Skirt (Ruthless Kings MC #5) - K.L. Savage Page 0,11
women. I guess there are bad criminals, then worse criminals. No way in hell do I want to be a part of that. Reaper will kick my ass, kick me out of the club, or kill me.
Probably torture me, then kill me if I think about it.
I shiver at the thought. No, I need to stay focused. Maximo can offer me as much money as God has, but I won’t take it. My morals are too high.
I hope.
The monitor at the other end of the room starts to beep quicker and quicker. I press my palms against the bed and lift myself up to see what’s going on. “Oh, shite,” I say when I see that it’s Moretti. His body is trembling, and the heart rate monitor is going spastic. I slide out of bed, heart pounding with a bit of fear since I have no idea what I’m doing, and limp my way over. “Doc!” I yell for him, but my voice just reverberates back to me since the walls are metal. “Doc! Doc! You need to get down here!” I scream and drag my left leg since it throbs more for some reason, while I struggle to Moretti. I’m sweating up a storm. Beads of salty liquid puddle on my forehead and drip down to my eyes, stinging them. I wipe the sweat away with my forearms, and I see his mouth foaming. His eyes are rolled so far back I only see the whites. He looks void, blind, inhuman, and it chills me to my core.
This is not easy to see. He clearly needs help, and I have no idea what to do. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I curse, then run my fingers through my hair, contemplating my next move.
“You have to turn him to his side.” A weak, tired, yet harmonic voice says behind me.
I look over my shoulder to see the brightest green eyes I’ve ever seen staring back at me through bruised orbital sockets. Her voice is hoarse as if it has gone through a meat grinder. “Hurry,” she said, snapping me out of my hypnosis. “You need to get him on his side and swipe the fluid from his mouth so he doesn’t choke; hold his head still. All we can do is wait.” She holds her side and takes a deep breath, then shuts her eyes when a fresh wave of pain hits.
I try to open his mouth, but his teeth are clenched shut. Foam sprays from between his teeth, and I move out of the way before it hits me, then I flip him on his side. “I can’t get his mouth open,” I tell her, grunting as I fight Moretti with every jerk of his body. It’s like trying to manhandle an alligator.
I’ve never wrestled a gator, but I’m going to assume it’s like this.
“Just going to have to hope he doesn’t bite his tongue off,” she says as she lays down. Her eyes flutter shut again, and I want to tell her to open them because I’ve never done this before. What if I hurt him? What if I mess up?
“Where the hell is Doc?” I rattle under an anxiety-ridden breath. The seizure is going on forever. Every jerk of his body, every drip of spit gathering on the bed, my heart races.
“I don’t know who that is,” she rasps. “What happened? What day is it?”
“I don’t have time to tell you right now. I’m kind of busy.”
“Could have already told me instead of saying that,” she says with attitude. I don’t expect a woman with a smart mouth in her condition. I look in her direction. She’s laying calmly in the bed, eyes closed, and it seems like she went back to sleep.
Moretti’s heart rate starts to slow, and the spasms in his body start to fade. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, but was only a few minutes, I release my hold on him.
“Scoop out his mouth,” the peanut gallery chips in.
It’s a good thing I like peanuts.
I grab a glove and snap it on, open his mouth, and scoop out all of the foam and bile from his throat. He didn’t bite his tongue, so that’s a good sign. I gag when I take the glove off and throw it on the trash. Blood, I can do. Pain, I can do. Scooping shit out of someone’s mouth? I can barely do that. It’s a limit. And I just surpassed it.