Bad Company

Reunion

Colt's face appeared in the doorway where I stood, wincing and gasping for breath. His fierce gaze burned with untold understanding, and I had no idea how he knew about the attack without me even having to speak. Although, to be fair, a large shotgun hole in the floor would be pretty damn obvious to anyone with a working pair of eyes and a pulse.

"Dusty," I moaned a plea, digging my nails into my palms as pain exploded in my throat. It hurt so badly to talk, but Colt had to know before Reaper had a chance to find him. "Red Devils...Dusty."

"Hey, hey, hey," Colt cautioned, tucking an arm around my waist while the other swept my legs out from under me. I was soon cradled comfortably in his arms as he carried me out of the office and into the night where two EMTs were unloading a gurney.

But I didn't want to go to the hospital. I was fine, albeit pretty damn sore. "No, Blue." The knickname caught his attention, and he glued his eyes to mine. "Attacker warned...," irritation burned in my chest at my own inability to convey such an imperative message, "Dusty...in trouble. Find him."

"What else did he say?" His expression was solemn as he gingerly placed me on the gurney, subconsciously leaning towards me and taking my hand in his own.

An EMT broke into the conversation. "Sir, you're going to have to talk to her later. We need to move her into the ambulance."

Surprise rippled through my chest, and I swiveled my head, my eyes locking on to a familiar face.
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Gloved fingers tapped out an unheard melody across my ribs as observant brown eyes surveyed my face for a reaction. I hissed in pain and instinctively made a motion to swat at the EMT's hand, but I quickly caught myself, however, and clawed at my lifted shirt instead, hating the searing tendrils of pain constricting around my lungs as the pain crescendoed in direct correlation with the area being probed.

The responder gave me a worried look, his warm coffee eyes trailing between my face and my ribs. "Are you positive there's no way I could convince you to go to the hospital for a few scans?" His voice lilted in a melodic, Hispanic accent, and he seemed genuine in his worry. "Your ribs are pretty bruised, and you have several minor lacerations but, other than that, you appear to be alright. That is not, however, including the possibility of internal bleeding, which is why I would feel much better about you going to the hospital, E."

I shook my head and offered an apologetic smile--well, wince--to him, smothering whatever hope he had left harbored in his expression. "Look, I'm really sorry, Don, but I don't want to go to the hospital. I'm sure I'll be alright after I've had some pain killers and a good night's sleep." I almost scoffed at myself because 'a good night's sleep' was most definitely something I wouldn't be getting with Reaper on the loose and Uncle Dusty unaccounted for. Plus, Greg was still in the hospital fighting for his life.

Don mistook my stress-furrowed brows for pain and leaned closer. "What's wrong? Is something hurting you?"

My sigh was shaky at best, and Don seemed to notice it. I mustered a false expression of humor and laughed softly so as not to irritate my pain. "Other than my bruised ribs and damaged ego? No, I'm alright. Thanks though."

Don hesitated by my side but eventually pulled away nonetheless. He stood at the end of the gurney and grasped my hands, helping me into a sitting position. I tugged my shirt back down to cover my waist and swung my legs over the side of the gurney. "If you experience any signs of internal bleeding--dizziness, fainting, abdominal pain or swelling, dark purple bruises on your waist--don't hesitate to call me. I'll be home tonight, probably watching soap operas with Abuela."