“Hey.” I tightened my grip on him and pulled him in for a hug. “We’ll call her in a few, okay? Sit down for a minute.”
Nixon had a blank look on his face as he took a seat in a nearby chair, and immediately buried his head in his hands.
Turning to King and Damon, I asked. “What about Sly?”
“Bullet to the chest,” Damon responded. “We kept your jacket on the wound and he was conscious when the medics took him, but barely. His injuries didn’t seem as serious as Preston’s.”
“How’s Rosie?” Indy interjected, directing my attention to her.
I sank back into the chair I was standing in front of. “I don’t know. They took her a few minutes ago, and it’s too soon for an update. She was still unconscious when they took her.”
“Was she hit?” Damon questioned.
Shaking my head, I shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. It looked like her arm was grazed pretty good, but I couldn’t find any entry points on her. There was just so much blood…”
Indy choked on a sob and walked across the waiting area, sinking into an empty chair.
“But Sly was on top of her. The blood was probably his,” King stated confidently, though I knew him well enough to know by the look on his face he was anything but.
“Yeah,” I agreed.
The three of us fell silent, and the two men sat down to wait with me and Nix.
I turned back to King, a thousand questions running through my mind, but one in particular kept haunting me. “How did this escalate so quickly? We haven’t even had time to—”
“I know,” he cut me off. “The Reaper’s Wings are ruthless, you know this. Two attacks in forty-eight hours…we couldn’t have predicted this, Cain. We weren’t prepared. The Sinners…we may look similar to them on the outside, but we’re the good guys. The guys Pops taught us to be. And we’ve been cleaning up the Ridgewood scum for so long, it was only a matter of time before it caught up with us. It fucking sucks, but try not to beat yourself up. This isn’t just on your shoulders.”
Swallowing thickly, I leaned forward with my elbows resting on my knees and dropped my head into my hands. He was right, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t just on my shoulders. I was the president of the Sinners Warlord and responsible for my men.
And I’d failed them.
We waited an hour before a doctor finally came over to us. He was around my age and wore dark blue scrubs. He looked like he was dreading this conversation. “Is anyone here related to Preston Patberg?”
Nixon shot to his feet. “I’m his cousin.”
The doctor walked over to him, shooting the rest of us a glance.
“It’s okay,” Nixon told him. “They may not be blood, but they’re family. How is Preston?”
“My name is Doctor Richards. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, sir, but Mr. Patberg suffered extensive trauma from his gunshot wound. The paramedics did everything they could to keep him stable, but unfortunately his heartbeat was too weak to sustain his injuries, and he never made it to the operating table.”
“He…he’s dead?” Nixon asked, his face white as a ghost.
“I’m so sorry,” the doctor repeated.
“But how…he…he’s only twenty-three…” Nixon stumbled over his words, his breaths coming through each word. His chest heaved, and I could see that he was about to crumble.
He brought his hand to his mouth, his eyes glistening as a thick tear rolled down his cheek.
“Thank you, doctor,” I said, dismissing him and turning to Nixon. He was unnaturally still as he stared at the dirty linoleum.
I grabbed his shoulder, but he immediately shrugged my hand off and completely exploded.
“FUCK!” he yelled, picking up the folding chair he’d sat on earlier and slamming it to the ground. As he reached for another, King stepped in and grabbed his face between his hands.
“Nixon,” he growled. “Calm yourself,now.”
Nix tried to pull out of his hold and shoved him back. Instead of fighting him, King released him, and he turned and stomped out of the ER.
