Page 48 of Doc
“Doc!”I screamed, but the thunder of gunfire overpowered my voice, drowning me out.
He turned anyway, some sixth sense alerting him to new danger.His eyes found the shooter, then tracked the rifle’s aim to where I stood.I saw the realization hit him, saw him calculate distances and odds in the split second before he acted.
“Nova, down!”he shouted, already moving toward me with impossible speed.
I dropped to the ground as Doc threw himself across the space between us.The sniper’s shot cracked through the warehouse, the sound different from the automatic weapons -- sharper, more defined.Doc’s body jerked mid-stride, but he didn’t stop, didn’t falter until he reached me.He collapsed against the shipping container beside me, sliding down until he sat on the concrete, his face ghost-white with shock.
“Doc?”My voice broke as I saw the spreading darkness on his shirt, high on his chest near his uninjured shoulder.
“I’m okay.”Despite his words, I noted his breathing had gone shallow.“Just a scratch.”
It was so far from a scratch that I might have laughed if terror hadn’t frozen my lungs.Blood seeped between his fingers as he pressed his hand against the wound.I dropped to my knees beside him, the evidence bag forgotten as I applied pressure to the injury, my hands shaking so badly I could barely keep them in place.
“You stupid, stubborn man.”My voice broke as tears blurred my vision.“Why would you do that?”
Doc grimaced through his pain, his face pale but his gaze locked on mine with an intensity that stole my breath.“Couldn’t let anything happen to you.Not now.”
Something transcended the chaos around us, the blood warming my hands, the evidence we’d fought so hard to secure.I saw the truth in his eyes -- the same truth that had been growing in my heart since that first kiss in his truck, since every moment he’d stood beside me when the world tried to bury my parents’ story.
“Doc,” I whispered, not knowing what else to say, how to put into words the realization crystallizing inside me.
He brought his bloodied hand up to touch my face, leaving a smear of red across my cheek.“I know.”
Around us, the sounds of fighting suddenly diminished.Tank’s voice boomed through the warehouse, announcing that Wallace was in custody, that his men were surrendering.Club members moved efficiently through the containers, securing weapons, checking for threats.Someone called for a medic, then spotted us huddled against the container.
“Doc’s hit!”a voice shouted.“We need a trauma kit over here!”
I kept pressure on his wound, unwilling to move, to break the connection between us.Doc’s gaze stayed on mine, steady despite the pain that tightened the corners of his mouth.
“You have to be okay.”My voice sounded steadier than I felt.“I’m not losing anyone else I --” The word caught in my throat, too new and fragile to voice.
Doc’s fingers tightened on my arm.“You won’t lose me.Takes more than one bullet to keep me from you.”
Tank appeared beside us, his massive frame blocking out the overhead lights as he kneeled to check Doc’s wound.“Medics are coming,” he said, his gruff voice gentler than I’d heard before.“You hold on, brother.”
I sat back on my heels, allowing Tank to take over the pressure on Doc’s wound while keeping my hand firmly in Doc’s grip.The evidence bag lay forgotten beside me, its contents secured but suddenly less important than the man bleeding before me.I’d found justice for my parents, but I’d found something else -- someone worth living for beyond the vengeance that had driven me for so long.
As club members secured the warehouse and subdued the last of Wallace’s corrupt deputies, I held onto Doc’s hand like it was a lifeline.In a way, it was.He had become my anchor in a storm I’d been fighting alone for too long.And I wasn’t ready to let go.
* * *
Dawn broke over the warehouse in streaks of pale gold and orange, and the blood on the concrete darkened into twisted, abstract patterns.Investigators moved in to photograph and document the scene before crews washed it clean.Two hours had passed since the gunfire stopped.Two hours of paramedics working on Doc and the wounded Prospect, of club members securing the scene, of calls being made to the few law enforcement officials Venom swore weren’t on Wallace’s payroll.I stood outside the warehouse entrance, watching as a convoy of unmarked sedans and police cruisers approached through the morning mist.
“You ready for this?”Tank asked, his massive frame casting a long shadow beside me.
I nodded, my throat too tight for words.After weeks of searching, of piecing together my mother’s investigation, of running and hiding and nearly dying, the moment had finally arrived.Justice would no longer be a phantom I chased through corruption and cover-ups.It would be real, tangible, delivered in the cold light of day.
The first vehicles stopped, and men and women in FBI windbreakers emerged, followed by state police and a small contingent of county deputies.A tall woman with silver-streaked hair approached us, her badge identifying her as Special Agent Brooks.
“Ms.Treemont?”she asked, her gaze assessing but not unkind.“I understand you have evidence regarding a trafficking operation and multiple related crimes, including murder.”
“Yes.Everything we found is here, plus what my mother collected before her death.”
She nodded, gesturing for a forensic team to approach.“We’ll need statements from everyone involved in last night’s… incident.”
Tank stepped forward.“Our club President has already arranged for a lawyer to be present for those statements.”His tone remained respectful but firm.“We’re cooperating fully, but through proper channels.”
Agent Brooks studied him for a moment, then nodded again, apparently recognizing the boundaries being set.“Fair enough.First priority is securing the evidence and the suspects.”
