Riding Shotgun: MC Romance (Steel Knights Motorcycle Club Romance Book 5)

Chapter 4

It’s not a far ride over to Seth’s house, but tonight it feels like it’s taking an eternity. I keep thinking I hear sirens, that the cops are coming after me, but I realize it’s only my imagination. Or maybe my ears are still ringing from the gunshot. Or maybe I’m losing too much blood. It’s hard to tell.

As I drive, I think about what happened over and over again. My mind is still really scattered, but I keep coming back to a few strange points—why the fuck would Johnny kill himself? And what were those dickheads looking for?

I pull up in front of Holly’s clinic and park my bike illegally in the loading zone at the front of the building. I don’t have the presence of mind to care at this moment. I don’t even know if they’re home and it occurs to me that I should have called. But I don’t even think I could have fucking dialed with the way my hands are shaking. I see a light on in the window where their apartment is. I get to their door feeling awfully shaky and pound, praying to anyone who will listen that they’re home and they’ll let me in.

It’s Holly who answers the door. I feel immediate relief, but I also know right away that I am in for the scolding of my life.

“Holly Berry,” I say, trying to give her a charming smile. I realize that I’m drenched in sweat. “You’re looking great today.”

“Seth!” she all but shouts over her shoulder into the apartment. “Colt,” she says, turning back to me, “what in God’s name happened?”

I let her help me to a chair in the dining room and I hear my brother’s footsteps coming toward me.

“Jesus Christ,” he says. I look up into his face and his expression is a combination of terror and fury that I think might scare the pants off of anyone. “Who the fuck did this to you?”

I start to speak, but Holly interjects. “That can wait,” she says. She peels the blood-soaked T-shirt from my arm and her eyes widen. “You’ve been shot,” she says, sounding vaguely like she can’t quite believe what she’s seeing.

“Yes, ma’am,” I say.

“Seth, my bag,” she orders. Her entire demeanor has changed now and I am looking at Dr. Holly, no longer Holly Berry, my brother’s fiancée who is loving in a stern kind of way. She’s a no nonsense lady to begin with, but seeing her go into doctor mode is like watching a switch flip. I’m tickled.

Seth seems used to it and I realize that he’s left. I picture an old fashioned doctor’s bag, black leather with a clasp opening at the top, but Seth comes back with an uninspired-looking duffle bag. I would have bet there were dirty socks in there, but Holly grabs it from him and opens it up to rifle through her things. She comes up with a stethoscope and a blood pressure cuff. She dons the stethoscope and puts the end over my heart. Then she moves it lower over my chest, instructs me to breathe in. She moves it to my back and does the same. She's frowning all the while, and has been frowning since I arrived, so I have no idea what she’s thinking or if I am about to drop dead.

With a loud belch of velcro, she opens the blood pressure cuff and puts it around my arm. She pumps the thing and lets the air out, the stethoscope pressed to my inner arm. When I start to feel the gross pounding feeling in the vein there, she looks at her watch until she has what she needs.

“Your blood pressure is a bit low,” she says. “But not low enough to frighten me. And I would expect that after a shock like yours. You’re coming down from quite the adrenaline rush, I’m sure.”

“I sure am,” I say. And I’m realizing how tired I am. I also realize that I have no idea what time it is. I have no idea how much time has transpired between the scene behind the dumpster at Mike’s Cellar and now, with me sitting on a chair at my brother and his fiancée’s place.

“I’m going to have a look,” she says. “It might hurt a bit.”

She rummages around in her bag until she comes up with a pair of gloves, some gauze, and a bottle of something or other. She pulls the gloves on and wiggles her fingers, a practiced motion, before she pours some of what I assume is alcohol over the gauze. She wipes the skin around the bullet hole, leaving a nice, cool feeling and taking the dried blood away. Then she wipes the wound that is now oozing dark, thick blood. I jerk because I’m startled by how much it fucking stings. It wasn’t the kind of pain I was expecting.

“Ow,” I murmur.

“You’re gonna tell me you got shot in the arm and rode all the way over here on your bike without batting an eye and now you’re going to whine?” Seth says. I look over and see he’s leaning against the counter with his arms folded, watching the whole proceeding. He still has a fire burning in his eyes that tells me that if he finds who shot his baby brother, it’s TNT time. I feel oddly fuzzy about this. As much as I bitch about him not being there, it’s good to know that he has my back. Not that I’m going to fucking tell him that.

“It just—it fucking stings,” I say. “It feels like it’s on fire.”

“I’m cleaning it,” Holly says in her most terrifying mom voice.

“Sure,” I say. “Sure, go ahead.” What other choice do I have? I’m not about to tell her she can’t. I want to make sure I’m not going to lose my arm, I’m not trying to also lose my head.

“I’m going to have to get the bullet out,” she adds. “You’re not going to enjoy that.”