Valen (Henchmen MC Next Generation 6)

It had always been men, though.

And something about seeing a nasty wound on a woman had my stomach churning as I undid her pants then reached up to grab the waistband.

“Deep breath,” I demanded, waiting for her to follow instructions before I started to pull them down over the bullet wound.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck,” she hissed, her fist slamming down on the sink counter as the pain shot through her system.

“All done with that part,” I told her, trying to not notice her near-nudity thanks to the barely-there thong she had on.

Fuck.

It was a through-and-through.

An entrance wound on her ass that came out at the top of her thigh.

“Say something,” she demanded, voice tight.

“You’ve got an entrance and exit wound,” I told her. “Downward angle,” I added.

“He was in the back of a truck. I was on the road,” Louana said. “I wasn’t quick enough,” she added.

“Hey, no,” I said, looking up at her. “We’re not doing that right now,” I said. “You want to beat yourself up over something that was out of your control, you do that shit later. We’re dealing with this now.”

“How? How are we dealing with this?”

Taking a deep breath, I gave her the cold, hard truth. Because I knew she could handle it.

“I need to check inside the wounds for bullet fragments. It looks like it just went through the fat and muscle, no bones, but we need to make sure there aren’t any fragments left.”

“I’m not unconscious enough for this,” she grumbled, mostly to herself. “Fine. Do it,” she demanded, exhaling hard.

“Gotta find the supplies,” I told her, digging around in the cabinets until I found tweezers and alcohol. “Do I need to ask you how squeamish you are?”

“For other people’s injuries, not at all. My own… that’s a whole other story,” she admitted, and she actually did look a little green when she glanced down at her body.

“Okay. Well, I’m going to need you to hold my phone like a flashlight,” I told her, producing it. “You don’t have to look, just keep it steady,” I told her as I grabbed a disposable bathroom cup and poured alcohol in so I could soak the tweezers. “Hey, if you want to go get this checked out, we can do that,” I told her. “I hear that the Grassis actually have someone in their family who is a doctor.”

“No. Just get it over with,” she said, gritting her teeth, holding the light straight, and averting her eyes.

A part of me was kind of hoping that I could pawn this task off on someone else more qualified. Because the idea of digging around inside the flesh of a woman that I’d loved more than made any sense to me was making me a little sick.

But I had to do it.

“Alright. Hold it steady,” I demanded as I pulled the tweezers out of the alcohol, then pressed my hand around one of the wounds, so I could see better inside.

At that point, I just tuned everything out as best I could. The blood, the holes in skin I used to run my hand over, the hisses and curses then eerie silence coming from Louana.

“Okay. Alright. I’m reasonably sure there are no shards in there,” I told her when I was done, feeling a bit sick as I looked at her blood on my hands. “But this part… this is going to fucking suck,” I told her as I reached for the alcohol.

It wasn’t ideal. Best bet was to use a sterile saline solution. But I didn’t happen to have that on hand, and every moment wasted was a moment where something could get inside and start brewing an infection.

“Do it,” she said, putting my phone down on the counter.

Was her hand shaking?

Before I could even check, though, she was curling both of them into a fist and taking a deep breath.

Taking the opportunity, I doused the wound in the alcohol that had to feel like liquid fire.

Her entire body jerked hard, making guilt course through me, even though I knew it was necessary.

“Okay. That’s it. It’s clean,” I told her as I moved back.

Getting no response, I looked over and found her head ducked, her hair falling like a curtain, but her whole body starting to shake gently.

“Hey,” I said, reaching outward, trying to snag her chin, but she yanked away, likely trying to save her pride, not wanting me—of all people—to see her cry. “Hey, it’s alright,” I said, wrapping an arm around her, and pulling her side into my front. “You’re going to be alright,” I assured her, her soft hair against my lips. “Just a flesh wound,” I added, figuring maybe the facts would help her at that moment.

But she just kept shaking.

Was that shock?

I didn’t really even know what shock was.

In the movies, they treated it with, what? A mylar blanket? Did that shit actually even do anything?