Wrecked by the Bad Boy: The Sick MC

by Olivia Stephens

  “Yeah, but–”

  “No buts. We either do this or go back to Pete. What do you want?” Tyler swung around and glared at Jack. He didn't flinch, though he stared coolly down at his brother. Tension and fire and unadulterated rage flickered between them, weighing heavily on their exhausted minds. Tyler's fingers tightened into fists, the urge to strike Jack rousing in his mind.

  Three weeks of ducking in and out of towns, of avoiding other bikers, of crawling around hoping to stir up some evidence razed Tyler's thoughts. Maybe if he had stayed in Legacy longer, he could have gotten Miranda's help easily. A part of him knew that to be a farce, though.

  “Fine,” Jack relented, his stiff shoulders sagging. He turned his back to Tyler and grunted, “I'm going to take a shower before we go.”

  Tyler didn't have the chance to bite out a reply before his brother slammed the door shut. He cocked his head, ears listening for the telltale click of a lock. Thankfully, it didn't come. Tyler eased, knowing Jack wasn't that petty. He heaved an exhausted sigh and turned back to the parking lot and horizon.

  His heart thrummed at the thought of returning to Legacy. The prospect sent his thoughts reeling into wishful fantasies, starring Miranda. A nodule of guilt rolled about his thoughts. She wouldn't want to see him. She wouldn't want to listen to him nor cooperate. The banks were her family's business.

  Yet, Tyler couldn't help holding out his hope. The Groves had been lording themselves over Miranda for a long time. Under the neatly polished sheen, there was a rowdy, darker part of her dying to crash through. He ran a hand through his hair, over the painful lump on his skull from the attack. He could only hope she was ready to break out.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  When Miranda stepped into the bank, a sudden chill brushed down her body. She rubbed at her arms as gooseflesh tickled along her skin. After flicking on the light and re-locking the front door, her stomach lurched. The counter and her office, where most early morning preparations took place, taunted her with memories of Tyler. They had done so for three weeks. Faintly, she wondered when her mind would stop the torment.

  The thoughts of Tyler prompted her obsession. Where was he? Was he all right? Was he with someone? Her skin itched as her imagination provided answers to every question – some dirty stretch of road in the desert with his buddy, both with strange women in their back seats. The very thought made Miranda's stomach sour. She began the motions of opening the bank, trying to shove her thoughts into a dark crevice of her brain.

  The chunk of the front door's lock sounded. Miranda's gaze darted to the door, her heart fluttering with insane hopes and curiosity. Her gaze flicked to the clock. Barely twenty minutes had passed from when she arrived. It wasn't opening time, yet, and no one was scheduled to come in for another forty minutes.

  Miranda eased as Naomi step in. Her relief was short-lived as soon as her eyes focused on her face. Dark bags hung under Naomi's stark blue eyes, almost like dark shiners from a brawl. Her blonde hair was hastily pulled back into a ponytail. Her outfit, usually accessory-ridden and painstakingly crafted, was a typical dark skirt and white blouse number. Naomi flashed Miranda a weary smile, her strong tone softened, “Hey.”

  “Naomi, you're early,” Miranda managed to force a smile to her lips, but concern swept through her head. She couldn't imagine what had Naomi so wearied. A suspicion itched at the back of her head. Was Naomi affected by Jack's departure? Sure, she hadn't spoken much about the man, but the few snippets were laved with wistful sighs and pinked cheeks.

  “I couldn't sleep,” groaned Naomi. She teetered on her heels as she closed in on the office, where Miranda was checking through some online security notices. Her body wobbled, as if the blonde were made of solid wood. She slumped against the doorframe, dropping her purse unceremoniously on the carpet. “I feel like shit.”

  “I'm sorry. You don't look that sick, just tired.”

  “I ache all over and I couldn't keep anything down this morning,” Naomi bemoaned, leaning more heavily against the doorjamb.

  “Sounds like the flu. You should go to the doctor.”

  “But I don't feel icky. Just my body is mutinying against me.” Naomi jutted her lip out, setting her jaw in a stubborn grimace.

