That’s all she wrote.
Placidly, Mal starts to drag him away. “Dump him in an elevator,” I suggest. “Press the button for the first floor.” I turn to the nurse. “You wanna call security to go get him?”
Mutely, she nods and rushes out of the room.
I don’t bother to watch as Mal disappears with the now-unconscious asshole. Instead, I turn to the little girl, who is still sitting in the bed with her knees up protectively in front of her. Her face is pale beneath the bruises around her eye and forehead. She looks exhausted. Her forehead is all scrunched up, like she’s in pain.
There’s something in her eyes, and her scrawny frame, that sends a sharp pierce of regret through my chest. A memory surfaces, from long ago.
A memory of my sister. How she used to look, back in the day. Before I could protect her.
My teeth clench. I wonder how much of why she’s in this hospital bed is because of the piece of trash Mal just hauled out of here.
“That guy ain’t very nice, is he?” I ask, trying hard as I can not to telegraph my anger through my voice.
The girl shakes her head, eyes wide as saucers.
I don’t really know what else to say at this point, but one thing’s for sure: I’m not about to leave her alone.
“So, what did you do to that arm?” I nod at the cast.
She swallows, and looks like she’s trying to find her words. “I fell down the stairs,” she finally says, her voice tiny and soft. “I was trying to take my clothes to the washing machine.”
Huh. At first, I don’t believe her. I fell is a pretty classic line that abused kids say. I should know. I used it myself, back in the day. But something in the way she says it makes me think she’s telling the truth. At least about that part.
“Aren’t you a little young to be doing laundry?”
“I’m seven,” she pipes up, with just a degree of feistiness. Shit. She looks pretty small for a seven year-old.
“Oh,” I say seriously. “My apologies.”
“Is my mom gonna come soon?”
“Yeah. I’m sure she is.”
I notice the girl seems to be untensing a little bit, so I move toward the foot of the bed and take a seat, far enough away from her that she’ll have plenty of personal space. “So, what’s your name?”
“Paisley,” she mumbles, looking down at her cast.
“I’m Rourke. Pleased to meet you.”
“Pleasetameetyoutoo.”
The way she says it, like she’s just remembering her manners, makes me chuckle.
“That guy’s your mom’s boyfriend, huh?” I ask her.
Paisley’s eyes immediately grow dark and sad. “Yeah. His name is Mickey.”
“You don’t like him much, huh?”
“No…”
“Me neither.”
Paisley risks a look at me. Her face looks like she’s trying to figure out whether to say something. Finally, she does: “My mom says it’s not okay to hit people.”
“Your mom’s right,” I agree. “But…” I lean closer. “Can I tell you a secret?”
Paisley nods.
“Hitting him was fun.”
Then, before my eyes, her face transforms. A tiny grin appears, which she lifts up her good hand to hide. She starts to giggle. Which makes me start to chuckle. Which makes her start full-on laughing.
It makes me happy as hell to hear her laugh, even though I can kind of tell it hurts her head to do it. Seems to me she probably hasn’t done much laughing today.
I’m trying to think of something else I can do to cheer her up. Maybe the old “make a quarter appear behind her ear” trick or something. I’m casually reaching for my pocket to fish out a coin when a female voice behind me — different from the nurse’s — rings out in the room.
“Excuse me!”
I frown at Paisley and shift on the foot of the bed to look toward the door.
A hot as hell woman with dark hair and flashing eyes stands in the doorway, fists on her hips. She’s dressed like she runs this place, in professional-looking navy-blue pants and a cream colored blouse that’s unbuttoned to reveal the soft skin of her throat. The fabric swells to the curve of her breasts, which are rising and falling rapidly as she stares at me now, her brows arched in an unspoken challenge. Her lips are parted, plump, stained a berry-red that looks good enough to eat.
Or to wrap around my cock.
For a second, I forget everything about the situation and just kinda stare at her. Holy hell.
“Excuse me,” she repeats — interrupting my budding fantasy of findin’ an empty hospital bed somewhere to fuck her brains out. She glares at me, and then shoots a quick glance at Paisley before locking her eyes on me again. “Will you please tell me exactly what it is you’re doing in this room?”
2
Laney
I stare at the huge, scary-looking man defiantly, hoping I’m projecting a commanding presence I don’t quite feel.
When Katie — my best friend and a nurse here at the hospital — called my office and told me there was a strange man in this room with the little girl, refusing to leave, I don’t know exactly what I expected. But it sure as heck wasn’t this. Sitting on the foot of the girl’s bed is a man dressed all in denim and leather. He looks to be somewhere around thirty years old, with hard, rugged features roughly sculpted, almost as though from rock. His dark hair is cropped close, revealing high cheekbones, a strong, straight nose, and a square jaw accented by just a hint of shadow. Dark tattoos emerge from the collar of his black T-shirt and snake up his neck. The muscles in his arms, also tattooed, are hard and sculpted like the rest of him, making it difficult not to stare.
