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“Copy that, Doc. I hear you.”
That’s Hark.
“Does getting shot happen often around here?” How many people does he have gunning for him? Maybe I shouldn’t feel so bad about tonight after all.
“More than you would think.” A peculiar level of sorrow punctuates his words. They lost someone. And recently. This revelation cuts through my curiosity and I drop the topic.
My gaze travels over all the scars scattered across Hark’s chest. Some look old, those I remember. Others look newer. But the one that should have killed him keeps drawing my eye. My fingers itch to feel the rough edges, but I know if I do that, the memories of how it got there will claw their way out of the neatly sealed box sitting like a rigged explosive in the center of my chest.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Umm, I’m Asena, by the way.” I hold up a hand to the new guy but he’s looking a little sick at the moment so I pull back.
“The man turning every shade of green over there is Casanova. Give him a minute to situate his rebelling dinner.” Rook jerks his chin toward the new guy who gives a two-finger salute from the temple.
“Blood, man. I can do almost anything but blood.”
Dark green eyes turn on me. “Nice to meet ya, ma’am. I gotta get outta here. Prez will wanna hear about this anyway. He’s gonna shit enough bricks to build a house. Get ready for it.”
I drag in a harsh breath. That sounds ominous. “For what?”
Casanova gives me a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “For hell to arrive. His brothers back at the compound will storm this place when they find out he’s been shot. That many people in this small space is scary. But that’s only the start. Prez ain’t the gentlest when asking questions. And he’ll have a lot.”
Damn. He’s right. Heat warms over my cold fingers and climbs up my neck.
“Shut up, boy. Can’t you see you’re scaring her?”
Casanova pushes off the hospital bed where he’d been leaning. “I’m just sayin’, Doc. We don’t know who she is, why Dragon is on that table and why she’s wearing more than just his blood.”
I can’t argue when those soft hazel eyes turn hard and in my direction. “No offense. But… ya know?” He shrugs heavy shoulders.
“None taken.”
People are going to want answers about the special kind of hell I rode in with. Especially the one Casanova called Prez. I’m not up to date on my biker gang lingo but I know hierarchy very well given I spent the last four years stripped of my crown.
I nod and sit down slowly, not feeling the metal through the thickness of the dress when he moves a fold-out chair behind me.
“Here. Can’t have you fainting or something. Prez would have my ass.”
“This prez of yours…”
“Yeah?”
“He’s a complicated man, huh?”
Casanova nods. “Can be. I won’t lie.”
The man I only met an hour ago puts his hand back on my bare shoulder and gives me a friendly squeeze. “At least you know Dragon will be okay, ma’am. Doc is good at what he does. Trust me.” Despite his leeriness, this complete stranger has offered me more kindness in an hour than I have experienced in a long time and it makes my eyes mist over.
Damn it. Show no weakness.
And trust? Ha. I don’t know. It just doesn’t come so easily to me anymore. It’s not something I give out so freely.
I look up and offer a smile I’m not feeling in the slightest. “Thank you, Casanova.” And I genuinely mean it. “Thank you both.”
“He’s going to be out for a while with the mild sedative I put in the IV. I’ll clean up.”
And then we can talk. He doesn’t say it, but the unsaid words are heard all the same.
I can’t seem to wake from this nightmare. It just shifts and flows from one heart-wrenching moment to the next.
