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“Let them do it their way,” she demanded. “I want to see how the outlaws deal with it.”
I rolled my eyes.
Elden’s mouth twitched.
The entire club had turned up at the bar.
The entire, unharmed club.
It was a relief.
They took care of the bartender, and the sheriff when he arrived. Luckily somehow our favorite detective hadn’t been around.
They dealt with the dead bodies. Hansen tended to Emily with a rudimentary first aid kit since he’d been a medic in the army.
She talked animatedly the entire time, not giving off any stress over what happened.
Liam had all but been glued to my side.
But he didn’t touch me.
Now we were back at the club because there was only so long you could stay at the scene of the crime even if you owned the local police force. Oh, and the small fact my best friend had a bullet wound.
Hansen had seemed competent with the battlefield treatment, but he said he’d call in a doctor who was in town and a ‘friend of the club.’ He’d given Liam some look on that, Liam’s eyes had flared ever so slightly but then they went back to me.
Claw groaned. “Are you sure you like pussy? Because I swear you were made for me.”
Emily winked. “I was made for everyone, honey. And I was definitely made to like pussy.”
He groaned again.
Although Emily was still charming everyone with her brash New York temperament and sheer volume of curse words, she was getting pale and I was getting worried.
“Where is this doctor?” I demanded.
Something moved in Liam’s eyes as he focused on someone behind me.
I turned and relaxed. The doctor had arrived. I only relaxed for a split second because it became apparent that the doctor had come for Emily, but the woman had come for Liam.
She was pretty. I noticed that first off and I hated the stab of jealousy that came with that. Even in the middle of the night, wearing black jeans and a tee, she was pretty.
Beautiful, even.
And she was a doctor.
A friend of the club. Who came and tended to bullet wounds in the middle of the night.
Who smiled at the members like she knew them.
“Hey,” she said to me, smiling warmly.
She looked up to Liam. Then at the space between us. Understanding dawned. But she still smiled warmly.
Fuck. She was nice too.
“I’m Sarah,” she said, focusing on Emily.
Emily, on the other hand, had been focusing on her since the moment she walked in. Even a fricking bullet wound wasn’t stopping her checking out a beautiful woman.
“Emily,” she replied, smiling. “Here I was thinking that it was such a shitty thing getting shot, but now it doesn’t look so bad.”
Sarah put on gloves and then inspected what was under the bloody bandage. “It’s not so bad. A flesh wound. Didn’t hit anything important.”
“That’s what I told them,” Emily replied, giving me a meaningful look.
“Okay, you’ll have to wear a sling for a couple of weeks, take antibiotics in case of infection, see your doctor to get the stitches cut out. As long as you’ve got someone to see who will do it without…asking questions?” Sarah said, taking off her gloves and beginning to clean up.
I had watched Emily shamelessly flirt with her the entire time she was stitching up her bullet wound. Despite the fact she was obviously straight and in love with my…Liam.
I wanted to hate her for that fact alone. But I didn’t. Because I didn’t hate women for reasons like that. It was ugly and toxic and went against everything I stood for. Also because, despite the fact it was obvious Liam and I were…together, she treated me with kindness and respect. The same with Emily. And she stitched her up.
So I didn’t hate her.
In fact, I felt a little pissed for her, considering her and Liam had obviously been something and he didn’t say a fricking word to her. Didn’t even look at her.
Then, when Hansen had beckoned him and the rest of the club to church, he’d moved, kissed me full on the mouth, right in front of her and said, “I’ll be back, Peaches, don’t go anywhere that isn’t within hearing range.”
And he walked off. I gave Sarah and apologetic smile.
She pretended to be focusing on stitching Emily’s wound. Or maybe she was actually focusing on stitching Emily’s wound. But she was a woman. And a doctor. For the Sons of Templar. I sensed that she could stitch a bullet wound and go through emotional turmoil at seeing the man she loved kiss another woman and act like she didn’t exist.
“Honey, I live in New York,” Emily said, answering Sarah’s earlier question. “Doctors have seen a lot of weirder shit than a stitched-up bullet wound. But I’d be happy to fly you over, for a personal consultation.”
I couldn’t help but admire Emily’s stamina.
