Page 2 of The Criminal’s Cure

This is the exact reason I never run in the park.

Well, maybe not the exact reason, but only because I never could have dreamed this up in my wildest imagination.

“You know this is illegal, right?”

Good one, Maddie. Like the guy who carried a gun in his pants for an afternoon at the park cares about what’s legal.

My captor seems to agree because he chuckles, locking eyes with me in the rearview mirror as he weaves in and out of traffic.

He’s quiet, and oddly calm for the absolute hysteria that just ensued.

He’s either completely heartless, or he’s used to this kind of thing—neither option feels all that comforting.

If he’s heartless, he won’t think twice about killing some random woman, regardless of whether or not I can save his son.

And if he’s used to drive-by shootings and evading the police, then that means he’s dangerous. More than dangerous.

Crime is pretty prevalent in Las Vegas. The city pretty much runs on all the illegal activity that happens behind the scenes. This man looks like he’s right in the center of it, and now, so am I.

“What’s his name?” I ask. Regardless of what an asshole his father is, I can’t just let this little boy die.

“Ty. He’s six. No prior medical issues and he’s O negative blood type.

” He rattles off his son’s stats like he’s trained for something like this, but there’s a thinly veiled urgency and fear in his voice.

No matter how prepared you might be for disaster, you never know what it’ll feel like in the moment, and just for a second, I feel bad for him.

Then I catch sight of the gun in his lap and remember how I got here, and the sympathy vanishes.

Ty fades in and out of consciousness. The bleeding has mostly stopped, but with a gaping wound in his stomach, there are at least a thousand other things to worry about.

Blood loss. Infection. Internal damage from the bullet still lodged inside.

I see the sliver of brass, so I know it isn’t all that deep, but that’s not to say it’ll be easy to get to or that it hasn’t already caused irreparable damage.

“Look, we really need to get him to a hospital,” I urge. Maybe now the gravity has had time to set in, he’ll understand how important it is. “The bullet is still inside of him and—”

“Then get it out,” he snaps, white knuckles gripping the steering wheel. That’s the only hint he’s nervous.

“In a moving car?” I almost laugh. “You really are out of your mind if you think I can do that. Especially with driving like yours.”

“Just keep him stable. We’re almost there.

” Where exactly is there ? If it’s not an emergency room, it won’t make much difference, and I don’t need him to tell me to know that it won’t be.

Wherever we’re headed, I won’t have the supplies or the support or anything that I need to give his son a fighting chance, and I need to figure something out quickly.

“Damn it!” He slams the wheel with his hands, wrenching back to check on Ty. “We’re in a traffic jam. You’re going to have to do it here.”

Panic strangles me. Does he think I’m some kind of magician?

It wouldn’t be the first time I removed a bullet, but the procedure is risky in the best of circumstances.

It could break off and splinter, or dislodging it could make the bleeding even worse.

I have no tools, no medication, and I’ve been jostled around so much that I’m already car sick.

What’s going to happen if I’ve got a blade in my hands?

I don’t even have a scalpel, so that doesn’t matter.

When I don’t immediately start to move, his poisonous eyes bore into me and I hear the click of his gun. There’s no more time to stall. I’m out of options–either I figure this out, or he kills me.

By now, my adrenaline has worn off and the reality of my situation sets in.

“I don’t think I can do this,” I murmur, hot tears bubbling in my eyes. “I’ve never done a procedure like this on my own.”

The man swallows, squeezing his eyes shut as he lowers his gun. When he opens them again, I’m surprised to see them clouded with emotion. Fear, uncertainty, desperation. He chews on his lip, staring down at his son. “Please,” he begs. “You’re my only shot.”

A bit of that sympathy creeps up again, and I feel myself softening. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, or maybe I’m just delusional from the stress, but behind his tough as nails exterior, I see a father who is absolutely terrified of losing his son.

Am I actually about to do this? Am I actually going to help the man who refused any type of real medical care for his son? A man who has been nothing but hideous to me despite my efforts to help…

I have just enough of a bleeding heart to agree.

“I’m going to need something sharp. I have to make the opening bigger.” I take a deep breath, barking out orders as If I’m actually in the operating room.

“There’s a latch behind the passenger seat. Everything you need should be in there,” he deadpans, void of all emotion once again.

