He nodded.
“Geez, do you ever shut up?” I quipped, trying to lighten the tense mood.
I got a small smile at that.
“Let’s get a look at that leg.” I gestured toward his denim-clad leg. “I hope you didn’t wear your favorite outfit today.”
He chuckled. “Left my party dress at home.”
“Good thing.” I smiled, glad to see him loosening up. “Lucky for you, I think there’s a clean set of clothes around here,” I added as I set to work cutting the denim from his ankle to knee and the boot from his foot.
“Ouch.” I winced in sympathy at the obviously broken foot that greeted me. I looked at him, waiting until he looked back. “Hunt, I don’t have the supplies or ability to properly care for this,” I told him regretfully. “You need X-rays and to potentially have the bones reset before being casted. You don’t want to risk this not healing right,” I informed him sternly. “I can brace you up well enough to buy you some time to get to the hospital of your choice, but you need to go to one.”
“Fuck,” he gritted out.
“I can clean up the rest of you before you head to the hospital. I’m sure the bullet hole would lead to questions. But anyone can break a foot.” I shrugged.
A look of surprise at my way of thinking flashed across his face. “True,” he agreed with a grunt.
I raised a brow at him. “Really? You’re surprised? My man is Cal Jackson.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re right. I shouldn’t be surprised that you’re tough as nails and smart as a whip.”
“You need me to break your other foot, Evans?” Cal’s voice snarled from behind me.
I whirled to face a very pissed-off-looking Cal. He stood flanked by Wes and Sal, who didn’t look any more pleased.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Cal continued as the two other bikers returned from out back, obviously having heard the commotion.
“Jackson, man, no disrespect,” the largest of the three men broke in. “We got into a situation, knew your club was here, thought you might be willing to help.”
“So you just figured you’d have my woman take care of you assholes?” Cal growled.
“Well, she sort of… took over,” the man admitted.
I didn’t think I’d see the day where a biker would look sheepish. Yet, here it was.
Cal’s questioning gaze swung to mine.
“Babe,” I murmured. “He’s hurt. I’m getting him cleaned up. It’s what I do,” I explained, knowing deep down he’d understand that.
I watched him assess the situation, his jaw clenched. “Does he have to be half fucking naked?” he demanded.
My thoughts flashed to Wes’s behavior not an hour ago. I bit back a smile. Cal might be the Prez and a good deal older, but he wasn’t all that different from his men.
“Yes, he does,” I answered matter-of-factly.
“Tell me what to do and I’ll do it,” he growled.
This was a new level of alpha crazy I had yet to experience. I wanted to tell him he was completely insane, but I knew I couldn’t do that—not now, and especially not in front of another club.
“I’m nearly done,” I assured him instead, as Hunt’s eyes volleyed from me to Cal.
“If he breaks your other foot I’ll do my best to fix it,” I assured him dryly.
Cal grunted.
“I’m in hell,” Hunt groaned, laying his head back on the hard surface of the pool table.
