Chapter Thirty-Two #4
I mean, when I agreed to side with Team Velle, I had every inclination that it would turn bloody fairly quick.
There’s too much history here, things I’m not even privy to—all the research on paper could never get you inside what’s actually been going down on this island for ten-plus years.
It was never going to be anything less than a battle, which I was fortunate enough to miss most of, being tied up, bleeding in a dungeon.
Yet it would seem that we’ve ventured into the peak of this war—the part in the movie when the guys like me are most definitely contemplating what led us here…
And how the hell we can get ourselves out of it alive.
Gunfire is popping off just outside, walkies blaring every five seconds, reporting what’s going on to Velle.
Voices are shouting, people hustling around the limited space of this stone structure that’s thankfully just solid enough to be bulletproof.
Loading magazine after magazine with the biggest damn rounds I’ve ever seen, filing weapons out to the men who are fighting the cartel.
We’re at literal war with the cartel right now…
Where even am I??
As scary as it is, I’m no deserter. I won’t be leaving, especially because my services are guaranteed to be needed very soon.
I’m not a medical doctor, but I have enough basic training to help where I can.
Unless someone needs, like, emergency surgery or something. In that case, I’ll be more than useless.
My family is made up of surgeons and oncologists. I’m the odd man out, much to their lifelong chagrin. That said, I’ll use what knowledge I have and serve as the only doctor still alive on this island.
Like it’s some reality competition show. Survivor Island: Doctor Edition.
It’s certainly turned out to be far more nefarious than it sounds.
For right now, I’m just standing by, trying not to flinch at every loud clink of a bullet hitting the wall that separates us from the havoc out there. Gripping Felix’s hand and trying hard not to fracture his bones, since I can’t really fix that either.
“I need to—”
“Absolutely not,” I bark an insistent interruption to what I know my fiancé was about to say. Felix aims pleading doe-eyes up at me, but I’m not having it. “Don’t give me that look. You are absolutely not going out there. Period. End of story.”
“But I can help!” He whines. “I know their weak spots. I’ve—”
“Move!” Someone yells from outside.
Bang!
An explosion rocks the place, and we’re knocked to the ground.
My ears are ringing as I blink through the daze and dust in the air.
I can’t hear shit. Everything is sort of blurry. I think I have shell-shock…
Perfect.
As time catches back up, I blink hard and heavy over the stupor of what was obviously a grenade going off literal feet from where I was standing. Fortunately, the armory is intact, and no one inside is injured.
But those outside… I wouldn’t bet on it.
Grabbing Felix, I hold his face, checking him over while he nods and says, “I’m fine,” though I can barely hear him.
Vague murmurs slowly coming into auditory focus. Mainly, Velle shouting for everyone inside to take cover as he goes for the door. He and Rook wrench it open, and now it’s seriously fucking bedlam.
Peters and Jasper are dragging people inside, hauling two men over to me. And like a reflex, an instinct I don’t even control, I kick into immediate action. Sucking in a breath, I get my patients secured on gurneys and check their wounds.
I don’t know these people, nor do I recognize their faces, so I’m guessing they’re prisoners. One of them isn’t in terrible shape. It seems like he’s just unconscious from the blast, some visible marks in his skin from shrapnel I’ll need to get out.
The other guy, though…
I gulp, reminding myself of who and where I am.
Don’t show emotion. Never show it. Ever.
That’s what they want. It’s how they win.
“Grab those towels,” I command Trevel, who’s serving as my assistant.
My tone is calm, voice steady. On the outside, I’m determined.
But inside, I’m at the brink.
His arm is missing. Blown clean off his body. And the wound is bleeding. A lot, and fast.
“Keep pressure on this.” Covering Trevel’s hands with mine, I show him what to do. “Hard. Do not move your hands until I tell you.”
He nods fast, eyes wide, pupils blown. I imagine I look about the same right now.
“What can we do??” Hancock asks frantically. “Cauterize it, or—”
“No, that’d damage the nerves. He could die,” I say firmly while grabbing supplies to create a tourniquet. “We just have to slow the bleeding and keep it from getting infected.”
I dump a shitload of alcohol on the towels Trevel’s holding and the patient screams.
“It’s okay, shh,” Hancock attempts to comfort the guy.
“What’s his name?” I ask.
“B-benson,” Hancock sniffs. “Luke Benson.”
“Luke, you’re gonna be alright, you hear me?” I speak to him, checking his eyes. “Just hang in there. Stay with us.”
Velle is straight up roaring like a wild animal from somewhere just outside the door, unloading his fury in the form of dozens, maybe hundreds of rounds from his automatic rifle. The gunfire fades into the background while I work, just trying to tune it all out and focus.
I set up an IV for Benson, then make quick work of doing the same for the other guy, who Byron tells me is named Justin Humphrey.
“How can I help?” The new kid, Angel, asks. All round green eyes and fearful conviction.
I’m about to ask him to help get the shrapnel out of Humphrey, but Velle storms inside and barks, “No. Fuck that. You’re not helping with dick. Sit over there and don’t fucking move.”
We all take a moment to share nervous looks. Angel swallows visibly, shifting on his feet.
“Velle, come on…” Byron murmurs.
“Yea, he’s not the enemy,” Trevel adds.
“Right. He’s just involved with the enemy,” Velle snarls, getting in Angel’s face.
