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“Lucky, how?” I demanded.
“His appendix only just burst—it could’ve been a lot worse.”
“Nearly slipping into anaphylactic shock from an allergic reaction to the anesthesia for a routine surgery doesn’t sound very lucky to me.” I sighed in frustration.
An hour later, I strode into the waiting room and looked around. A group of swarthy tattooed men wearing leather sat in the corner, and for just a moment I found myself observing them before I said, “I’m looking for Adderly Ford’s—Boxer’s—family.”
“That’s us.” A dark-haired, hulking, broody giant rose. He gestured to several other men with him. “We’re Boxer’s family. I’m Colt.”
He held out his massive paw toward me. I shook it firmly and tried not to be intimidated.
“Nice to meet you, Colt.” My eyes swept over his leather vest pocket with a patch that read,President.
It all made sense now. Boxer’s nickname. The leather vest. The boots and tattoos.
Boxer was a biker.
The few people in the waiting room had given Boxer’s friends a wide berth. The men in leather saturated the space, their collective aura radiating a back-the-hell-off energy that was both mesmerizing and titillating.
Another man with dark brown hair and a jaw that looked like it could cut marble peered at me as he asked, “How is he, Doc?”
I had to tilt my head back so I could meet his eyes and then my gaze wandered from him to the others.
“His appendix ruptured,” I announced.
There was a smattering of rumbled curses, but when I raised my hand to get their attention, they surprised me by quieting down almost immediately.
“He’ll be on heavy antibiotics for a couple of weeks, just to ensure there’s no infection. We cleaned his abdominal cavity, and we’ll monitor him closely the next couple of days while he’s here.”
“Whew.” The blond blue-eyed devil shook his head. “I knew the fucker was sicker than he said he was.”
“You were the one passing him the bottle of bourbon,” Colt said dryly. “To help him self-medicate.”
“When can we see him?” the blond asked me, ignoring Colt completely.
“Tomorrow during visiting hours. Right now, he needs to rest.”
“Tomorrow it is then. Come on, boys,” Colt called to the other men in leather. To me, he said, “Thanks, Doc.”
The men trekked to the elevator. Their vests all had the same emblem on the backs: a skull flanked with angel’s wings. I hadn’t expected them to be genuinely concerned about their friend’s well-being; I knew very little about bikers or biker clubs, only what I had seen in pop culture.
I also couldn’t believe how insanely attractive they all were. They were all so virile and…earthy.
“Um, was that a fleet of hot bikers I just saw?” Peyton asked.
“I prefer the term convoy,” I joked. “But yes.”
“Wow. Just wow,” she said, as we headed toward the lounge.
“Yeah, I didn’t think bikers could look like that. I expected… I don’t know. Something else.”
“I get it.” She chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“You were staring up at them, and your eyes were ping-ponging from one to the next.”
“Oh, shut up,” I said with a laugh as I followed her into the staff lounge.
