Page 36 of Volt
He finally cracks a smile. “Fuck you, man. The guy got the drop on me.”
“Seems like it happens a lot.”
“Seriously, go fuck yourself.”
We drive off, laughing together like idiots. It’s a pressure release valve, slowly bleeding out the tension in our bodies, rather than because either of us think what just happened is funny. And as I look at Zavala’s house, starting to dwindle in the distance, the feeling of just how not funny this really is settles down over my shoulders.
“We are so fucked,” I mutter.
Chapter Fifteen
Volt
“Well, what in the fuck did you bring them back here for?” Doc practically shouts.
“What did you want us to do? Leave them there?” I fire back.
Not knowing what else to do after the attack, we called Doc on the way back from Zavala’s and asked him to meet us at the clubhouse. Now, he and Cosmo are standing there, staring into the van looking at the bodies of Zavala’s guys. Doc’s face is pinched, obviously pissed off. Cosmo has a more thoughtful look on his face, but it’s not too hard to see that he’s concerned. Adam and I share a look. We cleaned up as well as we could on the drive back, but both of us are still bruised and bloodied.
“We’re fine, by the way,” I snap. “Thanks for asking.”
Doc and Cosmo turn to us as one, and they both frown. “Sorry,” Doc says. “Come on, let me get you guys patched up. We’ll figure out what to do with these two.”
I step forward and close the van, locking it up then follow them into the small office Prophet had built for Doc. It serves as our de facto medical center. When we first started to tangle with Miguel Zavala and his guys, it became obvious we were going to need a place to go get ourselves patched up. Doc was a field medic in Prophet’s unit back when they served together and now, he does the honors of stitching up our wounds.
Anything short of major surgery is done here—though he’s performed a few minor procedures. It’s why Prophet ordered this place built in the first place. As our war with the first Zavala was raging, we were taking more bullet wounds. And since those are required to be reported if you go to a hospital and our clubhouse isn’t exactly a sterile environment, Doc insisted on having a place that was clean and antiseptic to pull the lead out of us. Prophet had agreed, and a few weeks later, this prefab operating theater was thrown up on our compound. It’s just like the sort of places that served as medic tents overseas.
Doc flips on the big fluorescent overheads, and I cringe at the astringent smell in the air. It’s a horrible odor, but Doc is good about keeping his office clean. I take a seat as Adam climbs up on the table. He’s got a gash on the side of his head that needs a few stitches to close. Cosmo leans against the far wall next to some cabinets with various medicines in it and watches silently. Our Road Captain is usually pretty boisterous and outgoing so seeing him quiet and subdued is a little worrisome.
Doc goes to the sink and washes his hands then snaps on a pair of latex gloves. He grabs some swabs, bottles, and supplies from a cabinet, setting them all down on a tray. He walks over to where Adam is sitting and sets the tray down on a rolling cart next to the exam table he’s sitting on. He pours a disinfectant onto a pad then turns to Adam.
“How’d they get the drop on you guys?” Doc asks as he cleans Adam’s wounds.
“I have no idea. I never heard them,” he replies. “I’m talking to Volt one minute and the next, the side door flies open and I’m getting dragged out and beaten.”
Doc’s eyes flip to me. “You didn’t see or hear anything?”
“If I had, we wouldn’t be sitting here right now,” I snipe. “These guys were good. I’m guessin’ they’re ex-military. We got lucky.”
“That tracks,” Cosmo finally says. “One of them is white, the other black. This Zavala isn’t just hiring Mexican sicarios. Looks like he’s hiring private contractors.”
“Which is a can of worms we didn’t need to open,” Doc says as he leans close to Adam, slipping the needle through his skin.
“So, what? It would have been better to let them put a couple of rounds in us?” I snap.
“Easy, kid,” Cosmo rumbles.
Doc sighs but doesn’t say anything for a few minutes as he works the needle and thread quickly and efficiently, stitching Adam’s wound in no time flat. He clips the thread and ties it off then sets his instruments down and looks over at me.
“That’s not what I’m saying,” Doc says. “I’m only saying that private contractors are a wild card we don’t need right now. It’s not your fault. It is what it is, and we’ll deal with it. It’s just a complication. That’s all I was saying.”
Adam hops down from the table, and Doc waves me over. He looks exhausted, and I don’t know if it’s the mantle of leadership weighing him down or planning a war. Whatever’s going on, it’s taking a toll on him. I can see it.
“I’m fine,” I say. “Just a couple of bumps and bruises.”
“Your nose is busted,” Doc says. “Get over here and let me set it, or you’re going to look like that ugly bastard the rest of your life.”
He motions to Cosmo who gives him the finger and a smile. I laugh softly and get up and take a seat on the table. Doc puts a thumb on either side of my nose and leans close to me.
