Page 114 of Cold Hard Cash

“He’s not?” Cold mumbled, gritting his teeth.

“Get a blood pack going too,” she continued, ignoring him. “He’s already lost too much.”

Jimmy watched the doctor cut Cold’s shirt and jacket out of the way, removing the fabric until his entire torso was bare. He tried not to look, he really did, but he had been aching to get a glimpse of Cold’s body and couldn’t tear his eyes away.

He was softer than Jimmy had imagined, but there was still firm muscle aplenty despite the lack of definition he had always fantasized about. The light misting of hair gracing his pecs grew thicker as it traveled down his stomach and below. A faint hint of silver shimmered even there, and when the circumstances were different, Jimmy was going to take the time to properly appreciate how sexy he thought it was.

But the scars, the tapestry of agony woven from a lifetime of abuse…

They seemed more horrifying than the two bullet wounds currently spouting blood from Cold’s side. There were dozens, in varying shapes and sizes, too many to count, though there were a definite few that screamed for attention.

The most obvious was one Jimmy had seen before—the jagged wreck of tissue that had claimed Cold’s right nipple. There was another nightmare of marbled dark tissue streaking across the left side of his stomach several inches over.

Despite the damage, Jimmy thought Cold was the most beautiful man he’d ever seen.

“I’m Dr. Madeline Queen, who are you?” the doctor asked briskly.

“Jimmy,” he croaked in response, still petting Cold’s forehead.

“He’s with Cold,” Jules chimed in as if to vouch for his presence.

Queen looked less than impressed, saying shortly, “Remain up there and out of my way and you can stay. Interfere at all and I’ll drag you out myself, got it?”

“Got it,” Jimmy replied.

Her gloved fingers pressed around the wounds, and whatever she did prompted Cold to gasp and moan. “Bullets only grazed him. Lucky. Just an inch more to the right and they would have hit his liver. We have to get this bleeding under control.”

Just an inch.

Those words hit Jimmy hard. They were the same his father always said to comfort him when he visited him in prison—just an inch of glass separated them, just an inch. Jimmy had never expected those words to carry such added weight. Cold could have died. After all they had built together, an inch would have ended it.

Abigail had gotten the two IVs going, one in Cold’s arm and the other in the back of his hand. Blood and clear fluid pumped away, and she drew up a syringe of medication to push into one of the lines.

“Ready, Doctor,” she said tensely.

“Go ahead, right now,” Queen barked. “And give me two sets of hemostats and suture.”

Abigail scrambled to supply the requested tools, and Jimmy had to look away while she worked. He kept his eyes focused on Cold’s face, watching him slip in and out of consciousness, Cold grunting in pain as Queen sewed up his wounds.

Jimmy kept dabbing his brow, trying to stay strong, trying not to cry when Cold passed out.

The Gentlemen were here now, lining the doorway like mourners at a funeral, all watching silently as Queen worked to save their leader. Rowena was a blubbering mess in Jules’ strong arms while he murmured something in her ear to comfort her. Jerry had his hands clasped together, praying in French. Lorre looked grim, and Tamerlane hugged him close. Pym kept wiping his eyes and adjusting his glasses, prompting Thirdsies to lean affectionately against his shoulder. Valdemar had grown tired of standing and had flopped onto the floor, holding his face in his hands.

The fear was thick and made the air hard to breathe. Jimmy couldn’t take it any longer and let himself cry, bowing his head and whispering in Cold’s ear, “You can’t leave. You can’t. They all need you. I need you… Please. I need you so much. I love you, Rod.”

“Jimmy, right?” Queen asked.

“Yes?”

“Please keep your sweet little love confessions to yourself right now.” She sighed in annoyance. “I need to concentrate.”

“Sorry,” Jimmy said with a grimace, falling quiet.

After what felt like hours, Queen had finished her work and was suturing the last of Cold’s wounds closed. Abigail helped her roll him over to clean up all the remaining blood and apply a thick bandage. Then Queen stripped off her bloody gloves, handing them off to Abigail to dispose of along with the soiled instruments.

Waving at Jimmy, she ordered, “Come on, Casanova. Make yourself useful.”

Jimmy slid off the bed to help Queen pull a fresh sheet over Cold. Underneath its cover, she pulled off the last of Cold’s bloody clothing, leaving him naked. She passed the mess over to Abigail, who made it vanish.