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He gave me a tight smile. “Very well. But if at any time you think there might be, just tell Maeme. She’ll make sure I am here to check it out. I’m going to wrap it properly. Maeme told me she gave you an eight-hundred-milligram ibuprofen. That will take the bite off, but it’s not strong enough for you to get proper rest. I’m going to leave you something that will ease you better.”
I stood there silently as he began to wrap my ribs. Not one word was said about the police. Filing a report. He didn’t push me to show him where I had been hurt in the past. He simply finished his task. Maeme stepped back in the room, and she looked over at the X-ray he had taken. Her eyes narrowed, and the angry gleam in her gaze made me think she knew exactly how to read what she was looking at.
“Not the first time,” she said, swinging her eyes to meet mine.
I didn’t respond.
She nodded and straightened her shoulders even more so than they had been. “Thank you, Drew. I’ll take her on up to get dressed, and we will see you in the dining room.”
Once we were alone, her eyes locked on me. “You’re gonna be okay. You’ll heal, and this will be the last time you have to go through this. Keep your chin up. Life will get better.”
I wish she could control fate with her commands as easily as she seemed to control everyone else.
• seven •
“You not gonna spoon me out some too?”
King
“You get caught in that banana pudding, and not a one of us will be safe,” Storm Kingston said as he opened the fridge to get a beer.
“It’s just a bite,” I replied.
“Get me a beer,” Wells Jones told him as he pulled out a stool from the bar and sat down. “I’m starving. How much longer we got to wait?”
“Why are we not eating yet?” Thatcher Shephard asked as he strode into the kitchen, still wearing his cowboy hat, which would piss Maeme off more than me tasting the pudding.
“Doc D is doing an X-ray on her ribs,” I told him, then turned to Storm. “Toss me a beer, too, while you’re at it.”
“Do I look like a motherfucking bartender?” he shot back, annoyed, but reached into the fridge and took out another beer anyway.
I smirked, reaching up to grab it. “Thanks.”
“Fuck off,” he replied.
“Anyone talk to Wilder? He was supposed to be breaking into the bastard’s bank accounts and draining them,” I asked.
“You worry about your job. Wilder has it under control,” Thatcher replied.
“My job is done,” I pointed out. “Successfully so at that.”
Storm rolled his eyes and pulled out a stool beside Wells. “You had the easiest job. Flash your pretty-boy smile and do the charming shit.”
I chuckled. “You’d be surprised. She wasn’t easily moved by my smile or charm.”
“Bullshit. She’s getting a motherfucking X-ray in the basement. I’d disagree,” he shot back at me.
I shrugged and washed off my spoon before Maeme saw it. “I swear. She was tougher to convince than I’d anticipated. I’d convinced a Christian into a threesome easier.”
Storm let out a cackle of laughter. “When do you have threesomes? Doesn’t that master kink shit you like only work with one bitch at a time?”
“Is she as hot as the pics we saw of her?” Wells asked, leaning on the counter and raising his eyebrows, ignoring Storm’s obnoxious questioning.
I shrugged, unsure why hearing Wells call her hot bothered me. We’d all made comments about her looks when we got all the information about Churchill Millroe. But that had been before I met her. Now, it seemed wrong. She was an abused woman. Yes, she was smoking hot, but she had been hurt in more ways than just physical.
“Yeah. Could have done way better than that piece of shit she’s married to. One side of her face is pretty messed up, but it’ll heal,” I replied.
“Body? Tits—small or big?” Wells asked.
