by Evie Monroe
Great, Nora. Really professional.
He looked like he was trying to say something. Fighting back the tendrils of embarrassment creeping down my spine, I removed the oxygen mask from his mouth and nose.
“Hey, sweetness,” he said, his voice gravelly. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
How was he awake so soon? Or . . . was it soon? What time was it? I reached down for my iPad, happy I’d invested in a thick, shock-proof cover. “Um. Hi,” I said shyly, like a little schoolgirl, until I remembered that this was my hospital, and I was the attending surgeon here. “Welcome back. How are you feeling, Mr. Nash?”
He regarded me, his eyes assessing me, mentally undressing no doubt. “Been better.” He looked around and tried to sit up but winced.
“On a scale from one to ten, how is the pain in your abdomen?”
He shifted a little and winced some more. “An eleven. Shit. What the fuck happened?”
I put my iPad on his tray table and went to tug the blanket down but he held it up over his waist, a lazy smile on his face. “Hey. I’m not that easy. You should probably buy me a drink first.”
I smiled a little. “I’d like to see the bandages.”
He lifted his hands up, allowing me to take a look. The massive bandage over his mid-section was clean, which was a good sign. “Come to think of it,” he said. I could feel his eyes on me, and not on his incision. “I am that easy. Feel free to keep exploring down there. I think you’ll like what you find.”
I did my best to ignore him, but I felt my cheeks heating up. “You should probably not move much right now. You’ve just had major surgery.”
“Major surgery?” he repeated.
“Don’t you remember?”
He shook his head slightly. “Some. I remember you. You’re a surgeon?”
I nodded.
“Fuck, how old are you? You look barely legal.”
Legal for what? I wondered. “I’m twenty-seven.”
“Holy shit. You’re older than I am. That’s okay. I like older women.”
I straightened. “It doesn’t matter to me whether you like me or not, Mr. Nash,” I said curtly. “I’m your surgeon. I spent five hours repairing all the damage a small-caliber bullet did to your mid-section.”
“Fuck me. So I was shot? You take the bullet out of me?” He seemed proud of the fact.
It disgusted me. “No. It’s pressed up against your diaphragm so it’s pretty immobile, and it’s not in a joint. So you have a little souvenir. What I did do was repair the holes in your small intestine, liver, and pancreas. No infection, from what I can tell. I’m going to have to do a CT scan later today to make sure everything is as it should be. The last thing we want is scarring in your intestines. If the pain is bad, I’ll bring in a gastroenterologist to—”
I stopped when I heard him laughing. He was definitely proud of himself. “No kidding. I’ve got a bullet inside me?”
“Yes. Did the person who shot you also break your nose?”
He laughed and reached up to touch his nose. “What? Nah. That was my best friend.”
Some friend. More disgust flooded through me. “Mr. Nash. I assure you, it’s no laughing matter, and nothing to be prideful about. Your heart stopped beating in there three times, and we nearly lost you.”
He quickly bit back the smile of amusement on his face and stared at me, silently. At least he appeared to be listening, even though I couldn’t quite meet his gaze. It was so gripping, that gaze, it made me shiver. I looked away and took a deep breath. And I told him all the things I’d wished I could’ve said to my father.
“And if I were you, I’d reconsider what kind of activities you’ve been involved in. You may think you’re a badass, doing what you’re doing, but all I see in front of me is a reckless person with no regard for the safety of himself or others. Clearly, you’re involved in something dangerous, and one of these days, it’s going to get you killed. I don’t want to see you in and out of here, your body being ripped apart because eventually, there’ll be an injury that doctors can’t fix. Mr. Nash, is that how you want to live your life?”
From the silence that followed, I thought that maybe I was getting through to him. But then I ventured a look at his face and saw that he was wearing that same, superior smirk like my dad used to wear. It was one that told me he thought he knew more than me.
He said, simply, “Jet.”
“What?”
“Not Mr. Nash. No one calls me that. Jesus, do I look like a mister to you? You can call me Jet.”
