Page 30 of Harris
I nodded. “Yeah. Anselm and Lear should be a few minutes ahead of us. They’ll have a medic waiting.”
“Don’t want a fuckin’ medic,” Thresh grumbled.
I sighed. “Listen, you hard-ass. You need medical attention. We’re not having this conversation. You can’t just take some fucking Ibuprofen and sleep this one off.”
“I know I need a doctor, I’m not stupid.” Thresh tossed another M&M in his mouth. “I got a specific doctor I want to see.”
Duke and I exchanged puzzled glances. “What are you talking about?”
“That hot doc down in Miami. The one at Jackson Memorial? When you were laid up after that shit with Karahalios? She was fine as hell.”
I rolled my eyes. “Thresh. You can’t pick a doctor halfway across the country just because she had a nice pair of knockers, man. We’re taking you to a hospital in Vegas.”
“You can try,” Thresh said. “But good luck. I’m going to Miami.”
“You’re bleeding!” Layla shouted. “You have a broken bone. You have a bullet in your shoulder.”
“I noticed,” Thresh deadpanned, “seeing as it’s my arm and my shoulder.”
“Thresh.” I stared him down. “Make sense. Please.”
“I am making sense. It’s not just ‘cause she’s hot. I mean, yeah, she is, but she’s also a good doctor. I watched her take care of you. She’s good. Plus, I think she likes me.”
I sighed. “This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“I never claimed to be the sharpest crayon in the tool drawer,” Thresh said, looking peeved. “You know how I feel about fuckin’ hospitals and fuckin’ doctors, Harris. If I’ve got to have a goddamn doctor poke at me, might as well be a doctor of my choosing. And the one I choose happens to be in Miami, Florida, and happens to have the most bangin’ hourglass figure I’ve ever seen. On top of which, she’s not afraid to get in my face, and I like that shit. She’s got balls.”
“Okay, fine. Whatever. It’s your broke ass that’s gonna bleed all the way there.” I rubbed at my face with both hands.
“You’ll fly me down there?”
“Well you can’t very well walk, can you?” I said.
“Cool. Thanks, boss.” Thresh nudged Duke with his hand. “Got anymore candy? I’m still hungry.”
Duke, with a playful, long-suffering sigh, dug into his cargo pocket and pulled out a protein bar. “You never bring your own snacks, man. You’re always hungry after a firefight. You think you’d learn to bring some fuckin’ snacks once in a while.”
“I want some fuckin’ snacks too!” Cleo shouted. “I like fuckin’ snacks!”
Duke snorted. “Now look what you fuckers did. Taught her to say fuckin’.”
That drew laughter from everyone, including Cleo, who I don’t think quite understood the joke, but knew everyone was laughing at her. “Fuckin’, fuckin’, fuckin’!” She shouted it, chanting, over and over, until everyone was in stitches.
Layla swatted at Duke. “Tell her not to say that!”
“Why? She ain’t my kid. I think it’s funny.” He ruffled her platinum hair. “I’m getting paid to rescue her, not teach her manners.”
Thank god kids are resilient. Although, I had a feeling the poor thing would be having nightmares for a while. I made a mental note to make sure Jon and Callie put her in therapy; shit like what Cleo went through is the kind of shit that’ll scar you for life if it’s not addressed. She was laughing and seemed fine for now, but PTSD tended to manifest when you least expected it, especially in children.
I’d tried to downplay the threat Ledion posed when explaining it to Layla. But the truth was, fear niggled in the back of my head. Ledion—Cain—was just smart enough to be dangerous, but dumb enough to worry me. He wouldn’t care who else he hurt in the process. He would feel slighted and, to save face, he’d go after me. He’d go after all of us. Jon and Callie I wasn’t too worried about; I’d put guards on them 24/7, tell them to move, take proper measures. But Cain’s attention was on me, now, and my crew. On Layla.
We might have just started a war.
But I wasn’t about to say that, not until I knew for sure.
7
PAYBACK