Page 2 of Claimed By a King

The man barks numerous orders to his staff, and Stretch and I have no choice but to remove our bloody hands from Rocco’s practically lifeless body as they lift him onto the gurney, and the man straddles him, taking over compressions as they rush him into the hospital.

Still inside the rear of the truck, my shoulders sag as a heavy weight settles over me.

There’s a huge fucking chance that I’ll never speak to Rocco again.

“Gray.” A voice drags my eyes up from the pool of blood I seemed to be transfixed by, and my eyes meet Munroe’s. “You need to get treated too.”

I nod weakly as I glance down at myself, taking stock of my injuries. They didn’t really seem all that important at the time, because Rocco was my top priority. Now though, he’s in the hands of the medical staff here at the hospital, and I guess I should get my gunshot wounds looked at. There’s no way any of us were going to be lucky enough not to at least takeonebullet with the way the Reapers shot up the back of the truck as we got the fuck outta there. We are all bleeding, but luckily, none hit anything vital except for our Prez.

As I struggle to lower myself from the truck, my limbs start to fucking shake and more medical staff come out wearing scrubs and gloves, ready to help us.

“Do you want a wheelchair, sir?” a nurse asks as I start limping in their direction, but I shake my head.

“I’ll fucking walk.”

She nods quickly, her shoulders hunching a little as if she’s scared of me.

I don’t mean to scare her. That’s not my fucking intention, but then again, if the nurse fears us, then maybe she’ll makesure she doesn’t make a fucking mistake while working on us.

Within minutes, the large frames of my battered men fill the ER. They didn’t bother making us wait to be seen, instead making us top priority as the nursing staff start disinfecting wounds, prying out easy to reach bullets, and stitching holes closed.

This isn’t how we usually handle getting shot up. Normally we have our own doc that tends to us, but we knew Rocco’s only chance of surviving, if there is even a chance, was to bring him here to the local hospital.

It’s no surprise to me when the cops turn up, right before those fucking annoying detectives stride through the ER like they own the joint.

“Grayson Black. We meet again.” The female detective smiles like she’s privy to something I’m not, and never in my life have I wanted to reach behind me and pull my gun out and introduce it to her fucking skull more than I do now.

“Detectives.” I grit through clenched teeth as my nurse injects another dose of local anesthetic into my body. This one into my right thigh where she’s about to stitch up my last bullet wound.

I was lucky. Mine were mostly flesh wounds that hurt like a bitch but will heal relatively quickly. Unlike Rocco whose pelvis got blown wide open.

Fuck. Rocco.

“I don’t suppose you’ll tell us who filled your men with bullets?” Detective Caruso asks, and I shrug at him.

“Didn’t see their faces,” I mutter and Detective Nelson rolls her eyes.

“Sure you didn’t. Why don’t you just do yourself and your men a favor and cooperate with us. We can help.”

I scoff, but don’t say anything.

“How about the explosion that ripped a farmhouse to smithereens outside of town?” Detective Caruso asks. “Do you know anything about that?”

Shaking my head, I eye Slasher over Detective Caruso’s shoulder. He’s pacing in front of the nurses’ station where acouple of cops sit, keeping watch. He looks twitchy as fuck, and I wouldn’t put it past him to start shooting anyone that looks at him the wrong fucking way.

“We found members of the Cali Reapers dead on that property,” Detective Nelson continues as if I’m going to just start chatting.

I do love hearing that some Reapers are dead though. That’s satisfying.

“We’ve been advised that Rochus King has been taken into emergency surgery,” Caruso states, glancing at his notepad before he sighs. “Word is it’s not looking hopeful.”

In an instant I’m off the gurney, a fucking needle and thread hanging from my thigh as the nurse scrambles backward and I reach for my gun. The next second, two strong bodies are on either side of me holding me back, as a gruff voice whispers in my ear.

“Let it roll off you, brother.”

Munroe’s voice keeps me in place as the two detectives smirk, just waiting for me to threaten them and give them a reason to take me in.

“I guess that makes you number one now?” the female detective asks, lifting a curious brow up past the rim of her glasses. “I mean. If Mr. King doesn’t survive.”

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