Savage Vandal (82 Street Vandals Book 1)

by Heather Long

  “Somewhere safe,” he said. “Sit down, Ms. Sharpe.”

  “Why are you so pissed at me? What did I do to you?”

  Head back, he stared at the ceiling for a minute. “You got hurt.”

  “Well, I didn’t do it on purpose.”

  “You sure about that?” He bit off the last word with a growl, and I just stared at him.

  “Seriously, what did I do to you? And when can I leave?”

  “Sit down.”

  We were going in circles.

  “Tell me when I can leave.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Then I can’t sit.” And we were at an impasse. As badly as everything ached…

  The door opened, and I turned to find another room on the other side of the door. I could see the bed from here. The man standing in the doorway, however, was strangely familiar. “Well, it’s about time you woke up, sweetheart. You were starting to worry us.”

  “Doc?”

  “Excellent.” A genuine smile stretched his lips as he continued into the room. The door behind him remained open, but all I could make out was a bed with a dark cover and a bit of a bookshelf. I shuffled forward a step. “Uh-uh,” the doctor said as he circled my bed. Well, not my bed, the bed I’d been using. “That ankle is still swollen, and you’re not putting weight on it yet. So let’s sit down and go over some things.”

  Maybe it was the fact he smiled or he was a doctor. Or maybe because he wasn’t the guy I’d trusted in the first place, but I sank down on the bed, suddenly aware of my lack of dress, not to mention my shitty hygiene.

  “Whatever you do, can you get these things off me so I can shower?”

  “Maybe,” he said. “If not, I can wrap them in plastic and we’ll get you cleaned up.”

  We? I shot a look at Kestrel, who fixed such a narrow-eyed, almost hostile look on the doc.

  “Ignore him, sweetheart,” Doc told me as he sat on the bed next to me. “Seriously, ignore him. Look at me.”

  I shifted a little, but that would require pulling my leg up onto the bed. Not missing a beat, the doc snagged part of the blanket and dragged it over my lap.

  “Would it kill you boys to get her some different clothes?” he asked without looking over his shoulder. He had a small penlight in his hand.

  “We have her clothes,” Kestrel answered, then folded his arms.

  They had my clothes? Really?

  The light in my eyes hurt, and I winced.

  “Yeah, you’re still a little photosensitive. But that’s to be expected. You had a hell of a concussion.”

  I swallowed.

  “He said I’d been out for three days.”

  “In and out,” Doc agreed, all confident business. I focused on his face. It was a kind one, if a little stern. The stubble on his face was thick enough to offer the promise of a beard, and it was reddish-brown like his hair. His eyes were a light brown, and they focused on me. I swore he seemed to catalog every reaction, so I tried to keep my expression calm. “I’m going to touch your arm…”

  And he went from there. Every action, he announced, and bit by bit, I found myself relaxing. Well, not relaxing so much as focused on what he did. Follow the motion of his finger. Raise my arms. Not flex my wrist. Though he did test the sensation in my fingers. Next came reflexes. Then my ankle.

  He unwrapped it and checked it side by side with the other. Nothing he did, however, came as a surprise.

  “All right,” he said as he rewrapped it with careful sure fingers. “That wrist may yet need a real cast. It’s in rough shape, and you’ve still got swelling in this ankle, even after three days of essentially being off it. The concussion is looking better. You’ve got good tracking with your eyes, but they’re still light sensitive and…” He placed two very gentle fingers against my jaw and tilted my head a little. The hands were calloused but careful. Everything he did was perfunctory and professional, and at the same time…almost friendly. “Still dilated. I want you to keep taking it easy. I’m concerned about you being dehydrated. I didn’t want to keep you on an IV without a catheter…”

  I made a face, and he chuckled.

  “Not my favorite thing either. Trust me, I’ve been there.”

  Oddly, that didn’t seem as difficult, even if I couldn’t trust him. I couldn’t trust any of them. “I believe you.” Damn, my voice still sounded rough. “I’d rather skip that.”

