Claimed Darker by Em Brown
Chapter 25
DARREN
Past
Icontinue to lay on top of Bridget even after the shots seemed to have ceased. She takes short breaths; her eyes were wide, her body tense. I hear Marshall cursing and one of the other security guys, Chang, calling 9-1-1. Time seems to move slower.
“You okay?” I ask Bridget.
“I think so,” she whispers.
Relief washes through me.
I hear Marshall approaching. He stands behind me and curses again. “Shit!”
He helps me off her. The burning sensation in my upper body intensifies.
“Check Bridget,” I tell him as I sit down against the wall of the building.
“Darren!” she cries when she spots the blood staining my shirt sleeve.
I look her over to see if she was shot before looking down at my arm. The lighting from the building is subdued, and the nearest streetlamp is several yards away, but it’s enough for me to see red.
“You got shot in the back of the shoulder, too,” Marshall informs me as he holsters his Glock.
I can feel the gunshots now. It’s like someone’s trying to drive a red-hot poker through me using a sledge hammer.
“Motherfuck—!” I hear JD scream.
Looking over, I see him lying on the ground clutching his leg. He has blood on the side of his head, too, but he’s going to be okay if he can swear. Amy sits near him, shellshocked but looking physically unscathed.
“We should make a tourniquet for that arm and put pressure on your shoulder,” Marshall says.
“Will this work?” Bridget asks of her belt.
Marshall nods. She whips off her belt for him to tie on my arm above the wound. By now, Cheryl has come out.
Seeing me, she puts a hand to her mouth.
“He’s gonna be okay. Looks like shoulder and arm only,” Marshall assures her.
“I called Lieutenant Chiu,” she tells me. “He said Sergeant Trawley is on his way.”
Chiu and Trawley of the SFPD are both on the triad payroll. Hopefully, Trawley arrives on the scene soon to help manage the fallout.
“Get towels,” Marshall tells Cheryl.
“Check on JD first,” I tell her. I turn to Bridget. “You should check on Amy.”
She doesn’t seem to want to leave. Her eyes are full of worry.
“Go,” I grunt.
She gets up and goes to her friend.
I lower my voice and ask Marshall, “You see who it was?”
“Chang got the make of the car but there was no license plate,” Marshall says.
“No visual on the shooter?”
“No. You didn’t see anything?”
I shake my head. The other security guard, Ramos, tells the few patrons who have emerged from the club to keep their distance.
Fuck. The police are going to be all over The Lotus, digging into potential motives, looking over the guest list.
Cheryl returns with towels.
“Make—Make sure the guests exit the back way,” I say through gritted teeth. Part of me just wants to pass out. “You know…which ones.”
“Already got it covered,” she says. “I’ll adjust the guest list, too.”
I make a mental note to give her a raise. She knows it’s better if certain guests are not around to be questioned by the cops.
Bridget returns. “Amy’s in shock but not hurt.”
I hear the wail of sirens. Either ambulance or cops.
Marshall places a towel against the back of my deltoids and instructs Bridget to keep the pressure there, then goes over to JD, who’s still swearing.
“Sorry you won’t…get your dinner,” I tell Bridget.
She looks angry with me. “Seriously?”
Seconds later, an ambulance pulls up. The pair of EMTs split up. One examines me while the other examines JD.
“I don’t need to be on a fucking stretcher,” I complain when the EMT calls for backup.
“Let them do their job,” Bridget admonishes. She turns to the EMT. “Can I ride with him?”
“I’ll be fine. Not my first time getting shot, remember?”
I hear more sirens. Probably the cops this time. I look to Marshall.
“Don’t worry,” Marshall tells me. “I got this.”
I trust Marshall and Cheryl to manage the situation with the police. This isn’t Trawley’s first intervention, and Lieutenant Chiu will know how to steer the investigation.
I end up on a stretcher. Bridget rides with me to the hospital, where I’m admitted to the emergency room. JD follows shortly. Bridget stays by my side the whole time until I’m taken to the OR. And she’s there when I wake up from the anesthesia.
“Hey, you,” she greets me.
My left shoulder is bandaged, as is my left arm, which is in a sling. “Hey,” I reply.
“You want some water?”
I nod.
She pours me a cup and holds it to my lips.
“My right arm works, you know,” I tell her after taking a sip.
She blushes. “I wasn’t sure if you might be a little uncoordinated coming out of the anesthesia. How are you feeling?”
“Better now that I have morphine pumped into my veins.”
She lets out a long breath and gives me a wan smile. “The police told me they wanted to talk to you when you came out of surgery.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you want me to call your mom?”
“No!”
Bridget jumps back in surprise.
“She’s going to want to fly here from Singapore,” I explain, “and it’s not necessary. I’ll tell her about it later.”
“Okay.”
She looks down. I want to put a comforting arm around her. Softening my tone, I ask her, “How are you doing?”
She meets my gaze. “Feeling lucky, I guess.”
“We’re all lucky. Where’s JD?”
“Right here,” JD replies from the other side of the curtain, which soon gets pulled aside by Amy. “Got out of the OR before you did, motherfucker.”
“Figures. You only got shot in the leg.”
“Only?” He points to the bandages around his head. “Had one graze me near my fucking head. Doc said if it was just an inch over, I’d be blind or dead.”
I notice Amy turning white.
“You had anything to eat?” I ask Bridget.
She shakes her head.
“What time is it?”
“Little after two.”
“And you haven’t eaten? Go get something to eat.”
“Where? The cafeteria isn’t open at this hour.”
“There’s a late-night noodle place in Chinatown,” JD says. “My driver knows. Get me a bowl of roasted beef noodle soup.”
I’m not hungry, but I tell Bridget to get me the same just so she’ll leave and take Amy with her.
After the women are gone, JD says, “I’ll text Trawley he can come in now.”
“Can you believe it?” I muse aloud. “The women weren’t hit at all.”
“Amy’s totally shaken up,” JD says. “She thinks my whole family should be here comforting me and shit.”
Sergeant Trawley, a man in his thirties but already balding, walks in and closes the door behind him. “You are two lucky bastards.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Actually, we’re all lucky the women weren’t hurt. Otherwise, I’d have their families up my ass.”
“You don’t have to worry about ours.”
Trawley nods. “The fewer people involved, the lower the profile this case gets. Best if we can pass this off as a random drive-by.”
“It wasn’t random,” I say. “The car pulled up with deliberation. The gun was aimed at us.”
“You know that for sure?”
“It’s not what I’m going to tell anyone, but I think we were targeted.”
“By whom?”
“Don’t know.”
“You want our help to figure that out?”
“I don’t want your people looking into my club and guests.”
“We can’t avoid it completely. We have to make it look like we did some police work. But that manager of yours is pretty sharp, right? I don’t need to tell her how to play it?”
“She’s good.”
JD, his head down in thought, looks up. “We’ll find the guy or guys. We’ll deal with it.”
“Well, when you do, keep it out of sight. I’m going to have my hands full with this incident. I don’t want another.”
After Trawley leaves, JD turns to me. “You think we were both targeted or were they just lousy shots?”
“No idea.”
I spend the next several minutes thinking about who could want me hurt or dead. The only person I’ve crossed with recently is Joseph Mok.
“If it weren’t for Ramos and Chang, the shooter probably would’ve gotten off more shots,” JD says. “We might be dead men.”
I agree. Part of me still can’t get over the luck that Bridget was unharmed. But if this happens again, will she be so lucky?