  Miranda knew there was no arguing with her. “Well, how about you sit down and relax until the bank opens?”

  Naomi's shoulders slumped, but she nodded in a grateful fashion. She shoved off the doorjamb and toddled to the lobby area to slump into one of the cushioned chairs.

  A twinge of sympathy echoed in Miranda's heart. Naomi wasn't the best, attendance-wise, but she knew her limits. If she felt well enough to work, she could handle it. That didn't keep the little worry at the back of Miranda's brain silent, though.

  She tried to shove her concerns down as the minutes ticked by. Instead, her head became split along three avenues: Tyler, Naomi, and work. Miranda barely finished the morning routine before the first, impatient knock sounded on the bank's door. She ducked her head over the counter, hiding her wince of displeasure.

  Old woman Curtis stood on the other side of the glass. Her face, wrinkled like a dried apple, puckered around her scowl as she rapped her knuckles along the glass. Miranda sighed and went to the door. Mrs. Curtis was a well-respected, long-time patron of the bank and her family insisted on treating her a margin better than others. As she unlocked the door and swung it open, she plastered a smile across her lips, “Mrs. Curtis, come in.”

  “About time you opened,” complained the elderly woman as she scuttled past Miranda. She clutched her purse in her hands, like a rat holding onto a piece of cheese. Miranda sighed and followed after Mrs. Curtis, sucking down the urge to roll her eyes. Mrs. Curtis's eyes landed on Naomi, who slumped in her chair with her arm over her eyes. The old woman inhaled sharply, before squawking, “What are you doing sitting around? Come now, come now, get behind the counter!”

  Naomi jolted from her seat. She blinked a couple times, her large blue eyes taking a second longer to focus. When recognition passed over Naomi's face, Miranda could spot the slight wrinkle of her nose. However, the blonde skittered around the counter, taking her usual position. “Mrs. Curtis, I can assist you here.”

  With the knowledge that Naomi could handle Mrs. Curtis, Miranda made her way to the office. She glanced over the day's work schedule, which she had printed off earlier. Within the hour, two more tellers would arrive. Miriam had the day off, but the woman would certainly come in, if called – not that Tuesdays were extremely busy bank days. Yet, it paid to be prepared.

  Mrs. Curtis's shrill demand cut through Miranda's thoughts, “Are you even paying attention!”

  Miranda's head snapped up. Naomi wasn't feeling well. Warning bells ricocheted through her head as the atmosphere shifted. Her arms broke out in gooseflesh as she raced to the open doorway. As Miranda ducked into the lobby, she caught the sight of Naomi.

  The color slowly drained from her face as she braced herself on the counter. Her eyes lashes fluttered, as if she were trying clear an obstruction in her vision. Naomi's body crumpled. Her head bounced off the wooden counter then she slid off the surface. Her body thumped to the floor.

  Mrs. Curtis let out a shriek and scuttled backward as Miranda rushed forward. She knelt beside Naomi, cellphone out and 911 ringing.

  Miranda was sputtering directions just as Naomi's eyes fluttered open. Her eyes rolled back and forth, shiny in her pale face. She grasped Miranda's wrist, gaining her attention. Managing a weak smile, she said, “I'm fine.”

  Miranda's expression hardened as she stared down at Naomi. A stream of blood oozed from the gash on Naomi's forehead. Averting her gaze, she finished her instructions, “Yes, the Legacy bank. Yes. Thank you.”

  Naomi weakly dissented throughout, her grip on Miranda tightening. Miranda ignored her protests. The longer she talked, the weaker her voice became until she could barely whisper, “I swear, I'm all right.”

  Miranda snapped her phone shut and pocketed the pho
ne. When her gaze flicked back to Naomi, the heat of determination flared. “I'm taking you to the hospital. No arguments.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  When Tyler stepped into the bank, his skin crawled. No one noticed as the two bikers stepped into the lobby. Hell, it seemed like there were far less patrons than average. The tellers spoke in hushed tones and an air of concern thickened the air. 'Collapse' and 'hospital' squeaked from quiet voices.