As much intimidating size and ferocious energy as Velle has on the kid, Angel doesn’t back down. He just stands still, an inch from Velle’s gnashing teeth, and cocks his head.
“What do you want, John?” Angel asks calmly.
“I want him dead,” Velle hisses, studded eyebrow arching in suspicion. “Is that what you want, pajarito?”
Some mild uncertainty flashes in Angel’s eyes. But he pushes past it, squares his shoulders, and nods. “Yes. It is.”
Velle’s gaze narrows as he looks over the kid’s face. But he eventually offers him a simple nod before retreating, back to the bloodshed.
Angel frees a visible breath, turning to me.
I hand him some forceps. “You got steady hands?”
I’m doing my best here, instructing my assistants on how to help as best we can. But when two more soldiers are dragged in, the sweat breaking out on my forehead tells me I’m a bit overwhelmed.
I don’t want to let them know I’m doubting myself, but this, most certainly, ain’t what I signed up for when I took this mysterious job on this mysterious island, from the mysterious evil man who still hasn’t even shown his face in this war.
Felix is pacing like he’s going out of his mind as Joy rushes over, grabbing him by the arm.
“You think you can take out their flank?” She asks on a pleading breath.
His eyes flit to mine briefly before asking her, “How many?”
“Six or seven.”
He looks to me again, and I’m glaring.
“Felix… No.”
“It’s a cakewalk,” he argues.
“Look at this!” I gesture to the wounded lives I’m attempting to save. “Does this look like a cakewalk to you??”
“They’re not me, Lem,” he keeps going. “Do you know how many of them I’ve killed since this started? Twenty-six. Twenty-fucking-six! That’s only ten less than my victims on the outside! All by myself. No guns, no bombs. Just me.”
“Honestly, slay,” Ren chirps from nearby, and I shoot him a look. “Sorry…”
Byron steps forward. “I’ll cover you.” The group of us gawk at him. “On the bike.”
Velle perks up at that. But he doesn’t actively shut it down.
“Hang on…” Trevel interjects.
“See??” I snap. “It’s not just me who’s worried about his partner getting hurt. It’s dangerous—”
“This is all dangerous!” Felix gasps. “I can’t just sit in here while other people are out there taking the brunt of it. Not when I know that if anyone deserves to be shot at, it’s me.”
I don’t know what to say. I’m fuming, chest heaving aggressively, though I know it’s out of fear more than anything.
I can’t lose him. I won’t.
Not after everything we went through to get back to one another.
I can’t think about what’s going on out there. I have to focus explicitly on what’s happening in here. I have patients to treat or else they’ll die.
And I have a serial killer fiancé who seems hellbent on making sure we never get to actually get married.
“Baby, you understand that I’m not telling you not to go because I think you’re incapable of handling it, right?” I take him by the arm, ushering him aside to get some privacy for the barely sixty seconds I have to make this point.
I think he registers the emotion slipping between my words despite how vehemently I’m trying to keep it in. His eyes soften, and he nods.
“Yes. I understand.” He drapes his palms over my chest. “But just like you’re doing your part, I need to do mine.”
“You’ve done your part, Felix.” I plead with my eyes for him to process what I’m saying. “More than.”
“I know, but if there’s a chance I could do more…” He rubs his eyes beneath his glasses. “I don’t know, Lem, I just… I want this to be over.” He gazes up at me with stormy gray seas in his irises. “I want to finally be free and live with you. I want to… get married.”
His lips quirk into this tiny, fully adorable grin that’s contagious. I find myself grinning too, at the idea of us having a life together. Of attaching myself to this beguiling man; the first person I’ve ever loved.
Putting my ring and last name on him.
He’s right. We have to end this. It’s the only way.
“I want all those things too, baby monster,” I croon, and he chuckles. Cupping his jaw, I brush my thumb over his lower lip before leaning in to kiss it gently. “I don’t want you getting hurt… But I trust you with my life, which means I trust you with your own.”
Turning over my shoulder, I check on my patients. Byron looks up from where he’s helping Trevel, giving us a questioning head-tilt. I simply nod, to which he smirks.
Returning to Felix for one last kiss, I whisper onto his mouth. “Give ‘em hell, sick boy.”
“I always do,” he hums, then winks.
Byron stalks up to Velle’s Harley, readying some supplies and artillery. Trevel is practically pouting, so I take over holding the towels on Benson’s arm, murmuring, “Go.”
“Thank you,” he breathes, rushing to Byron.
I can’t help chuckling. But it falls off fast when the reality of the situation comes racing back.
“I need extra hands,” I call to anyone who can help.
Carson and Luthor rush over, and I give them all jobs.
“Go. We got this,” Luthor says to a visibly distraught Hancock, who can’t stop watching the door, likely for Jasper, who’s out there with Peters.
He nods. “I’ll be back, Hot Rod,” he whispers to Benson, running fingers through the man’s damp hair before jogging away.
Benson’s pretty out of it, anyway. I put some diesel morphine in his drip.
I’m focused on what I’m doing, but I can’t stop glancing at where Felix and Byron are talking, devising a plan. And I’m just hoping with everything in me that it works.
That we can get through this. That I can keep these people alive.
That we can hold on.
Just keep holding on…
Because something tells me this war is far from over.