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“Jesus Christ, woman. Don’t start screaming. I’m Nova Bishop. Dr. Bishop to you. I’m also an Army medic and a patched member of the Reckless Souls.”
Shit. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. “Reckless Souls?”
I’m in trouble, and I know it. I can hardly squeeze a breath out for the panic that rises inside of me.
Demon killed one of his brothers, and just like my crew, the Reckless Souls probably blame me. “I, uhm, need to get the fuck out of here.” I turn and try to lift myself from the X-ray table, hissing as another lightning bolt of pain shoots through me.
“Fuck!” I wheeze and fall back down.
“Maggie,” he growls, wrapping his big hands around my shoulders. “Stop it, Maggie. Please.”
His tone is firm, but his voice is calm, even gentle, through his frustration.
“Maggie, I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Damn right, you’re not,” I growl and manage to slide past him off the table. It feels like something is tearing in my neck, and my knees buckle.
Dr. Bishop is right there to catch me, and he picks me up like I weigh nothing and sets me in the wheelchair.
“Stop fighting me, Maggie. I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m going to help you.”
I let go and look into his eyes, well, as much as I can with these slits that barely let the light through. He said he works here because he wants to help people, but how can he be a biker and a doctor? That makes no fucking sense.
“How does that work?”
He smiles as if he can read my thoughts. “I was a doctor in the Army, and I joined a motorcycle club, but I’m still a doctor. It’s not that difficult.”
Maybe not, but how can I trust him? “You want to help me, what? Help me right into some kill trap from your MC?”
“No,” he sighs. “We don’t want you dead, Maggie. Unlike your former friends.”
If he wants me dead, I’m as good as dead anyway, right?
“Yeah, okay, fine. Let’s say I believe you.”
“You believe me,” he answers.
My shoulders sink, and I shake my head in frustration. “My former friends did this to me. Those fuckingpendejasI grew up with. We learned those streets together, and this is what they do to me. Beat the shit out of me, stick me like a pig, and then leave me for dead.”
It’s pathetic, feeling sad and angry about this, but this is the life I chose.
“I guessed as much. How did they find you?” At my look of confusion, he shrugs. “Angel Harbor isn’t really BTD territory.”
Right. “We used to go to the warehouse where they found me to drink, get faded and fuck back in the day. It was stupid to go there, but I had nowhere else to go. Still don’t.”
The doc opens the door of the X-ray room and pushes me into the hall. I look to the right and see those bikers still standing there. One of them nods at us, and I turn my head. The doctor pushes me left into an office.
“What I don’t get,” he says, locking the wheelchair, “is why they’re after you.”
“Million-dollar question, isn’t it?” I flash a painful smile because it’s embarrassing as fuck to admit that my lifelong friends, people I considered family, turned on me.
“They think I helped you guys kill Demon.” I scoff because that’s the most ridiculous thing in the whole fucking world. “After you bikers booked it out of there, I climbed out of that ditch and found Demon lying there, so I ran as fast as I could with a sprained ankle and finally got an Uber and went back to L.A.”
I cringe at the memory, but somehow, I find myself telling him the whole story. “I was scared and dirty and looking to my crew for help, you know?”
I let out a bitter bark of laughter at how stupid that seems now.
“I heard them blaming me because I screamed. I mean, what the fuck? I fell down the damn ditch. I hurt my ankle. Anyway, I dipped out of there and have been in Angel Harbor ever since.” I look away and swipe a few stray tears angrily. I hate to cry. It makes me feel weak.
