Chapter 19

Rachel sighed as she just finished checking on Slick, knowing this wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. This war between the Green Devils and the Wolverines was never ending.

As Rachel cleaned up the emergency room, a loud bang rang out in the distance, followed by shouting and screaming. Her heart dropped as she ran outside to see members of the two gangs exchanging gunfire right in the middle of the hospital parking lot, bullets ricocheting off walls and vehicles.

Panic rose in Rachel’s chest as a bullet whizzed past her head, the sound of its trajectory ringing in her ears. She ducked behind a car, her breathing rapid. When would she learn to stay out of trouble?

Rachel risked a glance around the car, only to see a massive brawl break out, gang members tackling each other to the ground as they swung punches and kicked wildly. She flinched as the sounds of grunts and yells filled the air, along with the metallic scent of blood.

Her heart pounding, Rachel weighed her options. She couldn’t stay here, but she didn’t know if she could make it back inside without getting injured in the process. As another bullet ricocheted off the car near her head, she made up her mind. She had to risk it. Taking a deep breath, Rachel prepared to run back into the safety of the emergency room, hoping to avoid the line of fire. She just wanted to escape this chaos alive.

Rachel bolted from behind the car. A scream caught in her throat as a bullet grazed her leg, slicing through her flesh. She stumbled but kept running, fueled by adrenaline and terror.

She dragged herself toward the emergency room, gritting her teeth.

Rachel took a deep, shuddering breath and steeled herself. She couldn’t fall apart now, not when there were people counting on her. People who needed her help.

She pushed off the wall and went back inside the clinic, grabbing supplies from the cabinets and shelves. Antiseptic, gauze, bandages, stitches, painkillers—her hands flew over the instruments of her trade with practiced efficiency.

When she returned to the waiting area, the rest of the injured club members fell silent, watching with a mixture of wariness and respect as she approached.

Rachel ignored them, focusing only on the injuries that needed tending. A gash across a forehead, already crusted with blood. Bruised knuckles and split skin. A dislocated shoulder that needed to be set.

She worked methodically on each wound, cleansing and bandaging, setting bones with a sharp tug that made her patient grunt in pain. The familiar routine helped calm her frayed nerves, and soon she sank into the task at hand, losing herself in the details of each injury.

Cleanse. Bandage. Stitch. Repeat.

Gradually the waiting area emptied, until only Jaxon remained, slumped in a chair in the corner. His gaze was heavy on her as she worked, but he didn’t speak, allowing her the space she so desperately needed.

When she finished wrapping a bandage around his ribs, her hands lingered on his bare skin. She felt the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath her palms, and warmth flooded her at the intimacy of the contact.

As she sorted through the mess of gauze and antiseptic, a wave of dizziness washed over her. She gripped the edge of the table, knuckles turning white, and sucked in a sharp breath.

Not now. Please, not now.

But it was too late. The familiar panic rose in her chest, clawing at her insides like a wild beast. Memories flashed behind her eyes, images of blood and broken glass and her mother’s lifeless body—

Rachel stumbled back, chest heaving. She couldn’t breathe. She was going to be sick.

She had to get out of here. Now.

Before she could stop herself, she turned and fled from the room.