Loaded

by KB Winters

  “Maybe I’m sick of being used, Wheeler. Maybe I’m sick of letting you into my home, my bed only for you to turn around and act like an asshole. I’ve never asked a damn thing of you, other than basic human decency and that seems too much. So if you want pills, come to the hospital or find another source. Good night.”

  I slammed the door in his face and leaned against it while my heart raced so loud it was all I could hear for several minutes. It felt good, but I also felt like a garbage human being for turning away a man, a patient, so clearly in need.

  But he was using me.

  His large hand landed on the door but it wasn’t threatening or even angry, it was almost an anguished pat. “Annabelle, let me in. Please.” His arrogant, commanding tone was gone and my heart went out to him.

  “Dammit, Wheeler. Why are you doing this?” My voice was barely above a whisper, but he heard me.

  “Because as much as I hate it, you know the truth. About the nightmares and the pain.” Of course he chose this moment, when I wanted to be alone, to be brutally honest.

  “I’m having trouble sleeping.”

  “The nightmares again?”

  “Again. Still. However you want to put it.” All the arrogance had fled and in its place there was just pain and vulnerability remaining.

  Even though I knew about the nightmares, had witnessed them just once, I wasn’t crazy enough to believe him so easily. “I’m sorry to hear that, but I don’t have anything here Wheeler.”

  “You’re here,” he said simply as if that meant something to me.

  “This is my house, where else would I be?”

  “Let me in, Annabelle. Please. I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

  I snorted even though my hand was already curled around the doorknob and my other hand was poised on the deadbolt lock.

  “Fine,” he said, the smile returned to his voice now that he knew he was this close to getting his way. “I promise to try, very fucking hard, to keep my hands to myself.”

  That was a more believable promise, at least that’s what I told myself as I opened the door. “Come in.”

  He smiled, and I looked away because it was too powerful, too potent to look at directly without falling at his feet. It was like his superpower, and he knew it, based on the way his smile brightened when I turned back to him. “Thanks.”

  “Sure.” It wasn’t like I could, in good conscience, turn away a person in need. Especially when that person was working very hard to make it seem like he wasn’t in pain. I understood and sympathized with his pain, and I appreciated the sacrifices he’d made for the sake of the country.

  “Make yourself at home, Wheeler.” I kicked off my shoes, and he grabbed my hand, helping to keep me balanced. “Thanks.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Upstairs to shower and then find some kind of sustenance. Is that all right with you?”

  He dropped my hand like it burned him, those blue eyes dimmed just a bit, the laughter disappeared completely. “Yeah. Sorry.”

  Dammit. He was really hurting, and I was a bitch. It didn’t help at all that my behavior was justified, because pain radiated from every inch of his six-four frame. “It’s all right. Go sit down and watch some television, I’ll be down in a bit.”

  “Don’t hurry on account of me, Doc. You’re doing me the favor here.” Even though I expected it, his return to the arrogant veneer he preferred stung like a bitch.

  No good would come from confronting Wheeler, he was too fucked up. I turned away and climbed the steps to my bedroom and took my time.

  Prolonging the inevitable.

  Chapter Five

  Wheeler

  As soon as I heard the Doc’s bedroom door close, I headed for the kitchen in search of a beer. I shouldn’t have come here, dammit. I didn’t want to put up with her shit any more than she clearly didn’t want to put up with mine.

  But here I was and not because I wanted pills. Painkillers were nice because I could sleep without the crazy fucking dreams and wake up with minimal pain. As long as I stayed on top of it, pills kept the phantom pain from getting too bad. But this time, I was here because of Annabelle. Something about the pretty little doctor kept me calm, helped me sleep.

  Most of the time.

