Page 124 of Zeus

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."