Page 24 of Hurting Hunter (Doms In Uniform #4)
Hunter pressed the towel firmly against Slate's wrists, his hands stained with deep crimson. As the bathroom door swung open to admit the EMTs, he barely acknowledged their arrival, his focus locked on the slowing pulse beneath his fingers. The sharp, sterile tang of medical supplies filled the cramped space, mingling with the heavier, metallic scent of blood that seemed to coat this inside of his nostrils.
“Sir, keep pressure on the wounds until I tell you to let go,” a Black EMT with a calm, resonant voice and a faintly familiar face, ordered.
Rex hovered in the hallway near the bathroom door, his clothes splattered with dark spots. Hunter caught a glimpse of him, and something in Hunter clenched tight.
In the tight, chaotic space of the bathroom, with the calm-voiced EMT issuing instructions to his partner and the clatter of medical equipment, Hunter's world narrowed to the pale, desperate face of his brother. Each movement from the EMTs seemed both frantic and painfully slow. A heaviness settled in Hunter’s chest, a numb ache that spread through his limbs, making them feel like lead.
His heart thudded painfully in his throat, the beat so loud he was sure everyone could hear it. The despair threatened to overwhelm him, to drag him down into a dark abyss from which there seemed no escape.
“Thank you, sir. You can let go. I’ll take it from here.” The EMTs voice reached Hunter’s ears, like he was under water.
With a deep, shuddering breath, he forced himself to stand back, to make room for the EMTs to do their work. He wiped his hands on his jeans, looking down to avoid the questioning looks of the paramedics.
Hunter straightened his shoulders, the movement stiff and deliberate. In his head, he recited the details of what needed to be done next, the tasks piling up like a lifeline thrown across the tumultuous sea of his thoughts.
Slate’s eyes, glazed and distant, suddenly snapped to clarity as they locked onto Hunter. With a strength that belied his frail condition, Slate’s hand shot out, gripping Hunter’s ankle with surprising firmness. His voice was weak, yet urgent, each word punctuated by a shallow breath. “Promise me you’ll get her out. She’s all I have left.”
The touch sent a jolt through Hunter, as if the gravity of Slate’s plea had physically struck him. Nodding firmly, Hunter vowed, “I promise. I’ll bring her home.”
As the EMTs inserted an IV and prepared to move Slate, his grip loosened, his lids fluttering closed with the effort of his exertion. They loaded him onto the stretcher, his body limp but for the occasional grimace of pain.
As Slate was wheeled out, Hunter followed, his steps automatic. The cool night air hit him as they exited the building, as did the contrast with the stifling apartment stank. He paused, taking a moment to look back at the dilapidated building, the scene of so much pain and now, irrevocable change. The despair lingered, a constant shadow, but Hunter pushed it down, locking it away. He had promises to keep, and the night was far from over.
The flashing lights of the ambulance threw stark reflections on the building’s cracked exterior as Hunter stepped out into the chill. Pulling out his phone, he dialed Ethan, his fingers numb and trembling.
The cold night air bit into Hunter's skin as he held the phone to his ear and the steady ring echoed in the quiet.
"Ethan," Hunter said without preamble when the line connected. "It's bad. We found our mole – Slate. I’m at his apartment... he tried to end his life. We found him in time, maybe. He’s on his way to the hospital now. Before they took him, he made me promise to save his sister, Aubrey. She’s caught up in all this." Hunter didn’t mention the drugs. It wasn’t important, and Ethan was still a cop, even though they were on the same side this time.
There was a beat of silence on the line as Ethan absorbed his words. Hunter paced a small circle.
“I’m so sorry, man. Are you all right?”
Hunter huffed a laugh. “As all right as I can be.”
“Yeah.” There was some static noise before Ethan continued, “I wished I could come to help you, but I’m stuck here.”
"I know. Is there anyone at the department you can trust to help with this?" Hunter asked, hope threading through his tone despite the weight pressing on his chest.
A heavy sigh came through the speaker. "No," Ethan replied, his voice laced with frustration. "I can’t risk it, not with everything going on. But I might know someone who can help. Give me five minutes."
Hunter ended the call, his mind racing as he leaned against the cold brick of the building. He stared up at the scattered stars, barely visible through the city's glow, his heart pounding. Ethan would come through; he had to.