I didn’t know what it was, the effect he was having on me. But it was unlike anything a man had ever made me feel before. I stepped back, away from him, as if being physically apart from him would help alleviate the flush that I felt crawling over my skin. “I know that your name is Jetson Nash. Is that really your name?”
He laughed, a low rumble. “Yeah. It’s the kind of name you get when your mother lets your three-year-old brother name you.” He turned his wrist over, pushing the IV out of the way, and showed me his dog tattoo. “You know, the Jetsons? Astro? Ruh-roh?”
I shook my head, smiling a little. That was kind of cute and personal, and I didn’t need any more reasons to be fascinated by this man.
Because I already was. I hated it. But it was the reason I couldn’t stop staring at him. I wanted to hate him and scorn every last part of him that made him like my father. But a big part of me had already become mesmerized.
And I needed to stop that.
“Jesus. I can’t believe you don’t know the Jetsons. What’d you do, spend all your time growing up in books?” His eyes drifted down to my chest for a beat. “Nora?”
I clasped my hand over my name tag and replied, “You can call me Dr. Benson.”
He nodded slowly. “Fair enough. So how long do I have before I can blow this joint, Doctor?” He said the title like a taunt.
“You’ll have to stay here at least another three days. But as long as everything stays stable for you, you should be able to leave by the end of the week.” I picked up my iPad and focused on his lab results, even though the numbers swam before my eyes. I felt his penetrating gaze, undressing me. It seemed the electronic file was the only protection I had against him. “The police do want to speak to you.”
He shrugged. “Speak to me about what? I don’t know anything.”
“What about your next of kin? The men who brought you in? Your brother? Maybe they can shed some light on how you ended up getting shot?”
He hitched his shoulder again. “Don’t know nothing about who brought me in. And my brother . . . who the hell knows where he is?”
I gave him a doubtful look. He was just like my father. He’d dodge all my questions about what he was doing and who he was doing it with. More than once, he’d come home with blood on his clothes and told me he’d had a bloody nose. I guessed I had a radar for that kind of bullshit now.
“Fine. Like I said, there will be other doctors in to check on your condition, and we’ll be doing more tests,” I said, striding to the door. For some reason, even though I felt completely out of sorts with him, I didn’t want to leave. I turned. “And Mr. Nash?”
He gave me a cocky raise of one eyebrow.
“I really do urge you to reconsider your lifestyle.”
I waited for a beat for him to say something, but when he opened his mouth, it wasn’t what I expected.
“Jet,” he said again. And then the son of a bitch smiled.
I pressed my lips together. What I’d said had gone in one ear and out the other. He wouldn’t be doing any reconsidering where his lifestyle was concerned. Just like my dad, who’d ended up dead because of it.
All the more reason to hate the stubborn, idiotic son of a bitch.
And yet, as I turned away, I didn’t.
And dammit, that scared me more than anything.
Chapter Four
Jetson
I was almost bat-fucking-shit crazy.
I’d alre
ady been in the hospital overnight, doped up on drugs, but they were gradually easing me off the hard stuff, and now I was getting restless. The pain was dull but steady, and I had nothing to keep me occupied. From what I’d seen on my cell phone, the guys had been in, but I wasn’t allowed visitors. The police had come to ask me what the hell had happened, but I did the proper Steel Cobras thing and told them I didn’t know shit, and eventually they gave up and left. The nurses were all old ladies and one man. A steady stream of medical personnel had come in, poking and prodding my injury.
Unfortunately, my pretty little surgeon with the nice tits hadn’t come back.
Fucking torture. Two more days of this shit, at the least, and I was going to kill someone.
Finally, some nurse came in and said that I’d won my ticket out of the ICU, and they were taking me up to the fifth floor, where I could have visitors. I quick texted Nix and told him to come and amuse me.
He texted me back: On my way.
When I got up to my room, I realized it wasn’t private. I shared it with an old man, whose wife was hovering protectively over him. The second she saw me, she scowled and pulled the privacy curtain as if I’d physically assaulted her.
