Page 89 of Awry
Rath scrubs a hand over his face.“Did Grinder get anything out of the unaffiliated he brought in before I called him back out?”
“Reck interrupted.”
“What?”Rath snaps.
“He’s in there with them right —”
Rath tries to stand up.Doc — in a show of impressive strength — manages to pin him on the stool with her free hand on his unwounded shoulder.Then, before he can knock her off him, she yanks the bullet out.
He roars in pain, clenching his hands into fists and pressing them to his knees.Instead of punching her, I assume.
Doc presses a wad of gauze over the now-bleeding bullet wound.
Then Presh is off the couch and shoving Doc back a few steps, to step between her and Rath with a shout.“What is wrong with you?!”
Doc, still holding the bloody bullet in tweezers in one hand and the bloody gauze in the other, blinks down at Presh.“He’s had that bullet in him for over a day!He’d begun healing around it —”
“So?!”Presh fiercely snatches the wad of gauze from Doc, then gently presses it against Rath’s shoulder.She doesn’t take her gaze off the medic, keeping her body between Doc and Rath.The purple underlying her blue eyes brightens.“He deserves any extra pain you can dish out while pretending to help heal him?”
Doc pales, glancing between all three of us before dropping her gaze to Rath’s shoulder.
“It’s okay, Precious,” Rath says, smoothing a hand down Presh’s spine, then pulling her into a loose hug against his undamaged shoulder.She dabs at his wound with the gauze.The bleeding has stopped.“Doc knows I’m resistant to painkillers.Or … local anesthetic.”
“Did you use any?”Presh demands of Doc.“Did you even try?”
Doc swallows, then stiffly steps over to her med kit and pulls out a small plastic bag.She drops the bullet in the bag and seals it, setting it next to my main keyboard so I can scan it before handing it over to be processed for evidence.Or rather, to gather dust on a shelf somewhere because we’ve already got the shooter, and there’s no reason to involve the local police.They keep their jurisdiction tightly focused in club territory — as in, focused away from club business as much as possible.
Doc’s hand is shaking almost imperceptibly.“You’re right, Presh.Though I know the levels …” She clears her throat.I see her glance over at the picture of Zaya.She glances away just as quickly.
Doc isn’t an idiot.Rath has pissed her off more than once — mostly with his utter indifference and after she’s had a few essence-laced drinks.But I’ve never seen her less than professional when acting as club medic.So today is different somehow.
Because Rath has actually hurt her?Or, more likely, is in the continual process of hurting her?
Maybe promises I don’t know about have been made between them, and are in the process of being broken?
Doc reaches for the items she’s already set out on the edge of my workstation.More gauze and butterfly sutures.She doesn’t look up as she speaks.“I can give you some —”
“I’m fine,” Rath says, his tone even as he continues to rub Presh’s back gently.“I’m fine,” he repeats to our little sister.
Presh doesn’t take her gaze off Doc.Her purple-tinted, deep-blue, narrow-eyed gaze.And I wonder whether the purple is what’s causing Doc’s hand to shake, rather than any remorse.
We three brothers are used to gazing into purple eyes with awe rather than fear.But the awry — even one just slowly awakening — scare most people, even rare shifters like Doc.Most people can go an entire lifetime without meeting a purple-eyed essence-wielder, with only stories — fantastical, miraculous, or terrifying — on which to form their opinions.
“Why aren’t we seeing a feed to the interrogation room?”Rath asks, scanning all my monitors.He ignores Doc as she crosses around — skirting the opposite side from Presh — to clean the wound and bandage his shoulder.Presh begrudgingly allows the medic to tend to our brother, though she doesn’t step out of Rath’s loose embrace.The slow creep of the black veins radiating from the bullet wound has lessened already.
I tap a couple of keys, opening the fuzzed-out feed to the interrogation room on my left monitor.
“What the fuck?”Rath snarls quietly.
“He’s got a black box.”
More Authority tech being used for non-Authority business.Reck is walking a very fine line— or rather, stumbling all over a very fine line— even when factored against the Authority’s usual morally ambiguous standards.A black box is a generic term for an essence-wired device that can be used for … well, less-than-legal things.It does everything Reck’s personal device can’t, including knocking out all vid feeds and comms lines in a localized area.
I have a feeling that the box wouldn’t do a thing against Zaya’s brilliant bit of essence-wrought tech masquerading as a regular high-tech phone.But I know that the only reason Reck’s box isn’t currently fucking with my own tech is because that tech is in a room I personally shielded with enough iron and steel to put a bank vault to shame.
“He has no fucking jurisdiction here,” Rath says.
“Everyone knows it but him.”
