The Criminal

Ch. 26: I promise I won't die.

Torin and his men arrive at Hunter's home, guns drawn. They each stride into the living room, bloodied and bruised. Torin has been shot and is currently pissing blood like nobody's business. It's a superficial injury, but if it's not seen to soon, he'll bleed out and die.

"He needs a hospital!" I yell, rushing to assist.

He sways, moments away from losing consciousness.

"Get him on the table!"

Hunter appears with towels and presses one to Torin's chest. "What happened?"

"It's carnage out there," explains one of the men, suit dishevelled. "Bosses are turning on each other."

"Who shot him?" I ask, keeping a close eye on Torin and his state of consciousness.

"Murphy."

Fuck!

"It's a power struggle. Whoever wins this fight lands themselves top position. Everyone knows it."

"And everyone wants it," insists Hunter, offering me a quick glance.

His concern is concerning, eyes a combination of despair and panic.

"Babe, he needs medical attention," I inform, getting a good look at the bullet hole.

"I know."

"A hospital."

"No hospital," mumbles Torin, still somehow with us.

"You'll bleed out," I insist.

Hunter assesses the wound, brows pinching together. "She's right, Torin. It's too deep for us to get out."

"No fucking hospital," he repeats, withering in pain.

This is bullshit!

"Do we know anyone?" asks one of the suits sporting a split lip.

My heart immediately kicks into gear as I look towards hunter. "Freddie's girlfriend is a nurse."

He nods, maintaining pressure on Torin's chest. "Call her."

I quickly get to it, perhaps doing so in the vaguest way imaginable. In my haste to get Ana here, I don't tell her to come alone, so when I see Freddie storming up the garden path minutes later, I silently kick myself.

"Nicole?"

Bollocks!

"In here!" I yell, ignoring his concern.

"He's been shot," I tell Ana, leading her towards the table where Torin is—miraculously—still conscious.

"Jesus Christ—call a fucking ambulance," she responds.

I take hold of her hand, giving it a small squeeze. "We can't. I need you to get it out."

"I'm not a surgeon, Nicole."

Freddie intervenes. "Why can't we call an ambulance?"

He takes one look at the man in question and narrows his gaze.

"Why the fuck is Torin O'Brien on your kitchen table?"

As a cop, I'm not surprised he recognises him. His enquiry is directed at Hunter who—despite being under huge amounts of pressure—responds calmly.

"Because he's been shot."

Freddie ignores his response and turns his question to me.

"Nikki?"

"Can we talk about this later?" I plead.

Ana takes a reluctant step forward, assessing the situation.