“And fuck you, too,” I called over to her, making the older nurse who was getting me comfortable gasp.
“I see you’re making friends,” a voice said from the doorway.
I looked up to see my angel. Err . . . I mean, my surgeon. “You want to make friends? Sit on my lap. I’ll give you a ride, and then we can be friends.”
She cringed and looked at the nurse, who shook her head, like, This one’s a handful. “I don’t think you’re in any condition to do such a thing, Mr. Nash,” she replied.
Dr. Nora Benson, wearing her professional white coat, walked deeper into the room and checked my vitals on the monitors. Jesus, she was hot. She had her long, dark hair up in a simple ponytail. A light pink sweater and old lady slacks covered all of her assets, but fuck, she was beautiful. Light green eyes with dark brows that were exotic and mysterious. All the right curves. Even the conservative sweater didn’t hide her gorgeous tits. Did she dress that way to look older for her profession? Or because she didn’t want attention from guys like me?
Whatever it was, it hadn’t stopped me from wanting her. Wanting to sink my teeth into those sweet, luscious—
“Mr. Nash?”
I blinked and looked up. She was staring at me expectantly. She’d asked me a question. “Huh?”
She leaned over me to adjust the bed, and I detected a whiff of perfume that made her smell like a vanilla sundae. It was good enough to lick, and I probably could have with how close she was. Licked straight up her throat, to that pretty little chin of hers, then feasted on her pink rosebud lips.
She pulled back suddenly as if she could hear the thoughts in my head. She eyed me suspiciously. “How is the pain today, on that scale of one to ten?”
“Uh. A five. Ain’t so bad, now.”
“That’s good,” she said, very business-like. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m bringing in a gastroenterologist, Dr. Michael Vaughn, who will be checking on a bit of scarring that we noticed in your intestines on the last CT scan. Sound good?”
I leaned back and put my arms up, my hands behind my head. It hurt to stretch my middle like that, but the payoff of her blushing would be worth it. “Don’t you want to check me?”
She grabbed gloves out of a dispenser on the wall, ignoring the suggestion in my voice as she snapped them on, and said, “Yes. And don’t stretch like that. You’ll tear out the staples. Just let me check the incision to make sure there’s no infection.”
I let out a groan of deep satisfaction. “Highlight of my day. Have at it, sweetheart.”
She peeled the blanket off my torso and carefully lifted the tape. She studied the incision. I did, too. I hadn’t seen it before. It was deep and long, from one end of my belly, clear to the other side. I’d have my pretty little surgeon’s mark on me for the rest of my life.
“You did some damn fine work, girl,” I said to her. “Look at all those staples. So even. I’d let you work my body any day.”
She raised an eyebrow. “The surgical nurse stapled you up, Mr. Nash, after the surgery was complete. You can thank her.”
“Fine. But you’re the one I want to thank. How ‘bout it? I’ll take you for an extra-long ride. Climb your sweet ass up here. Just . . . avoid the staples, and we’ll have some fun.”
She exhaled in a rush, not looking at me, her nostrils flaring. “It looks good.”
I grinned. “It’ll feel even better when it’s inside you.”
She stiffened, then pressed the bandage back on. “Mr. Nash, please stop with the harassment.” Not making eye contact, she carefully lowered my gown into place, slid the blanket over me and pulled off her gloves. “Dr. Vaughn should be here in a moment. Let me go see what’s holding him up.”
She spun around and walked to the door. Didn’t even look into my eyes once. I smiled. Harassment? What was she, scared? Annoyed? Or just afraid to admit that she wanted it?
Just then, the old couple sharing my room started to talk. They had to have been hard of hearing from the way they were shouting at each other. They were talking about his bodily functions. I could hear every word they said, clear as day. Fuck me.
“Hey. Sweetheart,” I said before she walked into the hallway. “Can I get my own room?”
She shook her head. “Sorry. You’re out of luck. The hospital’s at capacity right now.”