  “Agreed. So Rome told me you got up and used the bathroom. Vaughn helped you in there last night.”

  “Rome was kind of an ass.”

  Kestrel scowled, but Doc only chuckled. “He can be.”

  I didn’t remember… “Vaughn was the one who gave me the shirt.” I plucked at the one I was wearing.

  “He did.”

  He’d been really nice to me. I had some vague memories of him talking. “He has a pretty voice.”

  For some reason, Kestrel looked even more pissed. Someone with a stick that far up their ass shouldn’t be as handsome as he was, nor as attractive. Fuck, I’d flirted with him, and now…

  “Well, I wouldn’t know about that.” Doc’s gentle retort pulled my attention back to him. “But I’ll take your word for it. How are you feeling?”

  “Like I’m trapped.”

  “Understandable, but I meant physically.” So. No help there.

  Good to know.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I told him, and his eyebrows rose. More, his gaze hardened as he fixed me with a look.

  “If it didn’t matter, sweetheart, I wouldn’t ask. This is how this works, I’m Doc, you’re the patient. I ask questions, and you answer them. That way, I can compare your assessment with my observations, and we can make sure we’re not missing something.”

  “I mean it doesn’t matter because I’m still a prisoner.”

  An impatient sigh escaped Kestrel. “You’re not a prisoner, Emersyn.”

  “And you’re not allowed to call me that, bird boy.” Aggravation swarmed through me, but I didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking at him. Instead, I focused on Doc. “As for you, Doc, you’re clearly on their side. So I’d rather keep my information to myself.”

  Rubbing a hand over his face, Doc shook his head. “Kestrel, get out.”

  “No.”

  On his feet, Doc pivoted to face the other man. I stole a look at Kestrel’s expression. If anything, it had grown darker, and a storm brewed in his blue-green eyes. Even from here in the crappy lighting, I could make that out.

  “Not asking. Telling,” Doc said, and his voice became as inflexible as Kestrel seemed. “She’s the patient. You’re being an ass. You’re also getting in the way of me treating her. So get out.”

  The standoff stretched for several long seconds. Finally, Kestrel looked at me. “Do you want me to go?”

  I didn’t know Doc, but I did know Kestrel. A part of me really wanted him to stay, to be a familiar face here. To be the one I’d be safe with, but that was just another lie. Another illusion. I knew better.

  I should know better.

  “Yes.” Even if every other part of me wanted him to stay, I needed him to leave.

  “Fine. I’ll be right on the other side of that door. No funny business.”

  What the hell did he think we were going to do?

  But Kestrel didn’t wait for us to say or do anything. He stalked out, and the door closed with a solid, if almost hushed, thump.

  “Better,” Doc said as he pivoted to face me. “Now, I get it. You’re not happy with this situation. Neither am I. Those boys… Well, the less said about that at the moment, the better. You’re safe here, for the most part, and they’re more interested in keeping you that way than anything else.”

  “If they wanted me safe, why didn’t they take me to a hospital or…”

  “Or?” He folded his arms.

  “Or back to my hotel or something.” I had been about to say back to the show or back inside, but considering Eric had dragged me out there in the first place… “Oh shit…
What happened to Eric?”

  “I have no idea, and I don’t care. He’s not my patient.” I’d say that felt suspiciously like a lie, only he didn’t even flinch as he said it. “As for the rest of that? Why do you think they didn’t take you somewhere else? The injuries you have? The cracked ribs? The bruising?”

  I flicked my gaze away and firmed my lips together.

  “Yeah, I’ve seen abuse before, kid.”

  “I’m not a kid.”

  “Right,” he said, doubt heavy in that single syllable. “I’ve also seen torture.”

  I pinned a look on him. He was tugging his shirt out of his pants. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Making a point.”

  With that, he tugged the shirt up and off. Half of his chest, all of his left arm and shoulder were completely covered in tattoos. He took one step closer to me as he said, “I know what scars are—the ones that are visible and the ones that aren’t. And like I said…I know what torture looks like.” Then he turned away, and I had to swallow bile that crawled up my throat.

