by Evie Monroe
“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 already 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 otherwise, 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.
“You could say that,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest.
He reached for the blanket, but I didn’t move my arms. “May I?”
I had no choice. My sexy surgeon could’ve felt me up all she wanted, but this prick? I was less than thrilled at the idea. I lifted my hands and he pulled down the blanket, and yanked up my gown, baring my bandage. Then he started to feel around it, poking and prodding with none of the bedside manner Dr. Benson had.
“What the—watch it!” I growled when he hit a tender spot.
Sexy Nora leaned over, lifted the bandage, and pushed a finger down the side of the incision spot. It wasn’t sexual in the least, but I must’ve been hard up because my cock twitched.
“Hey, Doc,” I said to the tall dickwad, “You should let your colleague do the touching, from now on. She’s better at it than you, probably because she clearly likes it more. Right, sweetheart?”
I grinned at her, and there it was, the blush I loved to see. She instantly pulled her hand away.
Dickwad scowled at me. “The CT scan’s showing what could be an intestinal blockage,” he said, not looking at me.
Nora nodded. “I agree. I didn’t notice anything troublesome when I was inside him, but it’s concerning.”
“You know, girl,” I said to her. “You were inside me. I think it’s only fair I get inside you.”
“We should keep a watch on that,” the prick m
urmured. It was like I wasn’t even there.
“Watch whatever you like, as long as it’ll get me out of here,” I said, voice raised, crossing my arms over my chest again. I gave Nora a wink. “I know it’ll disappoint you, sweetheart. But I can’t stay any longer. So if you want to make that appointment, I’m free.”
The old prick looked at me like, Shut the fuck up, what do you know, idiot? “You should watch how you speak to a lady.”
“Maybe you should watch that I don’t rearrange your face with my fist, asshole,” I growled.
The doctor started to speak, but Nora broke it up. “Okay. Enough, you two. Dr. Vaughn, can I please speak with you over here?”
His scowl lingered on me as she tried to drag him toward the foot of the bed. The pair turned away from me and started to whisper. He leaned down to her, his lips close to her ear, and I watched as he placed his hand on the small of her back and started to rub it slowly, up and down, as they spoke. As he did, he looked at me, like, I have this. And you never will.
Holy shit. I couldn’t fucking believe it.
Was that old, shriveled-up looking shithead plowing my sexy surgeon? What the fuck could a girl that hot find attractive about him?
Jesus. Doctors had all the fucking luck. No wonder Cait went for Drake instead of me.
I watched the two of them talking like I wasn’t even in the room, my temperature rising. The longer they did, the more I felt like shit. “Hey. Doctors. I hate to break up your foreplay, but . . . don’t I need my rest or some shit like that?”
They turned around at the same time, looking sheepish, like teenagers who’d been caught making out under the bleachers. “I’m sorry, Mr. Nash,” my hot surgeon said. “We were just discussing the extent of the possible blockage and what next steps we should take.”
“And you can’t discuss that with me?”
The old prick let out a superior laugh. “Just leave the tough stuff to us, okay, champ? You just concentrate on not getting yourself shot again.”
My face twisted and I clenched my fists. What a condescending little prick. If I was mobile, I’d meet him in the parking lot and tear him a new asshole.