  But she was right, I was an asshole to her—always—and she didn’t deserve it. She’d been serving as the MC’s unofficial doctor, stitching us up and yanking bullets out of us without asking questions, even though she had to have at least a million of ’em. That was another damn thing I liked about her, which just pissed me off. Dr. Annabelle Keyes was not a woman I could or should like. She was a professional, a doctor, and she probably had dreams of picket fences, a loving husband and even an eager border collie greeting her every night after work. That wasn’t me, not by a long shot.

  Still, she let me in when she didn’t want to. I grabbed one of those expensive craft beers she favored with the funky labels and noticed food she clearly planned to cook tonight. It was the least I could do and the sight of that big juicy steak along with broccoli, bell peppers, an onion, and carrots made me realize I hadn’t eaten since breakfast at the main house.

  I didn’t know what she planned to make, but I’d done enough kitchen duty in the military, mostly as punishment for stepping out of line in my younger years, that I could whip up something for both of us. Her expensive beer went down smooth. It was icy and hoppy and slightly bitter. Damn good, even if it did cost three times what plain old Budweiser did.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  She caught me at the stove, seasoning meat, flipping vegetables, and filling her kitchen with incredible smells.

  I smiled at her indignant tone before turning to flash her what Peaches called my panty melting smile, but I was the one surprised, again, by how fucking beautiful she was. It wasn’t an over the top, in your face kind of beauty either. It was simple and unassuming. But damn beautiful.

  Her hair was still damp and hanging down her back, clinging to her pale skin, slightly pink from the hot shower. She wore a green and white t-shirt that dropped down to mid-thigh, giving the appearance she wore nothing underneath. I knew it was a lie, but my cock didn’t, or maybe he didn’t care. Maybe my cock was just intrigued by the length of smooth, shapely legs on display.

  Neither me nor my cock gave a damn that with her crossed arms and the pissed off expression on her face, she wouldn’t be letting me see what actually was underneath that t-shirt.

  “Has it been that long since a man cooked for you, Doc?” It was another asshole thing to say, but I really just couldn’t seem to help myself around her.

  She snorted and rolled her eyes. “I don’t need a man to do for me what I am perfectly capable of doing for myself.”

  Ah, I knew she had a mile-wide independent streak, and I knew how to get her good and riled up. “Not everything,” I said with a condescending grin because dammit I loved to spar with her.

  “Everything,” she said with attitude, her expression serious and unamused.

  Maybe this was why I liked being around her and being an asshole to her. “Surely not everything, Doc.” My voice was low and seductive, and hell yeah I was flirting with her, trying to entice her into helping me break my promise to keep my hands to myself. Too bad she wasn’t biting. Not yet, anyway.

  “There’s nothing a man can do to or for you, better than you can?”

  She sighed and dropped her arms, giving me a glimpse of two hard-tipped nipples that she couldn’t hide from me. “In the moment, sure. But when I give myself an orgasm it comes with no drama. No demands. And no bullshit.”

  Those clear brown eyes said so much, and I heard it loud and clear, she considered me one of those people who brought drama and demands.

  “Good thing I’m keeping my hands to myself then, isn’t it?”

  “Very.”

  I loved it when she got all prissy because it was a show. It was all bullshit. I saw how her pulse fluttered when my voice pit
ched low, and I remember exactly how she liked to be fucked. Hard and rough. She was insatiable and dirty. Just how I liked my women.

  “So, what’s for dinner?” she asked.

  I smiled again because of how hard she was working to ignore the heat that sizzled between us. It was fine, I’d play her game for now. “Stir fry, I guess. You had all these damn vegetables and that weird teriyaki sauce so that’s what I made.”

  “Thanks. That was…thoughtful.”

  “I’ll try not to be too offended that you sound so damn surprised I can be thoughtful.”

  She shrugged like it didn’t matter whether I was offended or not, and her being so standoffish made me want her more.

  “Since I’ve seen no evidence of your thoughtful side, surprise is warranted.” Luckily, she had a great pair of legs, and I was barely listening as she walked to the fridge and bent over, giving me a glorious view of her heart shaped ass—in tiny white shorts that cupped her ass like a glove—and came out with a beer.

