Low Sided by A.J. Downey (best detective novels of all time txt) 📕

“Who has the key?” I demanded.

“Dahlia,” he said, and his pallor was going a whiter shade of pale, whether from blood loss or for having been exposed, I didn’t know.

I looked up at Mace, put my gloved hands over his and applied pressure like a motherfucker on Tic’s wound.

“Find Dahlia, get the key,” I demanded.

“Got it.”

“Oh, man, don’t let anyone know!” Tic begged.

“Secret is safe with me, bro. Just don’t fuckin’ die!”

Tic made a frightened noise, tears slicking down his sweat-soaked temples as he stared at the ceiling and I promised him, “You’re not going to fucking die. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

He nodded but wouldn’t look at me. He was scared, bottom lip trembling, and he needed to be. He was losing a lot of blood. I took Mace’s place and glimpsed Maverick on his phone in the hallway. He looked in and he looked afraid for his man on the table. I made sure to block all view of Tic’s manhood with my body, preserving his modesty until the door swung shut.

I assessed quickly how bad it was and where the blood was coming from.

What a fucking mess, and definitely high and almost outside my skill set. I had stitched wounds before, but nothing this bad. However, I had assisted on an emergency one at Burning Man where a nicked vein was concerned. I think this was what I was looking at. I just needed to get in there, get it clamped, and figure out what to do from there.

“I’m sorry, Tic, hang in there for me. This is going to hurt,” I warned him, and he nodded without looking at me, staring hard at the light fixture over the table.

I gritted my teeth and dove right into what needed to be done.

Mace ducked his head into the room and said, “Just stabilize him. Eulogy is on his way, so is Dahlia.”

“How long?” I demanded.

“Dahlia, in a few minutes. Eulogy, we got lucky – he was in Centralia which is an hour and a half. Sooner if he rides like a bat out of hell.”

“Shit,” I muttered. “Don’t let Dahlia in here, just get the key and get him unlocked,” I said.

I applied more pressure and swallowed hard. I didn’t know how long an artery or vein could stay clamped without permanent damage. That was beyond my knowledge. I was hoping the Oregon doctor guy for the club could get his ass up here sooner rather than later and I could hand this off.

Shit. Fuck. Goddamn. Motherfucker, I thought savagely and took a deep breath. This was not a time for me to panic. This was a time for me to get my fucking shit together, do what needed to be done, and get the job handled. I could fall the fuck apart later.

“Who stabbed you, Tic?” I asked. I needed to keep him focused on something. I needed to keep him talking, from slipping completely into shock.

“Some fuckin’ meth head, man! I don’t know!”

“Okay, why?”

“I don’t really know that either! Something about turf and us not being so bad!” I barked a laugh.

“Boy, did that dude fuck that one up!” I said.

Tic laughed slightly, an edge of hysteria to it and nodded a little too fast. “Yeah! Yeah, he did!”

“Okay, I’m going to take this compress off and I’m going to go digging. I know it’s gonna hurt and I’m sorry!” I said, and I pulled the packing away.

Tic bit down on a yelp.

The wound wasn’t too deep, he was right. Clean, about two inches, maybe three inches long; the meth head must have twisted or something at the last second. Still, it was deep enough, past the fat layer. I had stitched worse; the problem was finding where all the fucking bleeding was coming from!

I probed the wound with a fingertip and Tic screamed and hollered. I reassured him the best I could.

“Okay, okay! It’s okay, you scream, you curse, you cry and call me all sorts of names. I know it hurts and I won’t take it personal. You’re doing good! Ah! Don’t move!” I shouted when he moved his legs, his heels skidding along the tabletop. He gripped the edge of the table in a white-knuckled grip and blood spurted. I saw it. I spotted it, but I didn’t have anyone in here to hand me the fucking clamp out of the kit.

“Mace!” I bellowed, and he appeared in the doorway. “Clamp!” I cried, and he handed me a pair of locking forceps. “Yes!” I took them but there was too much blood again. I shoved the packing back against the wound.

“Damnit!” I muttered fiercely and shook my head. “Okay, take the packing, that’s it, keep the pressure on, okay?”

I stilled and made eye contact with Mace. His darker gaze met my lighter one and something passed between us, as though we borrowed strength and a calmness from one another.

“When I say, move the packing so I can get in there and try and find this thing and clamp it.”

“I got you,” he said with a nod.

I turned my attention back to Tic’s hip and said, “Okay.”

He moved the packing. I probed and there was a spurt. The offending vein didn’t want to hold still but after a moment, some grunting out of Tic, and listening to his white-knuckled grip squeak against the edge of the sealed wood of the blood-smeared table, the forceps clicked in my hand and I let out the breath I had been holding.

“I got it!”

Mace’s breath left him in a whoosh and I stepped between Tic and the door, making sure to shield the mess of his hip and the cage around his cock with my body as someone, maybe Fen, said behind me, “Dahlia’s here.”

“Go,” I told Mace, and he left my side. I made eye contact with Tic who panted and nodded, gratitude flashing across his face.

“You’re going to be alright,” I said. “Just a little while longer.”

“Thank you,” he said,