic for dehydration?”

“Pretty sure it wasn’t an accident,” I grunted. “Think it was timed to make sure she was inside when the building blew.I want eyes on her who don't have the ability to get around hospital protocols and shit. Not gonna give them another shot at her.”

Blade’s voice sharpened. “Text me your location. I have a guy not far. He’ll bring his rig. Wife’s an ER nurse. I’ll send her to ride with the woman.”

It was the first breath of relief I’d let out since seeing the blast. “Text me when he’s close.”

There was a pause. Then Blade muttered, “Gonna have to let her go with them, Wrecker.”

“Fuck, no,” I snarled.

He sighed impatiently. “Planning on bringing her here on the back of your bike, jackass? Think.”

The bastard was right, and I fucking hated it. I grunted an agreement and hung up. Then I scooped Peyton off the stretcher and held her close, glaring at anyone who looked like they might approach.

Ten minutes later, a blacked-out ambulance roared up the side street. The doc climbed out—a big guy with a calm presence. His wife came around the back with an IV kit already in hand. She gave me a smile as she approached, and I loosened my grip enough to set Peyton softly onto their stretcher. The nurse slid a needle into Peyton’s arm, then patted mine gently.

“You’re doing good,” she murmured, eyes on my girl. “She’s just sleeping now.”

“Don’t want her waking up without me there.”

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