Chapter 38
Zeus
I would've driven this fucking ambulance to the hospital myself if someone had refused to let me inside.
This whole fucking situation is my fault.
I carry full blame.
It would've been just another fucking day of us hating the fact that we're surrounded by racists who hurt women.
Zayne wouldn't be covered in wounds, his life threatened by whatever poison they injected him with.
There would have been the likelihood that the cop would be going home to her family.
If only things had been handled differently.
If only I hadn't acted on a moment of weakness, given life to my need to let Zayne know how fucking sorry I was for thinking he was remotely similar to the men in The League.
One touch, one lapse in judgment, put us here, and I’ll carry the weight of it to my grave.
My fists clench as I watch the paramedic issue Zayne another fucking dose of Narcan.
Helplessness mingles with the guilt, twisting together inside of me in a way that makes sitting here and letting the medical professionals do their job nearly impossible.
I couldn't do it better. I'm not so egotistical as to think that the minimal medical training I got in the Marine Corps supersedes what this guy has.
Zayne snaps to alertness for a second time, the confusion going from high to not is clearly a lot for him to handle.
His face scrunches, pain evident in the grimace.
He has wounds everywhere. His nose looks to be broken. One eye is completely swollen shut, and the other is inching toward that state with each passing minute.
Purple bruising covers nearly every inch of visible skin. They fucking worked him over hard.
"Zeus," he mutters, making me lean in closer, attempting to get into his limited line of sight.
"I'm here," I assure him, taking one of his hands.
He winces again, but squeezes my hand tighter when I start to pull away.
Tears swell and fall, rolling down his cheeks. As much as I want to swipe them away, I know what happened the last time I did that.
We wouldn't be here if it weren't for my inability to not act on his pain.
"Scott was there," he whispers, his voice ragged and weak.
I look him over, head to toe, sweeping my eyes down his body.
I know what he's trying to tell me, and as I look at his belt, perfectly in place, a sense of relief hits me again.
"It didn't get that far," I assure him, refusing to let my mind wander back to Scott in the cabin when we discovered those two men in bed together.
"What the fuck happened?" he asks.
I pull in a deep breath, my mind working its way backward.
It took us too long to find him. Securing a compound so large, even with the number of men and women we had on our side, took the better part of an hour. The worst part is imagining what happened to him during the time it took us to breach the gate and find him.
The best part is that they had no clue we were part of a bigger organization. They just think they caught two incestuous gay dudes messing around. We weren't met with much force other than the man at the gate and the three guys patrolling.
I was with the Cerberus guys, leading them to Bobby's fucking lair.
Nyx was a fucking psycho. The way he acted today makes me wonder if he even got an honorable discharge from the Marine Corps. He gunned down motherfuckers like he was the one looking for his lover, not me.
I have no doubt that man is on his way out.
I mean, I appreciate his dedication to getting our man out, but I don't know that Cerberus will stand up for him and his actions today.
There's a very real chance that he could face criminal prosecution for what he did.
At a minimum, the guy will lose his membership to the club.
I don't see any other way around it.
But worrying about Nyx comes secondary to the issue right in front of me. I won't be able to give my full attention to anyone else until I know that Zayne is going to be okay.
I've seen a lot of gruesome shit, countless injuries, and shit that has left me wondering if the person on the receiving end of them would survive.
I have no clue about his level of internal injuries, but as bad as the external ones look, none of them seem life-threatening.
It doesn't cause him any less pain, but they don't seem bad enough to kill him.
My biggest concern is what they dosed him with, and how long it's going to take before he's free of the risks from it.
"We can discuss it at a later time," I urge, looking up at the paramedic.
He must be more himself after the second dose of Narcan, because he doesn't pressure me to explain a second time.
The ride to the hospital takes forever, and I don't mean in an urgent, get-us-there-quickly sort of way.
The ambulance, even running lights and sirens, can only go so fast and still make sure we're all alive when we get there.
The turns and hairpin curves are gorgeous and fun on a bike, but they absolutely suck when you're in an urgent situation.
"Zayne?" I snap when his eyes flutter closed.
I squeeze his hand, getting no response.
"Fuck," I say, looking up at the paramedic. "Fucking do something! Another dose of Narcan?"
The paramedic shakes his head. "His respirations are fine."
"He won't wake up," I argue. "Zayne!"
"His O2 sats are fine," the paramedic assures me.
"Give him another dose," I demand. "Now!"
