Page 2 of Filthy Rich Fae

I dropped the kid’s chart and bolted toward the fray, picking up snippets of information from the EMTs as they stood over a gurney. Blood soaked the white sheet beneath the man’s head, his skin waxen and his breath labored and shallow. That much blood coupled with the way his dark hair clung together with a matted, oily sheen was a bad sign. I started toward the gurney just as my eyes snagged on the tip of his ear…and stopped. What the hell was wrong with it?

I blinked as Dr. Garcia, the chief of medicine, stepped into my path with an air of authority completely undermined by his inside-out lab coat. “My team will handle this one.”

I opened my mouth to argue, trying to crane my neck around him for another glimpse at the man’s strange anatomy, but he held up a hand.

“Cate, why don’t you take a break?” He shot me a look before he was off.

A break? We didn’t have the staffing for anyone to take a break. What—

Ice filtered into my blood as the doors opened a second time. Haley was already there, barking instructions, but her gaze found mine a second before the world stopped.

It took me a moment to find my center as I stared at my brother’s body being wheeled inside—mostly because my center was right there on that gurney. Channing was as pale as the sheet covering his shaking body. An oxygen mask clung to his pain-stricken face.

I didn’t process taking the steps to reach him even as every word of the EMTs sank through my carefully controlled panic.

“Stable.”

“…hit in the shoulder with a Gage special. Friendly fire.”

“…fragments missed the subclavian and axillary arteries.”

And finally, “Lucky.”

He was lucky.

My panic shifted to relief, then something darker. He may have been lucky compared to the other man, but that luck was about to change because I was going to kill him. With my hands. My stethoscope. I hadn’t decided yet.

He wasn’t just in trouble—he was in with the Gages.

He had the pieces of a Gage special—one of their custom-made bullets lodged in his shoulder as proof. And if it was friendly fire, that meant he wasn’t just mixed up with them. He was working for them.

I was going to vomit.

Haley moved to my side. “Cate, he’s okay,” she said gently. “Let them—”

“I’ve got him,” I cut her off.

Haley opened her mouth before clamping it shut. She glanced at Garcia, who was now completely focused on the other victim. “You can’t go in with him,” she warned me.

I already knew that and gave a quick nod. I wouldn’t go in, but I wasn’t leaving his side until I absolutely had to do so. Haley held my gaze for a breath and then fell back to speak with Garcia.

I jogged alongside Channing’s gurney, surveying the bloody gauze on his shoulder. The result of the iron slug bullets Gage and his men preferred. The bullets were a brutal, inhuman choice due to the way they shattered into splinters when fired. If Channing had been hit even a few inches over… Heat pricked my eyes, and I drew a steadying, if reedy, breath. This wasn’t my first night on the job. It wasn’t even the first time he had shown up injured.

But it was the first time it involved the Gage family.

Channing shoved the mask from his face, drawing a ragged breath. His blue eyes met mine, their gold-flecked irises a pale contrast to my brown eyes. By appearance alone, it was clear we weren’t related by blood. Where he was fair, I was tan despite my long hours in the hospital. His dirty-blond hair was getting a bit shaggy, but it wasn’t long enough to cover the scar on his right brow. He’d still had stitches there the day he arrived at Gran’s with all his belongings shoved in a threadbare pillowcase. Lately, Channing had gotten a few more scars, but this…

His pupils were dilated as they tried to focus on me. “Hey, sis.”

My own eyes narrowed. “Do not hey sis me.”

“Come on, I’m bleeding. Have sympathy.” His lopsided grin did nothing to soften the sharp edge of my rage.

When Gran died, we’d made a pact to keep her memory alive, look out for each other, and stay far away from the Gage family. Like most, we were raised on horror stories of people who had crossed the city’s oldest, richest, and cruelest family. They never had happy endings. Since I’d come to work at Gage Memorial, I’d witnessed enough of them firsthand. Channing knew this.

“Uh, where should we put him?” the EMT asked, eyes darting to his partner’s.

“In jail,” I snapped. Maybe that would teach him the lesson he clearly needed.

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