The Monster (Boston Belles #3) - L.J. Shen Page 0,39
I had to pry it out of their hands, using a lot of force and raising the body count on the streets. It had been an ongoing, uphill battle with many casualties, many assassination attempts—on both sides—and a hell of a lot of headache.
Bending down on one knee, I drew a black plastic glove from my back pocket, slapped it on, and pried the first bullet from the man’s chest. Next, I moved to my other casualty. Thankfully, the bullet wasn’t smeared in too much brain matter, which would have been a bitch to clean.
I wiped both bullets with the men’s shirts and pocketed them, sighing as I straightened back up and proceeded to deal with the rest of the situation.
“How bad is it?” I clipped, my annoyance loud and apparent.
“Bad,” Becker, one of my soldiers, wheezed behind me like a fan, shifting on the floor of the dusty attic. “I think they got my lungs.”
“Pretty sure I broke my arm,” Angus, beside him, added.
Both assholes didn’t even have a high school diploma yet somehow managed to medically assess themselves. I walked over to the two useless oxygen wasters I’d hired to do my dirty work, surveying them coldly.
Unbelievable. Not only had I ended up doing the job myself and wiping the floor with the two Bratva idiots who stole money from me—fine, didn’t pay me the cut I deserved for the deal—before putting bullets in them, but now I had to usher these two pussies to get medical help.
And don’t get me started on falling off the fucking rails and acting like a jealous girlfriend in need of a bloodbath, because I had a long-ass fucking month.
“Get up.” I rolled Becker over with the tip of my loafer, taking a long drag from my cigarette, releasing plumes of smoke through my nostrils like I was a dragon. “I ain’t carrying your ass to the car honeymoon-style. You too, Fucker Junior,” I spat in Angus’ direction.
They limped behind me, leaning against each other for support, and stuffed themselves into the back of the van I’d driven to Brookline. Behind the wheel, I made a call to Dr. Holmberg, the man I’d hired on retainer to tend to my soldiers and myself.
For obvious reasons, walking willy-nilly into the hospital with gunshot wounds wasn’t exactly an option.
Dr. Holmberg picked up on the third ring, the acoustics surrounding his voice implying he was talking from deep inside someone’s asshole.
“’Ello?” He sounded groggy.
“Enjoying an afternoon nap, fucker?” I inquired politely, taking a turn toward the South End, where he was located. “Make yourself a cup of coffee. I have a job for you.”
“Sam?” He sobered up instantly, clearing his throat. “Oh, Sam, I’m sorry. I thought your secretary left you the message. I’m not home. I’m in Greece until next week.”
That explained why he was asleep when I called him. There was a time difference. It also explained why the reception was so bad. The fact his message hadn’t been received did not surprise me. I went through secretaries like I went through one-night stands: fast and leaving a pile of angry, mistreated women in my wake. I was currently in between assistants—and also in between fucks, seeing as having sex with Aisling wasn’t a possibility anymore. My shit with the Fitzpatricks was complicated enough.
“What the fuck makes you think I talk to my assistants regularly?” I lashed out. “Next time, have the stones to tell me directly when you take an unauthorized vacation. Now give me your cousin’s address. I’ve got two injured soldiers I would very much like to keep alive because they owe me three weeks’ pay of work.”
Whenever Dr. Holmberg wasn’t available, he referred me to his cousin, Raul, who was technically a registered nurse but was still discreet and got the job done. At this point, with Becker and Angus’ lackluster performances in the field, they were lucky I didn’t let the local mailman tend to their wounds.
A nurse was more than they deserved.
“Raul’s out of town, Sam. Visiting his son in college,” Dr. Holmberg murmured sheepishly.
“Is anyone in your family familiar with the concept of work?” I muttered.
“Yeah, I know, it’s unfortunate.”
“The state of your face after I’m done with you will be unfortunate,” I deadpanned. “What the hell were you thinking, skipping town without having a medical backup for me?”
“It was poor planning on my behalf. I agree,” he said mildly, doing anything he could to ensure I didn’t actually break his nose upon arrival. “Surely you