  His eyes instantly darted around the bank. Miranda was nowhere to be seen. Tyler's stomach churned and his blood chilled. He glanced toward Jack, his worries intensifying as the strained worry pinched across his face.

  Sweeping the area once more, Tyler realized where Jack's worries stemmed from. The little blonde piece of ass wasn't present either. His heart sank to his stomach.

  He needed answers. Tyler wove his way through the line and stepped up to the counter. “Excuse me, where's the bank manager?”

  “Miss Groves?” The man looked Tyler up and down, obviously put-off by the leather and the injuries. “She's not here right now. Can I take a message?”

  “I'm an old friend of hers,” assured Tyler, his smile turning tight and irritated. Jack awkwardly shifted beside him.

  The teller's smile dimmed. His eyebrows dipped as a frown curled at his lips. “I'm sorry, I really don't thin–”

  “Look, paper-pusher,” snarled Tyler. His hand darted out, grabbing the teller by the shirt, “I know more about Miranda Patrica Groves than your sorry ass does.” The man's eyes widened, his ruddy face paling as Tyler hauled him halfway over the counter. His gaze flickered to his co-workers, but all of them seemed frozen to the spot. Tyler ignored them as he spat, “Either you tell me what happened or you become acquainted with the bottom side of my chopper.”

  * * *

  The sounds of the hospital grated on Miranda's ears. Every announcement boomed in her ears; every footfall pounded on her nerves. Even the sounds of the morose waiting room were getting to her. She rubbed at her temples while trying to ignore the crinkle of magazines and the hushed whisper of the television.

  Over and over, Miranda tried to calm her nerves. Naomi had been awake when the ambulance came. That was a good sign, right? Sure, the gash on her forehead looked awful, but the head bled profusely. Miranda's fingers inched upward, into her hair. She tugged at it, as if she could pull the worries from her very head.

  What had she been thinking? She was dizzy and still tried to work? Shame and responsibility strangled Miranda's thoughts. She should have sent Naomi home. But, what if she passed out while driving? Miranda's heart fluttered before going cold. She didn't even want to humor the thought.

  Familiar heavy footfalls caught her ears. Her eyes widened a split second before Jay and Tyler ambled into the waiting room. As her gaze caught Tyler's, her heart shuddered and skipped a beat. Heat crawled up from her core, threatening to spill across her cheeks. Somewhere, her mind teased her with the memories of her wet dream.

  Miranda's rage took the wheel. She shot to her feet, hands clenched at her sides and stormed over to the two men. “What the hell are you two doing here?”

  “We heard about Naomi,” answered Tyler. His lower stomach knotted as the alluring fire of anger flickered in Miranda's green eyes. He swallowed down his hormones. This wasn't the time to entertain his fantasies.

  “No. I mean what are you doing in Legacy?” Remembering where she was, Miranda's voice dropped to a hiss. However, her tone lost none of its venom.

  Tyler bristled with contagious anger. He barely smoothed his voice as he replied, “It's a long story. Can't we talk about it later?”

  “No, let's talk about it now, Tyler.” Miranda felt crazed. Between worry for Naomi and utter rage toward Tyler, she wobbled on a precipice. He hadn't texted her and hadn't called. The few times she tried to get through to him, she was met with silence or an automated voice informing her of disconnection. He had done his best to cut her out of his life after he left Legacy. Why come back?

  Tyler and Miranda locked glares. Tension and hackles rose.

  Jack stepped right between the crossfire. Miranda's temper abated as the stranger blocked Tyler from her view. “Sorry to break up this lovers spat, but what happened?”

  “Oh, you're the one she went home with. Why do you care?” Irritation swarmed back to her head. Jack probably shouldn't have used the term 'lovers spat.' She narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms, her lips twisting into a thin scowl. Why did he care? Big bad bikers were always having meaningless flings, weren't they? That was the last thing her friend needed after today. “Wasn't Naomi just a fling for you?”

  “It's not...that's...” Jack flushed as he stumbled over his words. Miranda's scowl deepened. He rubbed the back of his neck and his eyes fell to the floor. His face pinched in annoyance as he muttered, “It's complicated.”

