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I push him down with my free hand and plant a knee on his chest. “Shut up. We gotta stop the bleedin’.”
He tries to shake my knee off his chest. I’m not having it though. I lean harder into the wound.
“Goddamn, Striker. You’re an excellent fuckin’ example of the cure bein’ worse than the injury.”
“Not fuckin’ likely in this case. Quit fightin’ me.”
“I ain’t fightin’ you. I’m tellin’ you that what you’re doin’ hurts like a motherfucker.”
Trying to distract him, I ask, “What the hell happened? How did he get the drop on you?”
“Came out the back.” He sucks in a breath when I adjust my hand. “I thought he was just some desk jockey. The fucker was packin’ heat.” After a pause, he admits, “I underestimated him and didn’t take cover.”
I glance towards Keene, who’s lying where he dropped and hasn’t moved a muscle.
“You get him?” Jinx asks. “Is he dead?”
“Yeah, he’s pretty fuckin’ dead alright.”
When Jinx closes his eyes, I give him a rough shake. “No passin’ out on me. Once we slow this bleed, we’re gettin’ you medical attention.” When he doesn’t respond, I give him another good shake. “I said, keep your eyes open, brother.”
His eyes crack open and he mumbles, “You’re a bossy fuckin’ prick. I hope you know that.”
“Yeah, you ain’t never held that against me before. No matter what else happens, I’m gonna make sure you make it back to the clubhouse alive.”
I pull my phone from my pocket with my free hand and call Jasper.
He answers on the second ring. “What up? Did you talk to Keene?”
“No. Shit went sideways on us. It’s all fucked up now. Keene’s dead. Jinx took a bullet.”
Jasper’s voice becomes more serious. “What the hell happened? How bad? Tell me our club’s sergeant-at-arms is still alive.”
“He’s alive, but he needs a medic real bad. He’s suffered a lot of blood loss and is going into shock.”
“Fuck off,” Jinx mutters. “I’m not goin’ into nothin’.”
Jasper responds wryly, “He’s awake and runnin’ his mouth. That’s a good sign.”
“We need a truck for his bike, ’cause he’s not fit to ride. And get Cutter here ASAP.” I pause to glance around, making sure there are no witnesses lurking around. “We’re gonna need a cleanup crew and someone to dispose of the body. I’ll text you the address.”
“Keep pressure on his wound. We’re moving out now. I’ll alert the brothers closest to your location because they can get to you sooner.”
“I know the drill. Tell them to hurry the fuck up,” I grind out. Our club doesn’t ever call the cops or EMS if we handle something ourselves. Killing is a dirty business, but we can’t very well leave a trail of dead bodies where they drop. Everything about this situation has my hackles up.
I keep pressure on his shoulder and the banter going because it’s the only way to keep him from nodding off. Eventually the gush of blood turns into a flow and then a trickle. That’s about the time I hear engines coming up the gravel road.
Our club brothers roll up and come to a skidding stop behind the house. At first it’s Onyx and Rock.
The old man asks, “What the fuck happened here?”
I bring Rock up to speed while Onyx takes over keeping pressure on Jinx’s wound.
Cutter, our club medic, shows up. He always looks like a fuckin’ paratrooper, wearing a huge, overstuffed medical backpack with a couple of large duffle bags hanging off his body. I step back to make room for him.
Jasper shows up, takes one look at Keene and tells me, “Good shootin’, Tex. Was that you or Jinx?”
“Me. Clearly, I didn’t make it in time, or our sergeant-at-arms would be in better shape.”
