Page 47 of Doc
Chapter Thirteen
Nova
Bullets tore through the air above my head, splintering the wooden crate I’d ducked behind.The evidence bag clutched against my chest felt like the most precious thing in the world -- proof of my parents’ murder, the corruption that had taken their lives, the trafficking ring they’d died exposing.Doc crouched beside me, his breathing steady despite the chaos, his injured arm held close to his body as he peered around our cover.Blood darkened his sleeve where Wallace’s bullet had grazed him at the cabin, but he showed no sign of slowing down.
“Stay low.”Doc’s voice remained even against the storm of gunfire.“When I say move, we head for that red container.Tank’s team is providing cover.”
I nodded, adrenaline making my heart hammer against my ribs.My ankle throbbed inside the brace, reminding me I wasn’t at full speed.Doc must have read it on my face, his eyes softening for just a moment before the professional mask returned.
“I won’t let you fall behind,” he promised.
The Prospect who’d been guarding the door returned fire, the sound deafening in the cavernous space.Somewhere in the maze of shipping containers, I could hear Tank shouting orders, followed by another burst of gunfire.
“Now!”Doc barked, grabbing my arm and pulling me up.
We sprinted across the open space, my injured ankle screaming in protest with each step.Doc half-dragged me, his body partially shielding mine as bullets pinged off metal containers around us.The red shipping container loomed ahead, promising momentary safety.We slammed against it, breathing hard, just as another volley of shots ripped through the space we’d occupied seconds before.
“You okay?”Doc’s gaze scanned me for injuries.
“Fine.”Although, my ankle felt like it was on fire.“The evidence is safe.”
Doc nodded, relief flashing across his features before his attention snapped toward a sound to our left.A club member -- one of the Prospects from the perimeter team -- staggered into view, clutching his side where dark blood spread across his shirt.He managed two more steps before collapsing face-first onto the concrete floor.
“Shit.”Doc took off toward the fallen man despite the ongoing gunfire.
I wanted to scream at him to stay in cover, but my voice caught in my throat as I watched him army-crawl to the Prospect’s side.Even with bullets flying and his own injury, Doc’s movements were precise, efficient.He reached the Prospect and dragged him behind a stack of pallets, immediately checking for a pulse.
“How bad?”I called, clutching the evidence bag tighter.
“Through and through.Missed anything vital.”Doc’s voice was clinical, his hands already working to stabilize the wound with supplies from the small kit he carried.“He’ll live.”
A fresh burst of gunfire forced me deeper into the shadow of the container.The Prospect guarding me returned fire, his face tense with concentration.Through gaps in the containers, I caught glimpses of other club members advancing, pushing Wallace’s men back toward the loading bay.Tank’s massive form appeared briefly, as he directed two brothers with military precision.
Doc finished bandaging the wounded Prospect, leaving him hidden behind the pallets as he crawled back to our position.His face was tight with pain, his previously injured arm clearly bothering him more than he let on.
“They’re trying to flank us.”He nodded toward a catwalk that ran along the far wall.“We need to move before --”
His words cut off as a man stepped into view at the end of our row -- not a club member, but a tall, broad-shouldered enforcer in tactical gear.Light glinted off the semi-automatic weapon in his hands as he spotted us.
“Down!”Doc shouted, pushing me flat against the floor as gunfire erupted.
The Prospect guarding us fired back, driving the enforcer into cover.The advantage vanished.Gunfire pinned us down, trapping us between the shooter at the end of the row and the open space behind us.
“We need to split up,” Doc said, his mouth close to my ear.
“No,” I protested, grabbing his sleeve.“We stay together.”
The look he gave me was equal parts frustration and something softer that made my chest ache.“Nova --”
More gunfire interrupted him, closer this time.The enforcer was advancing, using the shipping containers as cover.Through the chaos, I heard Tank’s voice on the comms, ordering a team to our position.Help was coming, but not fast enough.
“When I create a distraction, you run for that blue container,” Doc instructed, ignoring my protest.“Tank’s team will meet you there.”
Before I could argue, he was moving, darting from our cover to a position where he could draw the enforcer’s attention.The man took the bait, his weapon swinging toward Doc who fired two precise shots in return.The enforcer ducked, giving me the window I needed.I sprinted for the blue container, my ankle a distant agony as survival instinct took over.
I reached the container, pressing my back against its cool metal surface.The evidence bag felt heavy against my chest, its contents the reason for all this bloodshed.I peered around the edge, trying to locate Doc through the chaos of the firefight.He was moving between cover positions, leading the enforcer away from me, drawing danger to himself.Somewhere along the way, I’d lost track of the Prospect.
That’s when I saw it -- movement on the catwalk above.A second shooter, rifle braced against the metal railing, taking aim at the space below.At me.