With each passing moment, Aubrey's chances could be slipping away, and Hunter couldn't—and wouldn’t—let Slate’s plea be in vain. He clutched the phone tighter, waiting for the call that would set the next phase of their plan into motion.
He almost jumped out of his skin when Rex appeared beside him.
“What are we going to do about Slate’s sister?”
“I’m working on it. I just called Ethan for help. He told me to give him five minutes.”
“Okay.” Rex leaned against the wall next to Hunter. “This is so fucked up.”
“It is.”
“I found… a note.” Rex pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his front pocket, and Hunter grabbed for it, smoothing the wrinkles as he held it between them. The writing was chicken scratch, the message disjointed. Random thoughts about guilt over his betrayal mixed with fears about his sister’s fate.
Hunter scowled in disgust. “This makes no fucking sense. Slate would never have given up on finding Aubrey. Saving her from… them.”
Rex nodded. “I know, man. None of it makes any fucking sense.” His brother drew a shaky breath, and Hunter placed a hand on his shoulder, while Rex struggled to speak. “I think… he couldn’t handle the guilt of betraying the club, and the stress of knowing they had Aubrey, not knowing if she was safe, not knowing what they were doing to her… I think he just didn’t know what to do. The drugs got him in a chokehold. I think he was so high that killing himself was the only thing that made sense, even if it made no sense.”
Hunter inhaled deeply as he took in the words Rex was saying, and he had to admit that his brother’s theory was the only thing that added perspective and a possible explanation to the night’s events. Not that he could draw any comfort from that. “Fuck!” he yelled into the night, the feelings of hopelessness and despair threatening to swallow him whole. “This fucking sucks!” His voice cracked. He sucked in another breath. He couldn’t cry, no matter how badly he wanted to. He wanted to bring these assholes down now more than ever.
As if on cue, Hunter’s phone pinged with a text showing contact details from a Kevin Santana, before it started vibrating and ringing and Ethan’s name flashed on the screen.
“Yeah?” He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, and manned up, hiding his frustration. Time to get to work.
“I’ve just texted you the details from my friend Kevin. He’s former military and will round up some of his army buddies. I’ve texted him your address. Go home and wait for him. And Hunter…”
“Yeah?”
“Be careful. I love you.”
“Fuck. Shit. Whoa.” Hunter fumbled as he almost dropped the phone. “Love you, too.”
From the other end of the line, Ethan’s deep rumbling laughter came through. “I’m glad we got that out of the way. Now, go save the girl and take care of yourself in the progress. If you get hurt, I will beat that epic ass.”
“Only when I get hurt?”
Ethan just laughed before disconnecting the phone, and Hunter found himself grinning, despite the direness of the situation.
After ending his phone call with Hunter, Ethan’s mirth died down quickly. He paced the confines of his living room. With each step the restless frustration brewing inside him grew closer to a boiling point. The ankle monitor clung to his leg as a constant reminder of his forced confinement. How he wished he could take action alongside Hunter, aiding and protecting him.
Glancing out the window, he checked his phone for the tenth time in as many minutes. Kevin should have arrived at Slate’s apartment by know.
Ethan had never felt this helpless in his entire life. He needed to do something, anything. Tapping the screen, he called Dani.
“Ethan.” Her voice was calm.
"Hey," Ethan started. "Hunter has cracked it. He found the mole inside the ECOs."
There was a brief pause. "That’s incredible news. Good work. I'm almost ready to wrap this up on my end too," she responded. "I’ve been in touch with Brock Green. He’s linked me up with some of his FBI contacts. They're gearing up as we speak—should be here within the hour."
Ethan nodded to himself, though Dani couldn’t see. "That’s good, really good," he murmured, trying to anchor his swirling thoughts. "Keep me posted, okay?"
"Will do. Hang tight. We’re close," Dani assured him before they ended the call.
As the connection dropped, Ethan tossed his phone onto the couch, sinking down beside it. He raked a hand through his hair. The weight of his own helplessness settled over him like a thick blanket. He wasn’t used to handing over the control.
He glanced at the ankle monitor, then out the window, where the world moved freely beyond his grasp. Now, all he could do was wait, trust in Kevin’s abilities, Brock’s FBI contacts and hope that everything they’d set in motion would converge to bring this nightmare to an end.
His gaze lingered on the street below, but his mind was miles away.