“We’re going to have to reschedule,” he said, his voice tight over the faint clank of tools in the background. “We need you at the clubhouse. Merrick needs stitches.”
“Is he OK?” I asked. When it came to the Mavericks, a bar fight could lead to bullets flying. I caught my brother’s deep rumble—something about a ‘fuckin’ torque.’”
“Yeah, he just cracked his head on the bike stand. I’d say it made him grumpier, but that’s just his sparkling personality.”
“Be right there,” I said, pushing down the accelerator in my truck.
When I walked into the clubhouse, the sharp tang of motor oil and blood cut through the usual smoky haze. Chaos yipped from Hatchet’s feet, bounding over to me. She nipped my leg and bit at my fingers as I crouched to scratch her ears.
“Don’t let her do that,” Hatchet growled.
“Oh, she’s fine. She’s just a baby.”
Merrick sat at the bar, holding a gauze pad pressed up against his head.
“Thought you might want to practice sutures this evening,” Hatchet said, gesturing to the field kit already spread across the bar.
I rolled my eyes. “I get enough practice at work.” I slipped behind the bar, scrubbing my hands under scalding water till my skin pinked. I hoisted myself onto the surface, sitting eye-to-eye with Merrick. “Consider my service the rent payment for the month, by the way.”
“It’s fine. It’ll stop bleeding on its own,” Merrick grumbled. “I don’t need stitches.”
I snapped a pair of rubber gloves onto my hands. “Oh, did you go to medical school? Did you become a doctor? No? Then shut the hell up.” I pulled away the cotton and grimaced. The ugly gash with jagged edges welled with blood. “That’s definitely going toleave a scar.”
“On his perfect face?” Hatchet asked. “What will happen to his modeling career?”
Merrick glowered at him.
I held back a laugh as I pressed the dressing back. “Hold it there for me,” I ordered. I checked Merrick’s pupils, and they responded fine. “Your thick head must’ve protected your brain. At least you don’t have a concussion.”
I hummed to the country music playing on the jukebox as I cleaned and sutured the wound. My phone, which I’d left on the other side of the bar, chirped three times. “Hatchet, will you check that for me? My PIN is 1954.”
Hatchet reached over the bar and grabbed my phone. A growl erupted from his chest as he silently read the text. “What the fuck.” His eyes flicked to mine. “This asshole’s still texting you?”
“You’re fucking kidding me,” Merrick added, trying to turn his head before I palmed his cheek and forced him to stay still.
“Stop moving or I’ll sew your eyebrows together,” I snapped. I shrugged, focusing on the next stitch. “I don’t even read them anymore. Just delete and block.”
“This isn’t an ‘I miss you, please come back’ text,” Hatchet bit out. His jaw flexed. “He’s threatening you. He’s calling you names.”
Merrick shoved his hand out toward him, palm open, silently demanding my phone, but I smacked his wrist down. “Chill out unless you want a lobotomy.”
“We can’t look the other way,” Merrick said, his voice going to that low, cold tone that promised violence.
“This is why I didn’t tell you guys,” I muttered, snipping the suture and tying it off. “I don’t need you overreacting. It’s just a couple of text messages. He’s not even in the country right now. He’ll get bored and move on soon.”
“If he sends you one more text, I’ll cut his hands off,” Merrick threatened.
I rolled my eyes, even as a chill slid down my spine. My brotherwasn’t joking. Chaos whined at my feet, picking up on the tension. I slid off the bar and snapped off the gloves. “You’re not cutting anyone’s hands off. I’ve got it handled. I’m not a damsel in distress.”
Chapter Twelve
The spineless message from her pencil-dick doctor ex made me itch for my blade.
She’d told Merrick he couldn’t cut his hands off, but she hadn’t specified that I couldn’t. She acted like it was nothing, but I’d seen the chill in her eyes. I’d heard the fear in her voice when she’d thought someone had followed her home. And fuck if it didn’t claw at the soft spot I’d grown for her.
“Let’s change the subject,” Merci said as she cleaned up, tossing bloody gauze and snapping the case shut. “How’s house hunting going?”
“You’re looking for a house?” Merrick asked, brow furrowing under the fresh stitches.
