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CHAPTERSIX
MALCOLM
The moment I stepped into the godforsaken building, I wanted to burn it down. The minute I set eyes on Désirée, the thought of sending the structure into an inferno crossed my mind. I intend to see it happen, but first, my priority is the woman I now hold in my arms. I carry her bridal style out of the building—her head laying against my chest and her breathing calm.
I’ll never forget the way she cried when she realized I was truly there. That she was finally going to be free of whatever Dimitri did to her. I swear the memory of her in that room, naked, thinking herself going insane, will forever be burned in my head. It’ll stay with me until the day I die.
I don’t have to call out to Félix or his brothers as I do so. They spot me carrying her petite form and start in my direction.
“Is she okay?” Tristan asks, first coming to my side to see his twin up close.
“No, we need to get her help,” I mutter and meet Félix’s gaze. “I don’t think we should take her to the hospital. But she needs to get these wounds looked at.”
“Bring her to the clubhouse,” Chains states making his presence known. “We’ll lock the club down. No one in or out unless it’s one of you all or members of the club. Pitch Blacks ol’ lady is already there, and he told ya earlier she’s more than happy to help.”
“Then that’s where we’ll take her,” Félix declares, nodding and looking behind us at the building and curling his lip in disgust. “Get rid of this place,” he commands, jerks his chin toward the vehicles, and spins on his heel heading in that direction.
I meet Chains’ gaze and ask, “You got a way to burn this fucker to the ground?”
Chains grins. “Don’t worry about that. Boys are already on it,” he says, nodding to his brothers coming out of the building.
“Good,” I grumble and follow after my boss, his brothers behind me.
At the vehicle, I don’t bother with laying Désirée on the backseat. Instead, Léon opens the door, and I climb in the back with her still cradled in my arms. I’m not letting her go until I have no other choice. Even then, I don’t intend on going far from her side.
I meant what I said to Félix and his brothers, Désirée, meanseverythingto me. I don’t care if it makes me sound weak. To me, it doesn’t mean anything but what it is meant to. That I’ll do what it takes for Désirée, even die if I have to—nothing like this will ever happen to her again.
Sitting in the backseat of the car, holding her to me, I press a kiss to the top of her head as Léon drives us back to the Inferno’s Clutch MC clubhouse. If it were for anyone else, they wouldn’t be going there. But I know of Doctor Angelina Corbin. She’s good and will take care of Désirée.
The gates surrounding the clubhouse open as we approach, and Léon parks the car. The back door is opened before Léon is even out from behind the driver’s seat. I glance out the opening to find Tyres standing there.
“Angelina’s got a room ready,” he states, jerking his chin toward the building.
Nodding, I gingerly climb out, making sure I don’t bump Désirée into anything. Tyres shows me inside and down a hall. I’ve been in the clubhouse before but never going past the main room. The members of the club are protective and don’t let anyone anywhere they’re not supposed to be.
It’s the same as what we do.
I spot Angelina standing in the middle of the hallway, and she looks to be assessing Désirée before I even get close.
“Lay her on the bed,” Angelina instructs, pointing into the room.
I do as she says without a word, entering the room to find it set up with medical equipment off to the side. I put a knee to the bed and lay Désirée in the middle of the queen-size bed. As I pull my arm from under her unconscious form, I don’t take my eyes off her.
Angelina moves to the other side of the bed and automatically starts working as she gives me my orders. “Go out in the hallway. I’ll take care of her. My mother-in-law will be here in a few minutes, and she’ll help me.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I declare, not taking my attention from Désirée.
“Malcolm, that’s your name, right?” Angelina huffs, drawing my gaze to hers.
“Yeah,” I mutter and go back to staring at Désirée as if she’ll disappear.
“Well, Malcolm. You need to listen and listen good,” Angelina states and rounds the bed, planting her hands on her hips. “I’m a doctor. I’m also an ol’ lady, a mother of a teenage boy, and I’ve lived through my own hell for years. When I say I’ll take care of Désirée, I mean it. Not just because of my profession, but because I know when a woman’s been through hell. So does every last ol’ lady here. Now get out of the room so I can make sure Désirée will be okay and won’t need further medical attention. I’d hate to have to take her to the hospital. It’ll require me to use a creative method I don’t want to think of right now.”
I bring my attention to Angelina once more halfway through her rant. The expression on her face tells me, without a doubt, she means every word she says.
“You get me if she wakes up?” It comes out more of a question than a statement.
“I will.” She nods and juts her chin toward the door as it opens to an older-looking woman stepping in. “Ela will be helping me, and if she needs to, she’ll come get you.”
