“We have to get him to a hospital. He’s going to die!” She tries one more time to change my mind, but there’s no point.
Ignoring her, I open the car door and lay Ty on the seat. “He’s not going to die. You’re going to keep him alive. And if you don’t...” I narrow my eyes on her. “I’ll kill you.”
Chapter Two
Thisistheexactreason I never run in the park.
Well, maybe not the exact reason, but only because I never could have dreamed this up in my wildest imagination.
“You know this is illegal, right?”
Good one, Maddie. Like the guy who carried a gun in his pants for an afternoon at the park cares about what’s legal.
My captor seems to agree because he chuckles, locking eyes with me in the rearview mirror as he weaves in and out of traffic. He’s quiet, and oddly calm for the absolute hysteria that just ensued. He’s either completely heartless, or he’s used to this kind of thing—neither option feels all that comforting. If he’s heartless, he won’t think twice about killing some random woman, regardless of whether or not I can save his son. And if he’s used to drive-by shootings and evading the police, then that means he’s dangerous.Morethan dangerous.
Crime is pretty prevalent in Las Vegas. The city pretty much runs on all the illegal activity that happens behind the scenes.This man looks like he’s right in the center of it, and now, so am I.
“What’s his name?” I ask. Regardless of what an asshole his father is, I can’t just let this little boy die.
“Ty. He’s six. No prior medical issues and he’s O negative blood type.” He rattles off his son’s stats like he’s trained for something like this, but there’s a thinly veiled urgency and fear in his voice. No matter how prepared you might be for disaster, you never know what it’ll feel like in the moment, and just for a second, I feel bad for him.
Then I catch sight of the gun in his lap and remember how I got here, and the sympathy vanishes.
Ty fades in and out of consciousness. The bleeding has mostly stopped, but with a gaping wound in his stomach, there are at least a thousand other things to worry about. Blood loss. Infection. Internal damage from the bullet still lodged inside. I see the sliver of brass, so I know it isn’t all that deep, but that’s not to say it’ll be easy to get to or that it hasn’t already caused irreparable damage.
“Look, we really need to get him to a hospital,” I urge. Maybe now the gravity has had time to set in, he’ll understand how important it is. “The bullet is still inside of him and—”
“Then get it out,” he snaps, white knuckles gripping the steering wheel. That’s the only hint he’s nervous.
“In a moving car?” I almost laugh. “You really are out of your mind if you think I can do that. Especially with driving like yours.”
“Just keep him stable. We’re almost there.” Where exactly isthere? If it’s not an emergency room, it won’t make much difference, and I don’t need him to tell me to know that it won’t be. Wherever we’re headed, I won’t have the supplies or the support or anything that I need to give his son a fighting chance, and I need to figure something out quickly.
“Damn it!” He slams the wheel with his hands, wrenching back to check on Ty. “We’re in a traffic jam. You’re going to have to do it here.”
Panic strangles me. Does he think I’m some kind of magician? It wouldn’t be the first time I removed a bullet, but the procedure is risky in the best of circumstances. It could break off and splinter, or dislodging it could make the bleeding even worse. I have no tools, no medication, and I’ve been jostled around so much that I’m already car sick. What’s going to happen if I’ve got a blade in my hands?
I don’t even have a scalpel, so that doesn’t matter.
When I don’t immediately start to move, his poisonous eyes bore into me and I hear the click of his gun. There’s no more time to stall. I’m out of options–either I figure this out, or he kills me.
By now, my adrenaline has worn off and the reality of my situation sets in.
“I don’t think I can do this,” I murmur, hot tears bubbling in my eyes. “I’ve never done a procedure like this on my own.”
The man swallows, squeezing his eyes shut as he lowers his gun. When he opens them again, I’m surprised to see them clouded with emotion. Fear, uncertainty, desperation. He chews on his lip, staring down at his son. “Please,” he begs. “You’re my only shot.”
A bit of that sympathy creeps up again, and I feel myself softening. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, or maybe I’m just delusional from the stress, but behind his tough as nails exterior, I see a father who is absolutely terrified of losing his son.
Am I actually about to do this? Am I actually going to help the man who refused any type of real medical care for his son? A man who has been nothing but hideous to me despite my efforts to help…
I have just enough of a bleeding heart to agree.
“I’m going to need something sharp. I have to make the opening bigger.” I take a deep breath, barking out orders as If I’m actually in the operating room.
“There’s a latch behind the passenger seat. Everything you need should be in there,” he deadpans, void of all emotion once again.
As I flip the hook and peel back the leather of the seat, I’m speechless. A bottle of vodka, a knife, some towels, gauze, painkillers, and a few other things fall out.