  His back, like his front was also tattooed, but only on one half. But this close, there was no mistaking the ridge lines hidden in the tattoos. They looked like grill marks.

  Back still to me, he said, “I went over your X-rays. I know how many breaks you’ve had, and I’ve seen your current injuries, including the cracked ribs and the bruising. Some of those, you could have gotten from dancing. The older injuries. Some from performing, absolutely. Your current injuries?”

  He turned then and faced me.

  “No.” With that, he pulled on his shirt once more. “So cut the shit and be straight with me.”

  “I hurt.”

  “That’s a start,” Doc said on an exhale. “Where does it hurt?”

  Everywhere. “My chest. My wrist. My ankle.” I met his gaze. “My head. But most of all…my skin is crawling because I smell and I’m wearing some guy’s shirt and nothing else and I’m locked somewhere I don’t know…in a place that has no windows.” Because I’d finally had a chance to look around at all the walls.

  It was a cell.

  A cell with a comfortable bed and a parade of rugged, attractive men, some with sinful voices and all of them… Who the fuck knew what they wanted?

  “Okay,” he said slowly. “Anything else?”

  I almost laughed. “Isn’t that enough?”

  “Maybe,” Doc agreed, cocking his head to the side. “But is there anything else?”

  So many things. None of which I had any intention of saying. “No.”

  “We’re going to have to work on that.”

  I frowned. Work on there not being anything else wrong?

  “Let’s start with what we can fix. I’m going to put plastic on that ankle and that wrist, then I’m going to run you a bath. I don’t want you trying to stand in a shower, and unless one of us is in there with you, I’d be concerned. And I don’t think you want anyone in there.”

  Fuck no.

  “As for the bath, if you’ll trust me, I can get you in and out and we’ll keep it professional.”

  My breath backed up, but there was nothing heated in his gaze. Nothing invested at all, just…patience.

  “What about them?”

  “Don’t worry about them,” he said. “I can handle it. I’ll get you in the bath, you can wash, then we’ll address the pain. I have a feeling that’s going to wear you out. I do want you to try and eat, and then you’re probably going to sleep.”

  Great.

  “So what do you say, sweetheart? Let me help you? Maybe earn some trust?”

  I glanced at the door again. Then at Doc.

  “If it helps, all you’d have to do is scream, and I’m pretty sure Kestrel would do his damnedest to bust my head in.”

  “Not sure how that helps.”

  Doc shrugged. “It was worth a try.”

  Fuck. He wouldn’t be the first man to see me naked. “Please,” I said. “I would very much like to not stink and to change my clothes.”

  And to put some fucking underwear on.

  He smiled. “Then let’s do that. Hang tight, and I’ll run that bath. You like it hot or just warm?”

  “Scalding.” At that admission, we locked eyes, and for a moment, the first real emotion crept into his face, but I looked away from the rough sympathy. I needed to concentrate on getting better.

  Because I was going to get out of here.

  I didn’t escape one trap only to fall into another.

  Not this time.

  Not again.

  I glanced back at Doc when he didn’t move, and when I held his gaze this time, he nodded.

  Maybe he was an ally

  Maybe he wasn’t.

  One step at a time, Emersyn. You might have to fall before you fly.

  Chapter 8

  Emersyn

  “Ease forward,” Doc said, and I leaned in with care, my good arm wrapped around my thighs. Doc had helped me into the bath so I didn’t get my ankle bandage in the water. When I eyed where my leg was propped, he’d loosened the wrapping and then removed it so I could at least put it in the water. As scalding as it was, he hadn’t wanted it in the water long, but I couldn’t begin to describe how good it was to boil myself.

  You knew it was bad when you began to offend yourself and the smell of old sweat and pained sweat had turned sour. How any of them could stand to be around me, I had no idea. Once I was in the water, I used my good hand to wash. The soap and washcloth weren’t fancy, but I didn’t fucking care. They were clean.

