Page 4 of Riot’s Revenge

“Kings don’t leave this city tonight,” he growled.

The response came instantly from the club around us, low, furious agreement rumbling through the lot like thunder.

Engines roared back to life outside the alley.

Tiny backed the prospect truck into the garage while the others dragged groaning Kings out of sight before the cops rolled through. Somewhere nearby, a car alarm wailed uselessly into the night.

Reaper shoved my hand off him for the third time as I tried to help him get into the truck. “I’m fine.” Blood soaked through the side of his shirt, thick and dark beneath his fingers.

I looked him over once. “Yeah? Cause you both look half fuckin’ dead.”

“Always look this ugly,” Ghost muttered weakly from the truck.

Relief hit me so suddenly I almost laughed, because if Ghost was talking shit, he’d probably live.

Shadow climbed off his bike and finally got a proper look at Reaper’s ribs. His expression didn’t change much, it never did, but I caught it anyway. That split second where fear slipped through the cracks. “Get these idiots stitched up,” he ordered roughly.

The walk-in clinic sat on the edge of town between a pawn shop and a boarded-up laundromat. Half the neon sign buzzed weakly overhead, flickering blue against the rain-stained sidewalk. The place looked one hard wind away from collapsing. Perfect. The kind of clinic that didn’t ask questions as long as cash hit the counter.

The truck barely stopped before Reaper shoved the door open.

“Sit the fuck down,” Shadow snapped.

“I can walk.”

“Congratulations.”

Ghost groaned while Tiny hauled him carefully out of the back seat. Blood had dried down the front of his neck, dark against his skin. Meanwhile, Reaper, bleeding through his shirt and barely upright, still tried digging a cigarette from his pocket.

I snatched it from his mouth before he could light it. “You trying to bleed out faster?”

“Fuck you.”

“Brandi’s gonna be real disappointed if your ugly ass dies before tomorrow and I miss our date.”

Reaper barked out a laugh before immediately folding slightly at the waist. “Ow. Fuck.”

“Dumbass,” Ghost muttered, dragging his feet up to us. Better. Definitely better.

We pushed through the clinic doors and got hit instantly with the smells of antiseptic and stale coffee, and that weird artificial heat medical buildings always had. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, washing everybody a sick shade of pale.

A tired-looking nurse glanced up from behind the desk, then froze, just for a second. Her eyes moved slowly over six blood-covered bikers filling her waiting room. Leather, bruises, blood dripping onto her freshly mopped floor. She sighed like it was already the worst part of her night and tied her dark hair into a messy bun. “Please tell me none of you are dying tonight.”

Reaper flashed her a bloody grin. “Depends. You a good nurse?”

She ignored him completely at first, eyes catching on Ghost where Tiny was practically holding him upright. Blood ran freely from the gash at his temple, soaking into the collar of his shirt while his eyes struggled to stay open.

Her whole expression sharpened instantly. “You,” she pointed at Ghost. “Head wound first. He’s next,” she said, pointing at Reaper.

Ghost blinked slowly at her, then gave a goofy grin. “Aw,” he mumbled, “she does care.”

“You follow us,” she said firmly to Reaper. “And if that’s a punctured lung, I’m sending your ass straight to the hospital.”

“No hospitals,” Shadow said immediately.

Most people backed down the second Shadow used that tone, but she didn’t. Instead, she planted one hand on the counter and looked him dead in the eye. “Unless one of you suddenly became medically qualified,” she said flatly, “I’m the one making decisions tonight.”

Ghost made a weak approving noise from beside Tiny. “Oh, I really like her.”