As I flip the hook and peel back the leather of the seat, I’m speechless. A bottle of vodka, a knife, some towels, gauze, painkillers, and a few other things fall out.

“O-okay,” I stutter, sifting through his supplies. The preparation floors me, and I glance up at him in the rearview mirror.

He holds me stare as a smirk curls at his lips. “For emergencies.”

“What kind of emergencies require you to have a makeshift wound kit in your car?” Yeah, he’s definitely involved in some highly illegal shit. You don’t do this kind of thing if you’re a teacher or an accountant.

“Less talking, more working.” He clenches his jaw, eyes on the road as he makes a turn.

“Can you try to keep the car as steady as possible?”

“I’ll do my best,” he says. “And you do yours.”

I don’t need to be told twice, so I grab a towel and slip it underneath Ty.

“He won’t feel any of this, right?” He looks back again.

I shake my head. “Not while he’s unconscious. But he keeps coming in and out, so I’m going to have to do this fast.”

He doesn’t answer, but the engine purrs as he floors it, speeding to our final destination.

Taking the bottle of vodka, I twist the cap and pour it over Ty’s wound to clean it as best I can.

It’s not perfect, but it’ll help. I take another towel and dab at it.

With practiced hands, I clean the knife off as well, then press the blade into Ty’s skin, elongating the wound so I have a bit of room to work.

More of the bullet is in view now, and I reach for the tweezers.

Sucking in a sharp breath, I tighten them around the base and tug on it gently to be sure there isn’t a rush of bleeding.

If there is, I’ll have to leave it in until I come up with a new plan.

With the nearly translucent hue to Ty’s face, I can tell he’s already lost too much blood, so I can’t risk it.

Thankfully, the bullet slides cleanly, and I pull it the rest of the way out. It comes out completely intact, and I breathe a sigh of relief. No fragments, no splintering. No heavy gush of blood that would indicate internal damage.

“I got it. I got it out,” I say as much to him as to myself. I can’t believe I actually did that. My first solo surgery and it was in the backseat of a car barreling ninety miles an hour down the highway. Holy shit.

“Why is he bleeding so much?” the man growls, his brow furrowed with rage.

There’s a slow trickle of blood coming out of the wound, and I press another towel to it. “It’s okay. The bullet came out clean and this amount of blood is totally normal. If there was anymore, then—”

He gets out of the car, slamming the door behind him. Until right now, I didn’t even notice we’d stopped. The door to the backseat opens up, and he scoops Ty into his arms, snatching the towel out of my hands and pressing it to his wound. “Let’s go.”

“Where are we?” He completely ignores me as we get to the door of a huge warehouse type building. Its metal siding rattles in the wind, and there isn’t a single window aside from a few aptly placed sky lights on the slanted roof.

“Here.” He thrusts the towel back at me. “Keep pressure on it.”

I fight the urge to laugh. I’m the professional and now he’s ordering me around? You’d think that after I just saved his son’s life, he’d show at least the slightest bit of appreciation, but I’m quickly realizing that this guy lacks even the most basic self-awareness.

He fumbles with a set of keys, and eventually he flips the lock, bursting through the door with a loud and attention-drawing bang. Two men sit at the front of the warehouse playing cards, and they look up at us when we walk in.

“Jesus, Roman. What is going on?” The taller of the bunch rushes toward us, clearing a spot off on the table for Roman to set Ty down.

“Drive-by at the park,” he says flatly as he lays his son back. Taking the towel from me again, he holds it to the wound.

“Ty was hit?” The other guy’s face turns sheet white, and he scrambles for a medkit.

Roman nods. “Once in the stomach. I think he’s stable now, though.”

“What the fuck is all this blood from then?”

“The bullet was blocking his blood flow,” I jump in to explain. “When I took it out, all the backed-up blood was free, so it just seems like he’s bleeding a lot. He’s going to be okay, really.”

All three men stare at me, noticing that I’m here for the first time.

“Who is she?” The tall guy nods his head towards me.

“She’s a doctor,” Roman says. “She volunteered to help Ty.”

“Volunteered?” I scoff. This man either lives in a completely alternate universe than the rest of us, or he’s on some very good drugs. Either way, I can’t bite my tongue. “More like you forced me into your car at gunpoint.”

His friend rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Please tell me she’s kidding.”

Roman shrugs as if he couldn’t care less about any of this.

“Roman!” the guy barks again.