Chapter 4 For god's

"For God's sake!" she said, pointing to Flint. "Take a good look at him. With friends like you, this guy doesn't need enemies." She glared at Jesse. "Or family."

"Haven't you ever treated an animal with a gunshot wound before?" Jesse asked. "Surely you must have. Plenty of times."

Kendra sighed. "Of course I have. But it was under anesthesia with IV fluids and monitors going to keep the animal stable. It's obvious your brother is in terrible pain. Explain to me why you aren't willing to take him to the hospital? Is it because of insurance? Because if it is, they still have to treat him in an emergency even if he doesn't have any. This is crazy. I'm calling an ambulance myself." She pulled her cell phone out of her jacket pocket and started dialing.

Jesse ripped the phone from her hands and turned it off before sliding it into the inside pocket of his leather jacket. "Sorry. Can't let you do that. We didn't want to involve you in the details, but it looks like there's no other way to make you understand our position here. A rival motorcycle club, the Liberators, have put a hit out on Flint. Six months ago, they murdered one of our crew in a shootout over in Tennessee. So they mean business. They'll have every hospital for miles around staked out watching for us to bring him in." He shook his head. "It's not safe. The next time Flint might not be so lucky. We can't take a chance. Not with my brother."

Kendra wondered if he might be telling the truth. She'd heard rumors of gang activity going on in the area but hadn't ever paid much attention to the gossip. Occasionally, in the summer, she would see a group of motorcycles riding down Bardsville's main street. As far as she knew, they weren't doing anything other than making a lot of obnoxious noise.

She stood up and dusted off the seat of her pants. "I don't like this. I don't appreciate being lured here under false pretenses and I don't like being put in this kind of position. I'm not licensed to treat people and could lose my veterinarian's license if I lay a hand on him. Besides, don't you realize doctors are required to report gunshot wounds to the police department?"

"That's only for doctors, right? Not vets?" Jesse replied. "Since you're not a medical doctor, it doesn't apply to you."

He had a valid point. Dammit.

Flint moaned again. The undeniable pain in his voice pushed Kendra into a quick decision.

"If I do this, it has to stay between us," she said. "Not a word to anybody. Not another soul. And you all owe me. Big time. Do you understand?" She looked around the room, slowly making eye contact with each man to let them know she wouldn't be intimidated. Leather jackets and beards didn't scare her. After glancing at Jesse for guidance, they all nodded.

"Please," Jesse pleaded quietly. "I'm begging you to help him. We'll be in your debt if you do."

"Alright, I'll help him," she snapped irritably. "But give me back my phone. I have other patients, you know. The clinic might need to get in touch with me. And don't worry, I promise not to call 911. Not unless he takes a turn for the worse. Then all bets are off. I'm not going to let a man die on me because of some stupid gang war."

Jesse reluctantly pulled the phone from his jacket and handed it back to her. "Tell us what to do," he said.

"First, we need to get his pain level under control before I try to clean the wound." She rummaged through her medical bag and found only animal medication. Not even a bottle of ibuprofen. "He needs something stronger than what I have. These medications aren't approved for human use."

"We might be able to help you with that." Jesse motioned to the big man who was still guarding the front door. "Get the stuff, Rocco," he ordered. Rocco hurried out of the room and came back a minute later with two large grocery bags. He dumped the contents of both bags onto the coffee table.

"Good heavens!" Kendra exclaimed as bottles of prescription vials rolled around the table. She picked them up and read the labels: codeine, hydrocodone, morphine, Percocet, Vicodin, Oxycotin, Ativan, Xanax, Valium. Upon closer inspection, she noticed the labels included names of people who obviously weren't standing in the room. She recognized one name, Rosa Smith, a little old lady who called her a couple of times a year to come out and check her horse's hoofs.

"Where did you get these?" Kendra demanded, knowing the answer before she asked. The black market for painkillers wasn't exactly a big secret.

Jesse had the decency to clear his throat and look away before answering. "Some of the elderly people on fixed incomes in the community need cash, so we buy their unused medications." He shrugged as if it wasn't a big deal. "They would just flush them down the toilet or throw them away anyway. It's a win-win situation. For everybody."

"You buy them to resell on the black market," Kendra stated. She continued cleaning Flint's wound while she talked. "To junkies? To people hooked on painkillers?" The thought was horrifying.

"No, not necessarily," Jesse answered. "Quite frequently it seems we have a need for them ourselves."

Kendra let out a short humorless laugh and rolled her eyes. "I can well imagine." She chose the strongest painkiller in the pile and shook out three pills. "Can someone get a glass of water? I need to get these pills in him before I try to remove the bullet and stitch him up. It's going to hurt like hell and he'll need something strong to take the edge off."

Kendra leaned over and placed the back of her hand against Flint's forehead. She tried and failed to ignore the faint whiff of cologne that held a sexy hint of heat and leather.

"His name is Flint?" she asked for clarification.

Tom nodded.

"Flint! Wake up." She shook him gently, attempting to bring him to long enough to swallow the pills. "Come on buddy! You need to open your eyes so I can give you something for the pain. Then I'll knock you out again the best I can."

His eyes flickered for a moment then closed again. "Flint! Open your eyes," she coaxed. Suddenly, his eyes opened and she stared into the greenest eyes she'd ever seen; tantalizingly deep and penetrating. She hesitated for a moment, completely caught off guard. "That's it. Now open your mouth. I'm going to give you some pills and then I want you to swallow a couple sips of water."

Beads of sweat popped out on his forehead and slid down his face as he fought against the pain to stay conscious. "Someone get me a cold rag!" she yelled. The men scattered, eager to do something to help.

Kendra placed her hand behind his neck and propped him up a little. Flint opened his mouth wide enough for her to place the pills on his tongue. She held the glass to his lips and encouraged him to drink. "Don't choke. Make sure you swallow all three pills. Trust me, you'll be glad for it later."

Flint opened his eyes again for a split second, making contact with hers for an instant before sagging heavily against her.

"He's out again," Kendra said. "I need to scrub my hands and put on a pair of gloves. Then I'll need a couple of you guys to hold him down in case he comes to again while I'm working on him. Let's do this as fast as we can while he's unconscious. It will be much easier on him that way."

She worked quickly to clean the wound and remove the bullet. He was lucky. The injury was bad, but it could have been so much worse, even lethal if the bullet had landed just a few inches lower. Flint twitched and jerked in pain while she worked, but he didn't regain consciousness. Once the wound was cleaned to her satisfaction, she deftly stitched him up with the supplies from her bag. After bandaging his arm, she walked into the kitchen to throw away her gloves and wash her hands.

Jesse followed behind her. "Someone needs to make sure he gets the painkillers every three hours," she instructed him. "Don't wait for the pain to hit him first. You have to stay ahead of it. Also, if at all possible try to get him to eat a few bites of something so the painkillers don't make him sick. Give me your phone number and I'll call to check on him in the morning. Obviously you already have my number."

Jesse tucked his hands into his pockets before speaking. "Dr. Shaw, we have another problem," he said. "While you were working on Flint, Tom got a call from one of our other club members in town. The Liberators hit us in two places at once. They threw a Molotov cocktail through the window of my younger brother's tattoo parlor. Luckily, nobody was hurt. The authorities are there now asking a lot of questions that Sam doesn't know how to answer. We need to get back to town to take care of it before things escalate further." He let out a long breath. "We all have to go. Now."