  Even the bathroom was old, the tile cracked and the wallpaper peeled, but the tub itself was white porcelain and very clean. Even the knobs on the wall were shiny. The smoothness beneath my ass was a relief, but to be honest, I wanted to be clean too much to be fussy and I’d stayed in my share of bad hotels over the years. Just because the company made money now, didn’t mean they always had.

  “Ready?” Doc asked. He cupped water in his hands as I nodded and began to soak my hair down. I’d tried to just lie back, but that was impossible in the size of the tub. I wasn’t exactly tall, but the tub was like four and a half feet and it also doubled as a shower. If my wrist wasn’t in a splint, I could have just done this myself, but I had to keep that arm out of the water and Doc wanted my foot out soon.

  So he was going to wash my hair, and I wanted it clean too bad to argue. Frankly, he’d been perfunctory since we got in here. He’d helped me out of the borrowed shirt and given me a cursory, if professional once over. My nipples puckered in the cold, but he hadn’t even stared at them. When he tested my ribs, he kept it light and gentle. Then with a great deal of care, he’d lifted me up fully and set me in the tub rather than let me climb in.

  The minute he added shampoo to my hair, I almost cried. The gentle scrape of his blunted nails against my scalp sent a wave of release through the tension bunching my muscles. He moved around the tender spot on my head like he knew exactly where it was. He was the doctor, so he probably did.

  I hurt. A lot. The bruises seemed to throb, and that was probably the water. If I could have stood an ice bath, I’d have done that first. I might have to do it yet. Somehow, I didn’t think Doc would be on board.

  He didn’t say anything for the length of time he scrubbed my hair, until, “Close your eyes and relax, I’ll dip you back and then up.”

  It was surprisingly easy to do as he asked, I went slack like I would for a lift, focusing my center of gravity on where he held me, and he dipped my back until my hair was under the water but my knees and the rest of me weren’t. He rinsed it, and the water turned soapy around me, then sat me up again. He squeezed the hair.

  “I can do conditioner, but it might not rinse out in the water.” I blinked past the droplets of water escaping down my face to stare at the water. It was nowhere near as clean as when we started. There wasn’t a shower curtain, but I cut a look up at the shower head.

  “Maybe just put a little on the ends,” I said, and
the weariness swimming through me made it not worth pushing this. “Not that anyone is going to care, but it will be easier to comb.” My hair was ridiculously thick.

  “Okay.” He put a smear of it in big palms and then worked it through my hair, not just the ends but all of it. “I’ll help you comb it after we get you out.”

  “Thank you.” The words came out a little quieter and with a lot more helplessness than I ever wanted to admit, but Doc had helped and I felt so much better, even if I could sleep for a week.

  The bathroom door slammed open, and the impact of it crashing into the wall made me jump, the jerk sending a fresh throb of pain through my chest. The gray-eyed man glared down at us. Well, me really.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  “Taking the dog for a walk, asshole,” I snapped. “What does it look like?”

  Shit, I’d almost gotten rid of my headache, but it was back full force with that jerk and jump. The dump of adrenaline chased away the fatigue like I’d just done espresso shooters.

  “Cute. I wasn’t talking to you.” He cut a look at Doc. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  Doc rose to his full height and rather than glare, just looked at the other man. “Dial it down, Jasper. She was miserable and needed a bath. And I wasn’t leaving her in here to do it by herself.”

  “You had no fucking business doing this.”

  “She is my business.”

  “No,” Jasper snarled. “She’s not. She’s not your business or your concern. You do her meds, you check her injuries, you get out. You do not get her naked and molest her—”

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” I demanded, and to hell with the audience, I grabbed the towel rack bar and dragged myself up.

  “Dammit, little bit,” Doc said as he reached out to steady me. Probably not my finest hour, but I wasn’t just going to sit there while some asshole threw his weight around and was a total dick to Doc for helping me.

  Who the fuck did he think he was?

  “Don’t fucking touch her.” Jasper grabbed Doc’s arm and hauled him back. I nearly fell on my ass, but I locked my good hand around that towel bar and held myself up. Hopefully, it wouldn’t rip out of the wall.