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For some reason, that made Wren appreciate him even more. The hard man couldn’t be buttered up with beer and winks, but several times she thought she’d seen his true self shine through with her.
Her attention swung to the door. A customer walked in. His blue jeans and flannel shirt marked him as an everyday joe rather than a member of the gang. When he walked up to the bar and talked to the bartender, Wren couldn’t hear what was exchanged. But a minute later, the woman disappeared through a door and came out with a takeout bag.
The man turned away from the bar, took one step and then spun back.
“Wait a minute. I’m supposed to have four burgers, three fries. The bag feels light.” He started to open the folded top of the bag.
Chairs scraped back and two men launched themselves at the customer. Several screams erupted from the ladies around Wren as the bikers tackled the man to the floor. One wrestled the bag out of his hand.
The guy let out a holler and threw a punch to defend himself, which earned him a fist to the eye.
Wren leaped to her feet at the first sight of blood. She pushed between the big bodies pinning the innocent man to the dusty floor.
“Stop!” she cried. “He’s bleeding! Let me help him!”
She squeezed between men and dropped to her knees next to the injured man. The cut just beneath his brow wasn’t a simple split. It looked like the guy who hit him wore a big knuckle ring that caused a lot of damage.
“I need a clean towel!” Her demand echoed in the abrupt silence.
A big black boot fell into her line of vision, and then the scent of the man she was beginning to know very well flooded her senses.
“Here.” Jennings pressed a bar towel into her hand. She pressed it to the cut on the man’s eye to staunch the flow of blood.
“I need a first-aid kit.” She took in the man’s face. His brows were pinched in pain, but he was still conscious at least. He still might have a concussion from being tackled. By her estimate, he also needed at least five stitches.
“He’s going to need a trip to the ER. And a plastic surgeon if he doesn’t want a scar on this eye.” She made a rough noise of disgust. “What the hell were they thinking to shove him down and beat him up over a bag of takeout?”
When nobody answered her, she got the feeling that they all knew far more than she did. But she didn’t care—she had a patient who needed medical attention.
She searched the man’s face. “How are you feeling? Can you tell me your name?”
“Joey.”
“Okay, Joey. I’m going to make sure you get bandaged up before you go to the hospital for stitches.”
“I was just getting food for our game night,” he mumbled.
She twisted her head to look at Jennings. “Call an ambulance. He could have a head injury from the fall.”
Jennings’s dark gaze captured hers. “Bad idea.” Then he tore his stare from hers and looked around the bar. “Who here has a car to drive our friend to the hospital?”
Chapter Eight
Jennings switched on the light and closed the bedroom door. Wren stood just feet away, looking as lost and confused as she did when he announced that someone would drive the victim to the hospital rather than calling an ambulance.
He could guess what was inside that takeout bag, and it wasn’t burgers and fries.
“I don’t understand any of this.” Wren shook her head with such despondence that it twisted his heart with a small pang. The wavy ends of her hair trailed across the tops of her breasts.
“Of course you don’t understand.” He took a step closer to her.
When he reached for her, she let him cup her face. God, even after all she’d been through, this woman still trusted him.
He should get her out of this place. Hide her.
He searched her pretty face. Her wide eyes spoke to all the shock she’d endured. As he stared at her, a flush warmed her cheeks.
“It’s probably not a good idea to tell you why they tackled that guy in the bar.”