  “So, want to talk about what’s bothering you?” Leaning against the fridge with one foot crossed over the other, she looked as calm as could be.

  I glared at her, hard, but I wasn’t shocked by her boldness. “Nope.” Instead of explaining or waiting for her next line of questioning, I started to put the rice, vegetables and steak strips on plates for each of us, walking carefully to the table and back so she wouldn’t notice my painful limp because the last damn thing I needed was sympathy.

  Her sympathy.

  I felt her gaze on my body and this time it wasn’t a caress or appreciation, it was medical. Impersonal. I braced myself for the upcoming lecture, something she and my brother, Mitch, fucking excelled at.

  After watching me for too damn long, Annabelle pushed off the fridge and tucked the beer bottle into the crook of her arm, grabbing her plate in one hand and the napkin and flatware in the other before she marched out of the kitchen. Without a word.

  “What the hell, Doc?” I grabbed my plate and followed her, slower because of the pain in my leg. When I reached the living room, I scowled at her, already curled up on one end of the sofa with her legs tucked under her and a small wooden tv tray already set up, remote in her hand while she browsed movies and TV shows.

  “Why did you leave like that?”

  She shrugged but her gaze never left the screen mounted on the wall. “You show up here, uninvited, and you don’t want to talk. We’re not having sex, and I have no drugs, what else do you want if not to talk to someone?” She browsed a few more channels while I stared at her numbly. “Should I get in your face and force you to tell me what brought on the nightmares?”

  “No,” I grunted out.

  “Glad we’re in agreement. Sit and eat, or don’t.” She shrugged again, finding some movie where people were singing and dancing with a smile, before she tucked into her food. “It’s good, thanks.”

  I took the seat on the other end of the sofa, taking my signal from Annabelle who was content to eat in silence while she got lost in the silly singing and dancing on the screen. A full hour passed with the only sound being forks on plates and a bunch of homeless artists singing about not having enough money to pay their bills. It wasn’t bad but it was damn depressing. “You got nothing to say?” Why her silence pissed me off, I couldn’t say. I should’ve appreciated that she wasn’t pushing me to tell her all my shit. But I didn’t.

  And I hated to be ignored.

  When her plate was empty and there was no threat our conversation would ruin her meal, she pushed the small tray table away and turned to me, legs still tucked under her body. “You’re a grown man Wheeler. You’ve led men into war and you tend to cattle or whatever it is you do on the ranch. If you wanted to talk then I assume you would.”

  I both appreciated that and hated the fuck out of it. “I guess.”

  Her sigh spoke of her annoyance, and she reached for her beer, groaning at the empty bottle. I watched her curiously as she stood, grabbed her plate and left for the kitchen, returning moments later with another beer. Annabelle tucked herself back into the corner and turned those big, all-seeing brown eyes on me. “What branch of the military were you in?”

  “That’s what you want to know?” Most women wanted to know if I killed any terrorists and if so, how many. I didn’t peg her as that kind of woman, but I’d been wrong before.

  “No. I want to know what’s causing the nightmares and the pain, but since you don’t want to talk about that, tell me about the military.”

  “I was in the Army. Special Forces.”

  Her eyes widened slightly like she was surprised or maybe even impressed. “Like Green Berets?”

  I nodded. “Some people still call us that, but we stick with special forces since it encompasses much more than our headgear.” It wasn’t an offensive term, just a very basic description of who the public thought we were.

  “Why the Army?” Her questions were thoughtful and the way she rested her beer on one knee and her chin in her hand told me she was genuinely interested in the answer.

  “Why not?” It was my prepared answer but Annabelle just stared as if she knew there was more to it. “Wasn’t a strong swimmer until I got to the Army and honestly, the recruiter made it sound cool as shit. Plus, they offered to pay for the rest of my education.”

  “You were in college when you joined? That doesn’t happen often does it?”

