I reach forward and stroke her forehead gently, but she winces as she bats it away.
“You need to come back with us. We have a doc. We aren’t going to leave you to deal with this on your own,” I say. “Not least because your house just got shot up.”
Iris nods. “My uncle can . . . come to pick me up.”
I slam my gun back into my holster and lift Iris in my arms. She’s light as a fucking feather. Maybe it’s the way I’m holding her, but she curls against my chest. “I got you,” he says.
“Not totally . . . reassuring,” she says. I don’t miss the hint of brat in her tone, even during a stressful event like this.
She’s right to be suspect. My track record of keeping people alive isn’t the best.
I get her to my bike, blood oozing from her thigh. I can’t think about the ferrous smell of it or the way it’s warm and slippery against my palm. Still, the brave little chick manages to get on my bike and hold on.
I drive as quickly as I can given the weather, and when we get to the clubhouse, Clutch yells to open the gate. While we wait, Iris groans. “It . . . hurts, Spark.”
“We’ll get you the help you need,” I promise.
There’s flurry of furious activity when we arrive. King’s pissed. I hear someone say that Switch, our medic, isn’t here and were going to have to wait for him.
Fuck.
“Come on, little chick,” I say as I carry Iris inside and lay her down on the pool table. The sharp hiss as she straightens her leg breaks my heart.
Gwen hurries over. “Get me a first aid kit. Whatever supplies you’ve got.”
“I need help,” Iris pleads as I place my fist down firmly by the side of her head.
If there’d be no implications, I’d take her to the hospital myself. But I can’t. “Too many questions to go to the ER. But I promise. Switch is a good medic and he’s on his way, and that’s Gwen, our president’s sister. I won’t let anything happen to you while you’re here. I promise.”
“I’m just going to take a look,” Gwen says, lifting the hem of Iris’s coat, but the look on her face tells me the wound is out of her league.
“Spark. Go get me a clean wad of cloth. A towel, dishcloth, T-shirt, anything?”
I glare at Gwen. I don’t want to leave Iris alone. I hate the idea of her on our pool table that I know countless women have been fucked on. But I go do it anyway.
I run to my room and grab a clean T-shirt and a thin sheet from my dresser. While rummaging, I place a quick call to Switch to get a timing estimate.
I don’t like his answer.
When I return, I shove the T-shirt to Gwen. “Clean. I just washed it. Hadn’t even put it away yet.” I reach for Iris’s hand.
“Hold this,” Gwen says as she applies the T-shirt to the wound. “Pressure. Lots of it. Until she can get it cleaned and stitched.”
She walks away to grab something, and I do as she says, swallowing down the trippy shadow of fear I feel. I’ve been here before, applying pressure to wounds of people I care about.
“You holding in there, Iris?” I ask.
Tears spill over her lashes, her face blotchy from panic and pain. I wonder what her cheeks look like when she comes. When tears spill over for other reasons.
“No. Not really,” she says quietly.
Her answer kills my thoughts. “I’m sorry I brought trouble to your door. I didn’t keep you safe.”
“No. You didn’t.” Her anguish slices through me as surely as a knife. “Trouble always follows men like you.”
“You doing okay, Iris?” Gwen asks as she returns.
“You don’t happen to have an IV of powerful meds do you?”
Her question makes the sides of my mouth twitch. There’s humor in her delivery, even as her breath catches.
“Unfortunately not.” Gwen digs into a first aid kit. “I can do you a nice line of over-the-counter pain relief or whiskey.”
“I’m just going to bleed out here, am I?” Iris asks, looking up at me. Her eyes are so green, so pretty, with long eyelashes. There’s a small bank of freckles across her pert nose. And her lips . . .
I force myself to answer. “Switch, our doc, was an army medic. He was out on a run, but I called him in and he’s on his way back. You’re safe here, Iris.”
“I need to call my godfather, my uncle, so he can come get me. I would but I don’t have my phone.”
King pulls out his phone and Iris gives him the number. He stands away from the crowd for the call but then I see him mouth the word fuck as he tugs at his hair.
“He’s on his way,” King says. “Spark, get your ass away from her.”
“Fuck off, Prez,” I reply, but there’s no malice in my tone. “She’s been hurt, I’m not leaving until—”
“Cillian Ó Ceallaigh is on his way with medical help to pick up his niece and goddaughter.”
On instinct, I let go of her hand like I’ve been electrocuted. “Cillian Ó Ceallaigh?”
King nods.
The entire room comes to a standstill, everyone looking at Iris as we process what we just heard.
“Who is Cillian Ó Ceallaigh?” Gwen asks.
“The head of an Irish crime family,” King says.
“Allegedly,” Iris says, and she offers me the whisper of a smile then a teary wink. Fucking winks at me.
“Did someone die?” Clutch asks as he walks back into the room.
“We might,” King says and fills Clutch in.
Clutch looks to Vex, our tech expert, and the guy who found out Iris had witnessed the accident. “And we didn’t know this?”
“You asked me to find the witness, not to research her family tree,” Vex says with a shrug.
While others debate what we should do next, I realize Iris’s wound is bleeding less. I get Gwen to cover her with the cream blanket.
My fingers are stained with dried blood, but I lean close and push a lock of hair back from Iris’s face. “You okay, sweetheart?”
Iris grips my wrist, then pushes it away. “You know you shouldn’t touch me anymore if Cillian is on his way. And the rest of you don’t need to worry. I’ll tell Cillian what happened.”
I’m a big believer in consent, and her words and actions are the withdrawal of it, so I step back a couple of inches to give her space. But her and I aren’t over. Not even close.
“I’m sorry, Iris,” Gwen says. “This was all to help me. I got shot, and they were just trying to help me figure out who did it. I didn’t mean for anyone else to get hurt.”
Iris answers but keeps her eyes on me. “Aye. This is a hard life for those who want to live it, but it’s the women who get hurt by association, even though they’re not allowed a role in it. It’s bullshit, but you can’t escape your family no matter how you try.”
I want to tell her I’d keep her safe, but how can I when she got shot during our very first meeting?
“Clear the room,” Uther instructs. “Patched members only.”
Gwen refuses, but Clutch simply puts her over his shoulder and carries her away while she slaps his back.
It takes twenty more minutes before Cillian Ó Ceallaigh arrives at the clubhouse. He’s dressed like one of those Wall Street bankers. Slick suit. Sharp hair. Expensive watch and shoes. He ignores King and walks straight toward Iris.