As she left, my brother Nix’s frame filled the doorway. She took a step back, which was the effect my brother—hell, all of us—had on most nice, educated girls like her. Nix, playing the gentleman, backed up and let her pass, and she did so without a word, with her head down.
I grinned as he walked in, followed by Cullen, the president of the Steel Cobras. “Well, look at you. Figures you’d end up with the hot nurse,” Nix said, reaching over and messing my hair like he always did.
I dodged away from him, groaning as pain shot up the side of my torso. I blew the hair out of my face. “She’s not a nurse. She’s my surgeon.”
He raised an eyebrow, then tilted the blinds on the window facing onto the ward and looked out for her. “No kidding? You got her eating out of your hand yet?”
I laughed. It was infernally hot in the room. I kicked my foot out from under the blanket. “Maybe if I’d been at one-hundred percent. But I’m not firing on all cylinders right now, in case you didn’t know.”
“Believe me, I fucking know all about it. I was the one who carried you twelve blocks to the hospital, asshole,” he said with a grin. “The last thing I heard, they’d come out and told us that your ass was grass. But then the police showed up, and we had to split. So how’re you doing?”
“Fine. Bored as shit. The doctor said I might be able to get out of here in a couple days. You bring me anything to do?”
Cullen reached into his jacket and pulled out a paper-covered bag, setting it on my lap. “Here.”
I lifted the flap and pulled out the red magazine. “Crosswords?”
“Yeah. Sorry. They didn’t have find-a-words.”
I shrugged and set it aside. They were seriously overestimating my puzzle-solving skills. I guessed I’d just be bored to tears and wear down my cell phone battery for the next two days. “Thanks.”
I gestured to the guys to come closer to me. I knew the old folks were next to me in the room, so I asked in a low voice, “What the hell happened? What went down at Slade’s place? Drake and his girl okay?”
Nix peeked behind the curtain at the old couple and smiled. I was sure the reception he got wasn’t a happy one because he closed the curtain tighter.
“Lucky me. They’re practically deaf so they scream at each other.”
“Yeah. Slade’s dead,” Cullen mouthed, digging his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Cait and her mom are okay. It was a good thing we showed up when we did because other
wise, Slade would’ve killed them and Drake. She and Drake came to see you yesterday, but they wouldn’t allow visitors. But they’re good. It’s all good.”
“Yeah, but . . . not for long, right? Have you heard anything from the Hell’s Fury?”
Cullen shook his head. “Waiting.”
I gritted my teeth. Waiting, as usual. We were in a war with the Hell’s Fury, and all we ever did was wait. I’d joked with Drake that if I were the president of the club, I’d have gone in all guns blazing and the war would’ve been over by now.
That was what I’d done at Slade’s house, and look at me now.
So Cullen might have had a point.
“We know we can’t wait too long,” Nix added in a whisper. “They’re probably finding out Slade is dead right about now. If they find out you’re in here, you’ll be in trouble. But you gotta stay here till you’re better. We’ve got to bide our time until you can get out of here.”
So I guessed waiting made sense. “What are we going to do about them, though? We should get Cait to tell us where the other clubhouses are and—”
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” a voice said from the door. It was my sexy surgeon. I loved her voice. She looked like a sweet little girl, but her voice was all woman. It made people take notice.
I stopped talking at once.
“Dr. Vaughn, our gastroenterologist, is here to examine you, Mr. Nash.”
She stepped inside the room, followed by a tall man with so little hair on his head, all you could see was his shiny scalp. He had his hands in the pockets of his coat, and behind thick-rimmed glasses, his eyes swept over us like we were last night’s trash. His lips twisted in disgust.
He said to my brothers, “Could you please wait outside?” and his voice sounded snarky and dismissive.
My brothers were used to that kind of treatment. They ignored it. Cullen reached over and fist-bumped me, and Nix did the same. “We’ll catch you later, bro,” he said.
They filtered out of the room, leaving me with the two doctors. The gastroenterologist reached for his gloves and said, “So, Mr. Nash. Ran into a bullet, did you?” with this cheesy smile that instantly made me not trust him.
