Savage Ending (Savage Trilogy 4)

“How is she?” he asks.

“Flesh wound thanks to you, my man.” I shove his sleeve up his arm.

“Good,” he says, grimacing and trying to see his arm. “How bad?” he asks softly, and just the question tells me he knows it’s not good.

He’s bleeding like a stuck pig and stopping that flow now is critical. I begin the tourniquet process while gunfire echoes from several blocks down.

“Damn it, how bad, Savage?” Adam repeats, his face pinched in pain.

“A lot better than if you get shot again because we’re sitting out in the open. Are you hit anywhere else?”

“No,” he bites out. “Just my arm.”

But that’s just it. It’s never just an arm. Ninety percent of all soldiers who die of bullet wounds in the field were hit in the arm, in a major artery. Details a doctor doesn’t share with a man with a bullet in his arm. I finish the tourniquet and say, “We need to move.”

Adam, the badass that he is, pushes himself upward and to his feet, sticky blood all down his side. The good news is if he’d hit a major artery, he’d be dead or close to it right now, not standing. But he’s bleeding too much. He needs my attention.

Everyone on the street has taken cover, but a brave, short, and stubby middle-aged man rushes out of an office and to our sides. “We need to get you under cover,” he proclaims. “My medical office is right here.” He motions over his shoulder. “I called an ambulance, but they’re really slow-going around these parts. I can try to help.”

I don’t argue. What he can do to help is provide shelter and the supplies I need to save Adam. I’ll do the rest.

I scoop Candace up and head for the office. “Please tell me Adam’s going to be okay,” Candace says, pain radiating in her voice, but she’s lucid and safe. That’s at least one of the two of them.

“He’s got me,” I say, and while yes, I’m confident in my skills, I want her to be right now as well. “He’ll be just fine.”

I open the office door to what turns out to be a veterinarian’s office not a doctor’s office, but I’ll make it work. Just behind the reception area, I find exactly what I need: an operating room with three tables long enough to hold a human. I lay Candace down on one of them, grab a couple of pillows from a chair nearby and prop up her arm. “Keep it above your heart. I’ll stitch it up once Adam’s stable.” I pull my phone out, punch in Lucifer’s number, and press it into her hand. “Make sure we’re clear.”

I don’t wait for an answer. I rush into the lobby to find Adam leaning against the wall. “I’m trying not to bleed on his floor.”

“It washes,” the vet says dismissively. “And it’s seen worse than blood, believe you me.”

I grab Adam and hold onto him, eyeing the vet. “I’m a licensed surgeon,” I say. “I need to get the bullet out and sew him up. I need tools. Whatever you can get me. I don’t need much. Just the basics.” It’s not a question and I’m already walking Adam into the back room. Once he’s on a table, he sits. I lay him down and get his arm elevated.

Glancing over my shoulder at Candace, I can see her talking on the phone and I’m eager to know what the hell is going on.

“There’s a local sedative,” the vet, whatever his name is, informs me, rolling a tray to my side. “And a sedative calculated for a human dosage.”

“Numb my wife,” I order, while Candace calls out, “Lucifer says Max is in sight, fleeing town.”

In other words, Max isn’t about to walk in and start shooting. That news alone eases the pressure of the moment, but it’s not enough. And while I know Candace is hurting, she won’t be for long, and right now I have no choice but to use her. “Call Blake, baby,” I say, unwrapping Adam’s arm and trying to control the bleeding to assess the damage. “Tell him what happened. Have him call the locals and control the situation.”

Thank fuck for the supplies I now have at my disposal. I focus on clamping off a vein, and then try to find the bullet. By the time I’m done, Candace calls out. “Blake is on it. Apparently, Dexter is here helping Lucifer.”

I scowl and Adam says, “I knew he was here. Be glad he is.” He grunts in pain.

I grab the sedative. “Time to go to sleep.”

He lifts his head. “No sedative. I can’t be knocked out when—”

I shove the needle into his arm and he growls. “Bastard!” and relaxes against the table.

The vet—I still don’t know his name—chuckles. “He should be glad you made that decision for him. I got Candace numbed up.”