Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Angry voices pull my attention to the left, and I plan to only give them a passing glance, but I spot Hornet walking toward the side door of the clubhouse with a woman in his arms. It’s not unusual for women to get so drunk they have to be carried to a bed to sober up, but I spot the woman’s shoes. They’re the same pair of black heels Kaci was wearing last night, and consequently the only thing I stripped from her body before pulling the covers up to hide all of her tempting flesh.
I’m off the porch and barreling toward him when he’s spotlighted by the flood light focused on the parking lot. Bruises are forming on her face and a ring of blood coats her mouth even brighter than the red she’s known to paint her lips with.
“What the fuck happened to her?” I ask as I reach them and yank her out of his arms. She doesn’t even groan when I cradle her to my chest.
“Some piece of shit hangaround was in the garage just whaling on her, man,” I growl at him when he reaches over to straighten her shirt. I should kill him for seeing her exposed breast where her shirt is ripped, but my focus is on getting her to safety. Hornet takes a step back, knowing I mean business.
“I got her,” I hiss. I know I should take her inside and get her cleaned up but explaining to the other members why I’m concerned with her isn’t a conversation I have the energy for tonight.
I spread her out on the middle seat of the SUV and strap her in with the two seat belts near the doors before pulling my phone from my pocket. After sending off a quick text, I assess her injuries. Bruises on her ribs are beginning to turn purple, but they don’t look deep enough for internal injuries. I pray that I’m right because I’m not taking her to a fucking hospital. All that would bring are questions I can’t answer and suspicion I don’t deserve.
“Fuck, man.” I don’t lift my eyes from Kaci as Ronan steps in close. “You taking her to the hospital?”
“Did you get what I need?”
He holds out the bag of supplies but doesn’t release it immediately. “I think this is out of your wheelhouse, man.”
“Go back inside,” I grunt. “I’m all she needs.”
Being the smart man that he is, Ronan turns and walks away.
“I’m taking you home, my beautiful broken girl.”
It’s not the first time I’ve called her that but fuck if she doesn’t meet the requirements in the flesh tonight.
***
“Don’t,” I tell Kaci when she grumbles and tries to knock my hand away. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
I hit the vein in the back of her hand on the first try, but I’m not surprised by my success. Knowing which places to cut without hitting something major is a skill I perfected years ago. Sometimes I need to end things quickly, but more often I need to know where not to cut.
“It’s just a banana bag,” I tell her even though she’s fallen still once again. I don’t bother explaining that it’s the same shit you can get in those fucking hipster clinics when you’re feeling a little low on vitamins. She doesn’t seem the type that would care about shit like that since her normal thrill-seeking adventures include getting herself hurt.
Speaking to her calms me, though, and I’m doing my best to forget about that motherfucker back at the clubhouse that hurt her. Taking care of her is my primary focus, but that still doesn’t keep me from wanting to drive back home and dismember that piece of shit limb by limb.
“We use them back at the clubhouse when we need to ride and are too drunk to get on our bikes.”
She doesn’t stir. I hang the bag of fluids on the inside of her lampshade and click it off, so the bulb doesn’t melt the bag. I’m twisted, wondering if I should push painkillers, but at the same time, I want her to feel the pain, so she doesn’t pull shit like this again. I’m a sick fuck, just like that mom on the TV show Molly made me watch years ago. The girl was in labor, and her mother was trying to talk the doctor out of giving her an epidural because feeling the pain was something the mother thought would keep her from getting knocked up again. Back then, I thought the mother was a piece of shit for wanting her daughter to suffer. Tonight, I’m understanding her in a different light.
She doesn’t make a sound, but tears stream down her face when I press sterile gauze dipped in saline solution against her split lip, and it’s all the motivation I need. I pull the vile of morphine out of the kit Ronan brought to me and push two milliliters of morphine into her IV port. Within seconds the tension in her muscles settles.