  “Yeah, I'm sure it is.” Miranda pursed her lips, letting her sour distaste curdle her words. “You two should get going. You're good at that.”

  Uneasy lightning crackled between the three of them. Each one bristled, each one irritated. The pressure weighed down on them, crushing their chests, and making it hard to breathe.

  “I'm sorry, um, Miss Groves?” A nurse scuttled up to Miranda. She clutched her clipboard close to her chest, and eyed the bikers with concern. When Miranda turned, she turned her attention to her clipboard. “Miss Larson is awake. She asked for you.”

  Miranda completely forgot about the two men. Her anger whooshed from her thoughts and her thoughts spread in relief. She thanked the nurse and turned on her heel, feeling hot gazes on her back. She ignored the heat and marched into Naomi's room, leaving the nurse to fend for herself between Jack and Tyler.

  Inside the room, Miranda gave pause. Naomi lay in the bed, pale as the sheets she was wrapped in. A bandage wrapped around her head, hiding the gash from view. Faintly, she wondered if she needed stitches. The dark bags under Naomi's eyes seemed less severe, at least.

  Miranda edged closer to the bed. When Naomi's gaze caught her, she let out a sigh of relief. The blonde was much more alert than earlier. She advanced on the bed and perched herself on the very edge. “You all right?”

  “Yeah.” Naomi's voice was still soft and weary, but there was a small dose of regained strength in her movements. “Any well wishers?”

  Oh, yeah, Naomi didn't know about Jack and Tyler. Miranda glanced to the door, picturing the men beyond. For a brief second, she debated on telling Naomi. Upset wasn't what she needed, but she always had the ability to sever harmful people from her life. Well, better than Miranda, at least. “You won't believe who is out there.”

  Naomi raised her eyebrows as her eyes glinted with curiosity.

  Taking the unspoken cue, Miranda sighed, “Jack and Tyler are out there.”

  “W-what?” Naomi's blue eyes widened. Light caught her irises, the shimmer making them seem glassy and even larger. Miranda even thought that, though her face paled, pinkness sunk into her cheeks. If she had been connected to monitors, the beeping of her heart would have increased rapidly.

  Miranda eyed her friend, uncertain how to gauge her reaction. Was Naomi scared or excited? The hiccup in the air wasn't simply fear. There was a tingle to the atmosphere that made Miranda's flesh dance with goosebumps. “Yeah, they came back and heard about you.”

  Naomi turned her gaze to the door, her delicate brows furrowing. She seemed to see beyond the door, to the men. Her fingers clutched tightly to the hospital blanket. Her cheeks bypassed 'pink' and became ruddy. Miranda watched her, patiently awaiting her next request. When Naomi turned her gaze to Miranda's face, she forced the quiet words from her throat, “Make them leave.”

  “Why?” Miranda's eyebrows bounced up toward her hairline. Though she approved, she could see the longing in Naomi's eyes.

  “Please, Miranda. Just make them go away.” Naomi's voice tipped into pleading as she averted her gaze. “I just need some time to think.”

  Despite the flare of curiosit
y, Miranda nodded. Whatever thoughts churned through Naomi's mind managed to crack her carefree visage. New worries blossomed in her head. Leaning over, Miranda laid her palm over Naomi's, giving the started woman a smile. Before her friend could utter her gratitude, Miranda stood and made her way back to the waiting area.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Tyler paced the length of the dingy motel room. It was a small affair, with two single beds and threadbare carpet. The faucet in the bathroom leaked and the television always had a sheen of static under the shows. It was the only other motel near Legacy, though.

  He muttered garbled obscenities under his breath as he ran his hands through his hair. Miranda had been none too gentle about giving them the boot. Beneath the barbed anger, though, a blunt pain echoed. He tried to ignore it.

  On one of the beds, Jack slumped, elbows on his knees. He looked about ready to melt into the bed. Since they arrived at the motel, his eyes weren't focused on much of anything other than the carpet on the floor. Tyler paused as the first rumbles of words mustered their way from Jack's lips, “Maybe we should go back.”