Chapter 41
Forty-One
Wesley
“Get her clothes off!” I bark as Ledger carries Blair down into the basement.
Blair hasn’t moved.
Hasn’t opened her eyes.
Her breathing is shallow and uneven.
And her pulse—the one I kept my finger on the entire ride back to the cabin—is nearly nonexistent. Terror makes my movements jerky as I force myself to move and focus on an immediate task.
Rather than follow Ledger, Santi, and Rhett downstairs, I head toward the kitchen sink and turn it onto its hottest setting.
One of us needs to be sanitized before cleaning up Blair.
The water burns my hands as I scrub them clean with soap. When I’m done, I fill a large bowl up with hot water and grab a clean dish rag from under the sink. I start to step away but then decide to grab a few more rags.
We’re going to need them.
I hurry down the hall and then down the stairs into the basement. Without stopping I head into the back room.
Blair’s laid out on the table. Santi is in the process of cutting off her shirt while Ledger is opening the first aid kit and laying everything out.
“Stop touching everything,” I snap, shouldering Ledger out of the way. “You’re contaminating it. Go grab whatever else we’ll need and let me handle this.”
Ledger shoots me a look that unnerves me as he stumbles back.
There’s no humanity in those eyes.
It’s like staring into Anchor’s, except, right now, Ledger’s green ones are far darker and promise to unleash death and destruction unlike the world has ever known. My friend is holding on by a thread.
The worst part about it?
So, am I.
We can’t lose Blair because if she’s goes, our sanity and soul go too. Without either, the apocalypse will begin—I’m certain of that. My heart is thundering in my chest as it slowly begins to break apart piece by piece the longer Blair remains unconscious.
“I’m ready to fix her up. If you want to help, scrub up,” I snap at him when Ledger hesitates. “Otherwise, go make yourself useful.”
So distracted, I didn’t realize Rhett was in the main section of the basement until he comes hurrying in with an armful of metal poles and pieces.
“I don’t know how to set this up!” he says, anxiously.
“What is it?” I ask.
Ledger whirls around and takes the pieces from Rhett. With a growl he replies, “It’s an IV stand. Rhett, go grab the oxygen tank.”
Rhett’s already moving, hurrying back out of the room. Just as he disappears, Santi steps back.
“Clothes are off.” He swallows then proceeds to tick off the wounds he’d seen. “She’s got two major bullet wounds. One on her upper chest and one in her calf. I also felt a bump on her head when I lifted it. Looks like a minor scratch on her ear, too. Bruising is everywhere.”
My eyes flicker over her bruised and bloody body. Fuck… We need to clean her up, disinfect all the open wounds, patch the worst of them up, and somehow keep her heart still beating. The fact that she’s alive with how much blood loss there must’ve been so far is a small miracle.
“Someone needs to scrub up; I’m going to need help stopping the blood flow. Santi—”
Santi darts out of the room.
“On it!” he calls out behind him.
Ledger pieces together the large IV stand as I pull out the tourniquet from the first aid kit and get to work cutting off the blood flow to Blair’s leg.
None of us are medics.
While Ledger and I have some idea on how to help in an emergency situation, I try not to think about how out of our league we are. Blair could use some real medical assistance right now but there’s a reason no one brought up taking her to a hospital.
Our woman doesn’t exist in databases. Bringing her to a hospital will inevitably lead to questions we can’t answer.
With a house that’s gone up in flames and bodies littering the woods within the city of Caddawalk, there’s no doubt the doctors and nurses at Caddawalk General Hospital would deduce that Blair was somehow involved in that mess.
Especially given her injuries. What if the authorities take her away from us if the hospital did manage to save Blair?
The thought is too agonizing to consider, and I know that’s why none of us have the heart to bring it up.
A few minutes later, Blair is on oxygen, has an IV drip going with saline fluids seeping into her veins.
I’ve begun to patch her up while Santi and Ledger wipe the blood from Blair’s body.
When they’re done, Ledger grabs a sheet to throw over most of her to keep her warm.
Upstairs, I can hear the faint sound of the water running as Rhett runs lukewarm water over the frozen plasma Ledger keeps on hand that we’ll need.
“I need to set up a transfusion,” Ledger tells me. “I’m O negative, it’ll be compatible with her AB blood.”
Santi makes a face. “AB blood—that’s, like, the hardest to give a transfusion to, right?” At Ledger’s tight nod, Santi groans. “Damn it! I don’t remember what blood type I am. I don’t know if I can donate.”
“We’ll make what we have work,” Ledger growls out but I can see the trepidation and worry in his eyes.
“Need help setting it up?” Santi asks.
Ledger opens his mouth, most likely to object, but I shoot him a dark look. “Let Santi help.”
If he doesn’t, Santi is going to anxiously pace around this room and it’ll drive me crazy. I need to focus and Santi needs to be given a task. He doesn’t do “standing still and patiently waiting”. Ledger must have come to the same conclusion because he heaves a sigh before giving Santi a tight nod.
“Fine. Come here.”
As those two get to work I carefully work the bullet lodged in Blair’s leg out. So focused on Blair’s leg, which is bleeding the most, I don’t notice someone else entering the room.
One minute I’m alone at the table.
In the next, Blair’s father is there, peering over my shoulder. It’s like a ghost clinging to me—his presence cold and uncomfortable. The hairs on the back of my neck and down my arms rise. At the same time, my body stiffens—ready to stand my ground should he decide I’m a threat to his daughter.
I glance up for just a second, prepared to warn him to give me space, but the expression on his face gives me pause.
The world’s most infamous hitman, who lacks morals and feels nothing for the world he floats through, has broken. His hardened exterior has cracked—exposing the raw, bottomless anguish.
What I’m witnessing is the heartbreak of a father.
God, I know that feeling all too well.
The words I want to fling at him die on my tongue. The man is suffering enough; he doesn’t need me to bark at him even though this mess is partially his fault.
“Blair Bear…” He reaches out to touch her foot, but a deep snarl grumbles through my chest in warning.
“Don’t fucking touch her if you haven’t washed your hands,” I warn behind clenched teeth. “We’re already going to have a tough go with infections—don’t make her recovery harder.”
I expect him to threaten me, glare, or simply pull out his gun and shoot me.
Instead, Anchor simply nods and drops his hand to his side.
“Save her… please,” he rasps.
He spares the pictures of his daughter on the wall a glance but if he has any feelings about them, he says nothing. His gaze tears away from them to stare back down at Blair.
“We’re not going to lose her,” Ledger says stiffly as Santi gingerly takes Blair’s arm to stab her with the butterfly needle. “But we’re going to need more blood. More than what I can spare and what I have stored.”
Anchor nods again. “You know we’re a match. Just tell me when.”
“We’ll have to rotate,” Ledger explains. “There was… a lot on the ground when I found her. If we’re going to make up for what she lost, we’ll be doing this for a while.”
A shiver rattles Anchor’s frame.
I mimic it.
None of us are going to lose Blair.
Not if we can help it.