"It's not medically necessary," he argues, but he looks a little terrified to even refuse my demand.
"And it won't do any fucking harm if he doesn't need it," I say, knowing enough about the shit to know it's considered a medical non-event if given when not needed.
"You want me to do it to make you feel better," he says, a calmness in his voice I can't seem to grasp myself. "You're not my patient."
"If you don't—"
I glance down at Zayne's squeeze of my hand.
"Let the man do his fucking job."
"You motherfucker," I growl, but I don't follow it up with a threat.
The man has been through enough, and treating him like shit when all of this is my fault seems like an added punishment he doesn't deserve.
"Weird friendship," the paramedic mutters.
I chuckle when Zayne gives me a weak smile. The cut on his lip looks painful, and the swelling is enough to make the skin around the injury turn pale.
He winces again, his face scrunching up.
"Can you give him something for the pain?" I ask.
"Not yet."
I glare up at the man, this time ignoring the squeeze of my hand.
"So he just has to suffer? What about morphine?"
The guy blinks at me, and I can tell that he wants to remind me that my presence is a gift of sorts.
I have no doubt that the way this is all playing out is exactly why people aren't allowed to take this ride with them, but I don't give a shit about any of that.
Zayne has been through enough. He shouldn't have to keep suffering.
"He's had two doses of Narcan," he says as if I didn't bear witness to both traumatizing events. "Morphine is also an opioid. It could push him back into respiratory depression."
"Rather feel pain," Zayne whispers, his eyes still closed. "Than to stop breathing."
"But," he says, reaching into a drawer with different vials in it. "This won't hurt."
"What the fuck is that?" I ask, watching him pull a dose into a syringe before adding it to the IV line they put in the second he was in the ambulance.
"Ketamine," he says, and within seconds, Zayne's latch on my hand softens.
"I understand now," Zayne says after a long pause, a calming release of breath leaving his lungs.
"Understand what?" I ask, just glad the guy is still talking.
It's not that I don't want him to rest, but the first time I thought he was resting or had passed out from shock, it was actually an overdose, so I can't trust the silence right now.
"Why they use drugs," he whispers.
"ETA two minutes," the guy driving says.
I look up at him. "What?"
I know it has seemed like we've been in the back of this fucking rig for a really long time, but I know it hasn't been close to an hour, and I know that's what it would take to get us to the University of Tennessee Medical Center.
"Where the fuck are you taking him?" I snap.
I swear, if these motherfuckers don't believe he isn't one of those pieces of shit guys from the compound, and they're out for some form of vigilante justice disguised as medical professionals, my actions will give Nyx's a run for their money.
"LeConte," the guy driving responds.
"UT is better," I say. "Take us there."
The guy pulls the ambulance into the emergency room receiving bay, before giving me his full attention.
"Listen, man," he begins, but the look in his eyes tells me he isn't going to take the same level of shit from me that the guy in the back has.
It's not that I plan to use fear or intimidation to get my way, but the lack of cowardice makes me pause for a second.
"He's fucking stable," he says, pointing at Zayne. "Have him transferred out if you want, but he doesn't need a higher level of care."
"I don't give a shit if he needs it or not," I snap. "Take us to UT."
"Sure," he says, but he doesn't move a muscle. "Let's tie up this rig for another two plus hours, so the others back at that hellhole can wait and suffer so your friend here can get the same level of care he can get right here."
I glare at him, part of me proud that he is standing his ground, and another part of me wanting to argue that the only thing that matters to me right now is the man lying on the stretcher.
"You don't seem like the type of guys who tolerate what we witness back at that wrecking yard. I don't know about him," he says, pointing down at Zayne before looking back up at me. "But you don't seem dressed like one of the men who would sit around and let people endure undue suffering."
I know what he sees. I'm in full tactical gear. Hell, I still have a handgun strapped to my side and a flashbang hanging off my vest.
"Would you like me to transport him to UT?"
I swallow a lump forming in my throat. "He's okay?"
The guy's anger slips away. "He's going to be okay."
"This is fine," I say. "Thank you for your service and for getting us here safely."
The guy dips his head in assurance before climbing out from behind the wheel and coming around to open the back doors of the ambulance.
"Sorry," I mutter to the guy as they pull the stretcher out of the back.
"Don't be," he says, his eyes locked on mine. "We all have our roles to play."
"Semper," I say, getting a feeling about this man.
"Fi," he says before handing Zayne off to hospital staff and getting back in his rig to head back to the compound.