Page 25 of Doc
“What the hell are you doing?”I demanded, even as relief that she wasn’t hit warred with fury at her recklessness.
“Helping.”Her gaze met mine with a stubbornness I was coming to recognize.“Tell me what to do.”
There wasn’t time to argue.Another brother cried out as he took a hit, collapsing against the bar.“Keep pressure there,” I directed Nova before moving to the new casualty, sliding through broken glass and spilled beer to reach him.
The fight intensified around us, but Nova and I worked in a strange bubble of focus, moving from wounded to wounded.Her hands were steady as she followed my instructions, passing supplies and holding pressure bandages while I dealt with the more complex injuries.Blood coated her small fingers, but she never flinched, never hesitated.
“They’re retreating!”someone shouted after what felt like hours but was probably only minutes.“Saint and the others are driving them back!”
The gunfire gradually tapered off, replaced by the roar of motorcycles as the attackers fled.I didn’t slow my pace, continuing to work on a brother with a chest wound that bubbled with each breath -- a pneumothorax that needed immediate treatment.
“Need a chest tube,” I said, more to myself than anyone else.
Nova appeared at my side with exactly that, pulled from the medical bag I’d abandoned in the heat of battle.“This?”she asked, holding up the sterile package.
I nodded, impressed despite the dire circumstances.She’d either guessed correctly or knew enough about medicine to identify what I needed.Either way, she’d just saved precious seconds that might keep this man alive.
As I worked, I became aware of Savior standing over us, watching as Nova assisted me with the makeshift surgery.Blood streaked her face where she’d pushed hair from her eyes with stained hands.Crimson stains soaked through her T-shirt in several places.But her eyes remained clear, focused, as steady as any combat medic I’d served with in Afghanistan.
When the tube was in and the brother stabilized, I finally looked up to meet the President’s gaze.His face was unreadable, but his gaze moved between Nova and me with new assessment.
Nova didn’t flinch under his scrutiny.She stood, her chin lifting in that defiant way that had drawn me to her from the start.
“Still think I should leave?”Blood dripped from her fingertips onto the floor, joining the growing puddles beneath our feet.
Savior studied her for a long moment, taking in the wounded she’d helped stabilize, the brothers who might have bled out without her assistance.
“I think,” he said finally, “we need to talk.”
I rose to stand beside Nova, my hand finding the small of her back -- a gesture of support, of unity.Whatever came next, we would face it together.Because you couldn’t fight some battles alone, and some warriors came in unexpected packages.
Nova Treemont might have been Mary-Jane’s daughter, Bats’ niece, but in that moment, covered in the blood of his brothers, she became something more.
She became a Reaper.
Chapter Seven
Nova
The clubhouse reeked of blood and antiseptic, a harsh reminder of yesterday’s violence.I flexed my fingers.They felt raw after I’d scrubbed them multiple times to remove the dried blood.The sounds of the Blood Pagans’ attack echoed in my head -- gunshots, breaking glass, men’s screams.I’d slept maybe two hours, curled up on a cot in Doc’s medical room, jumping at every creak and shadow.But morning brought clarity, if not peace.They wanted me gone.And after what happened, I couldn’t blame them.
At first, I thought I’d earned my spot here and would stay.Then I’d thought about everything all night long.I understood why Savior worried about my presence here.My actions had injured people, had nearly killed them.If I hadn’t come here, if I hadn’t dug into my mother’s last investigation, none of this would have happened.
I picked my way through the devastated main room.Overturned tables created a makeshift battlefield, bloodstained bandages littered the floor, and the sharp smell of gunpowder lingered beneath the bleach someone had used to mop up the worst of the blood.A Prospect swept broken glass into a neat pile, his movements mechanical, eyes hollow from the night’s horrors.Another patched member sat at the bar, arm freshly bandaged, draining a whiskey glass despite the early hour.His gaze followed me, not hostile but wary, like I was a loaded gun that might go off again at any moment.
Honestly, I couldn’t even feel offended.He had every right to see me that way.
Doc emerged from his medical room, dark circles under his eyes making the blue even more striking.He’d changed his blood-soaked shirt for a clean one, but exhaustion hung on him like a physical weight.Our gazes met across the room, and something passed between us -- a current of understanding, of shared trauma.He’d been up all night treating the wounded, and I’d stayed by his side, handing him instruments, holding pressure on wounds, doing whatever I could to help.
“President wants us,” he said quietly as he reached me.“Church.”
I nodded, swallowing hard.This was it, then.The reckoning I’d known was coming.
We walked side by side down the hallway toward the chapel, close enough that our arms nearly touched but not quite.Doc’s presence beside me felt like both armor and vulnerability -- his support gave me strength, but my feelings for him had created a complication neither of us had expected when I’d first walked into this clubhouse.
The heavy wooden door stood open.Inside, Savior sat at the head of the table, his weathered face grim beneath his salt-and-pepper beard.Saint occupied the VP chair to his right, while Tempest, the Sergeant-at-Arms whose confrontation with Doc I’d overheard yesterday, cracked his knuckles at Savior’s left.The sound echoed in the quiet room like small bones breaking.
“Come in.”Savior’s voice remained neutral but carried the weight of authority that made my spine straighten automatically.“Close the door.”