  “Not that I know of, but I had no way to pay for college without going deep in debt, which would have been fine if I’d had a clue about what I wanted to do with my life.”

  She nodded thoughtfully. “Did the military help you figure it out?”

  I snorted. “Obviously not. All I got was a shit ton of nightmares and half a goddamn leg.”

  “So you regret your service?”

  “Hell no. I did a lot of fucking good for my country, and I’ll never regret that. It just didn’t turn out how I thought it would.” My heart clenched even as I thought about it, about the hot shit smartass I’d been in my younger years, dreaming that I’d be something important. Somebody important.

  “Thank you for your service, and your sacrifice Wheeler.”

  She stunned me once again. Those soft, sincere words hit me square in the chest and made me feel warm and uncomfortable. Why the fuck did she have to be so fucking sweet? So goddamn appealing? And why, for the love of all that’s holy in this world did her pink lips and those red glasses make her look like every naughty librarian fantasy I’d ever had come to life?

  “Sure,” I grunted and hoped she’d change the conversation before I went back on my promise to her.

  Her lips curled into a very small smile, like I amused her. “Did you do a lot of super secret missions?”

  I nodded and waited for her to ask for details I couldn’t give. “I did.”

  Again with that thoughtful nod, only this time she also took a long pull from her beer. “You’ve seen a lot of fucked up shit, probably done more than your fair share too.”

  “Your point?”

  She didn’t let my tone bother her. That realization made her more appealing to me but also made me more uncomfortable. “My point is that your nightmares make sense, even though that doesn’t help you at all.”

  No shit. “What about you? Why’d you become a doctor?” If she wanted to get personal, two could play that game.

  She shrugged and changed her position on the sofa so her legs were extended across the sofa just inches from my legs. Her bare feet arched in my direction, and she took a sip from her bottle. “My father’s a doctor. So I guess you could say it’s the family business. But I wanted to help people, and he encouraged me.”

  “What about your mom, was she a doctor too?” I wondered if she came from a wealthy family who turned the seasons into verbs and traced their lineage to the Mayflower and shit like that.

  “My mom died when I was six years old and all I remember of her are photos.”

  “I lost my dad at a young age too. It fuc
king sucks.”

  Her lips twitched and big brown eyes burned with gratitude. “It does,” she agreed with a huff.

  “Your dad must be proud as shit though, right? My own mom hated the idea of the military especially since I was already in college, but she came around. Eventually.”

  “He is proud to an extent,” she explained with what could only be described as a heavy heart. “But he believes I’m wasting my talents as an emergency surgeon. Dad works as a cardio-thoracic surgeon at Houston Methodist, so he’s a little biased.”

  “Shit, even I’m impressed.” She glared at me, hard, telling me just what she thought of that sentiment. “But he must be a real asshole if patching people up when they’re on the brink of death isn’t good enough. Hell, if not for people like you, most of us wouldn’t have made it back alive.” Combat medics were the reason I still had some leg left and why I hadn’t died of an infection.

  “He is who he is, and I love him, but we aren’t close.”

  Which meant she had no one, just like me. Except I had the Reckless Bastards.

  “Does that mean you’ll be at the ranch for the holidays?”

  She laughed. “It means I’ll probably work so my colleagues can spend the holiday with their families.”

  Of course she thought about everyone else, because that was just who she was. She’d shown up time and again to stitch up me or one of the other guys in the MC. Making sure they were healthy and safe without getting the law involved.

  “You’re too good to be true, Doc.”

  She snorted a laugh that should’ve been unattractive but it wasn’t. She was beautiful and the fact that she didn’t try made her even more so. “Enough talking, Wheeler. Relax. Try to stop thinking so much about…every damn thing.”

  Her words made me grin, and I shook my head. Yep, she was definitely too good to be true. “If you insist.” I set my plate on the coffee table and kicked off my shoes before stretching my body across the length of the sofa so my feet hung off one end and my head rested in her lap. “Better?”