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Chapter Eleven
Hanging up, Jethro noticed the heap of human garbage also known as Trent getting to his feet. He didn’t want to let that asshole get away but he wasn’t going to put Sable on the ground unless absolutely necessary.
“If you know what’s good for you, you’re gonna stay on the ground,” he said in his most menacing tone, directing a glower at Trent whose nose was bleeding profusely, the blood flowing freely between his fingers that covered half his face and onto his shirt.
Unfortunately, Trent called his bluff and started running in the opposite direction from the club. Running was a strong word. It was more like a hunch-backed hobble, and though Jethro could’ve caught up to him easily, he wasn’t going to leave Sable. Someone at Hive would be able to get the dick’s info from Savage. He wouldn’t get away with this even if he made it to his car and drove off before Ian and company arrived.
He wanted to ask Sable where her keys were so he could get her off the ground and into what he assumed was her car. Some sleek SUV that was probably worth six of his pick-up, he was sure it would be cozy on the inside and heat up like a dream.
Hell, he’d start rummaging through her bag without permission even though his mother had drilled it into him that you didn’t go into a lady’s purse under any circumstances—surely even Sylvia Del Bosque would admit this might be the exception to the rule—but it was too far for him to reach without dumping Sable off his lap.
Luckily it was only a couple of minutes before he heard the pounding of footsteps on pavement. The sound was oddly muffled by the snow even though it was quiet enough that the sound should be ringing through the black night.
Ian was charging toward them, Eric Southerland a few steps behind him, and Hudson bringing up the rear of the party.
Jethro was glad Eric was there—he was a legit pediatrician but also ran a clinic for littles during the off-hours of his pediatric practice. He’d brought a couple of his littles to Eric for some med fetish play but also when one of them had come down with the flu.
Eric was great with littles and Jethro hoped he’d be able to get through to Sable—even though he’d be envious of the man for being able to reach her when he couldn’t. Or maybe she’d respond to Hudson. As long as she talked to someone so they could figure out if she was okay.
“Where’s Trent?” demanded Ian, slowing slightly.
Jethro tipped his head in the direction Trent had stumbled off. “Further north but he headed up there a couple minutes ago, don’t know if that’s where his car was parked. He might be gone.”
Ian sketched a salute of acknowledgment and then picked up the pace again, racing off in the direction the worm had slithered, his face frozen in determined rage. If Trent was still there, he was in for a world of hurt.
Eric and Hudson had reached them and nearly slid to a halt on their knees in front of him.
“Holy fuck, Pocketful, what did that shithead do to you?”
Hudson was generally an easy going guy, always good for a smile or a laugh unless he was in a scene that demanded he be serious. Jethro had never seen him this mad. He thought that was about as angry as a human could look until Hudson caught sight of the fabric on the ground and scooped it up, shoved it in his pocket while seething, “That motherfucker is dead if I find him. I’m going to kill him with my bare hands.”
Eric put a hand on Hudson’s enormous shoulder. “Before you commit homicide, think you could make an introduction?”
“Yeah,” said Hudson, shaking his head. “Sorry. Eric, I think you know Jethro.”
“Yeah,” Eric agreed, nodding at him. “Good to see you, man. Wish it were under different circumstances.”
“Same.”
“I don’t think you know Posey though.”
Posey? It took a second but then the circuits connected in his brain. That’s why Hudson called her Pocketful. Pocket full of Poseys. “Ring Around the Rosie” sounded like a cute kids’ song but it was really about death. Yep, fitting for Sable alright.
Hudson leaned in, his hand outstretched toward Sable. When he touched her though, she jerked away and turned further into Jethro’s chest, her hand coming up to cling to his shirt. “No!”
“Baby, it’s Hudson. You know Hudson, he’s not going to hurt you,” Jethro soothed, his mind starting to race.
He’d half expected her to vault off his lap and throw herself into Hudson’s arms since they knew each other so well, but that wasn’t how this was playing out. Not at all. He couldn’t see something so off happening on her way out that she’d be upset with Hudson, but they could sort that out later. Right now…
“Hudson just wanted to introduce you to someone, baby. Do you know Eric? He’s a doctor.”
Sable shook her head, which felt more like her burrowing into his chest, and mumbled, “Don’t want Eric. Don’t want Hudson. Just want you.”
Jethro’s heart cracked and he had to clear his throat before he spoke. “I’m not going anywhere, promise. But can you let Dr. Eric take a look at you? He’ll be able to figure out if you need to go to the hospital or if I can just take you home.”
“Home,” she insisted to his armpit, and it almost made him laugh. Would’ve if it didn’t crack his ribs wide open seeing the toughest woman he knew reduced to this cowering, shivering ball. Shivering. She must be fucking freezing out here.
Jethro had to think fast—what was going to be the best way to get her to do something? He didn’t want her to start fighting him but he couldn’t just hold onto her forever.