Even seated on the bed, the man is almost as tall as I am standing. Looking at him now, in the sterile environment of this hospital room, I somehow think of the proverbial bull in the china shop. He seems completely out of place, bursting with strength and energy that almost literally fills the room. He feels dangerous as a wild beast — a mountain I couldn’t hope to move if I wanted to, no matter how hard I tried.
But even so. There is no way in hell I am going to let him do any harm this girl. Whoever he is, I am going to have to make him leave, no matter what it takes.
“I said, what are you doing in this room?” I demand. My voice comes out strong, thankfully — not betraying even a hint of fear. I know that if this man is dangerous, things could get bad here very quickly. I glance back toward the hallway, prepared to yell for security if I have to.
But instead of doing anything sudden or violent, the man gets leisurely to his feet, cocking a brow at me.
“What the f—…” he begins, then stops, with a glance toward the little girl. “What’s your problem, lady?” he asks in a deep, rich baritone. “I’m just keeping Paisley here company. That ain’t a crime, is it?”
“You’re not a relative, and she is a minor,” I retort. I step further into the room, realizing that if I’m trying to intimidate this man, I’m likely to fail miserably. If anything, he looks mildly amused, if not a little pissed off.
Mentally I kick myself that I didn’t get here to see the girl earlier. About an hour ago, Katie came by my office and told me that a female minor had come here with a broken arm and a bad concussion — possibly malnourished, and needing a bath.
As the medical social worker on staff here at Morningside Hospital, it’s my job to investigate situations like this — to determine whether there’s any likelihood of physical abuse. But at the time, I was running behind on some paperwork, so I made a mental note to come see the little girl as soon as I finished. But then, just a few minutes ago, Katie called me again in a panic, saying there was a strange man here in her room, refusing to leave.
Maybe if I’d been here when he showed up, I could have managed to keep him out of the girl’s room in the first place. Now that he’s in here, it’s going to be a lot harder to get him out.
I take another step forward toward the bed. I’m about four fe
et away from the man now, and my God, he is massive. He stands almost a foot taller than I am, a wall of muscle wrapped in leather. His shoulders are almost broad enough to carry a sofa. His black vest and heavy boots mark him right off as a biker. Patches line the leather, indicating a sort of code I don’t quite understand. But the tattooed mass of him — as well as the words “Lords of Carnage” and “Vice-President” over his pec — tell me he’s definitely not a casual weekend rider.
As he towers over me, his eyes travel from my face to my neck, then down to my chest. He makes no secret of the fact that he’s checking me out. He takes his sweet time about it, too. I feel my face flame, half from embarrassment and half from anger. The nerve! Thankfully, his back is to the little girl, so she can’t see what he’s doing.
The biker’s eyes finally slide back up to lock on mine. As they do, corner of his mouth lifts, into just the hint of a lazy smirk. “What’s the problem, darlin’?” he asks, his voice teasing, taunting. “You gonna toss me out on my ear?”
It’s obvious he finds my attempts to intimidate him ridiculous. And of course, they are. I could throw my entire weight at him and probably not budge him an inch. If he doesn’t want to leave, there’s no way I can make him.
But, I have to admit that as dangerous as he seems, he doesn’t really give off the vibe of a man who would hurt a child. I flick my eyes over to the little girl, who’s watching both of us with more curiosity than anything. She doesn’t seem at all afraid of him.
As a social worker, I know better than to put complete trust in appearances, of course. Some of the worst cases of abuse I’ve ever seen were at the hands of people you’d never imagine capable of it. But this doesn’t feel at all like the situation I thought I’d be stepping into when Katie called me.
“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to leave,” I say uncertainly, all the strength in my voice seeming to have left me.
“Uh-uh,” he rumbles, taking a step closer. His dark eyes seem to see right through me, making me feel strangely exposed. “But hey, darlin’, if you wanna try to make me, be my guest,” he says, his voice dropping until only I can hear what he’s saying. “Might be fun.”
Alarm bells start to go off somewhere deep in the back of my brain. But now, they aren’t because I’m afraid he’s going to hurt the little girl in that bed.
They’re going off because of the way he’s looking at me. Like he can see right through the professional air I’m struggling to maintain with him.
Like maybe he can tell I’m trying not to notice how handsome he is. How sexy and raw.
Maybe he can tell I’m trying not to think about what a man like him would be like in bed.
What it would be like to let him take control. Whether he’d be rough.
Whether I’d like it.
Involuntarily, a small sound escapes my throat.
The biker hears it.
The corner of his mouth quirks up a little more.
Oh my God. I feel the heat rush to my cheeks. I am rapidly losing what little control I have of this situation.
“It’s inappropriate for an unknown adult male to be in this room,” I tell him in a strangled tone.
He pauses a beat, considering me. The expression on his face gives me the distinct impression he’s disappointed in me.
“What’s inappropriate is for the kid to be alone in this room without protection,” he says flatly. “Look, Paisley’s mom’s not here yet. And I’m stickin’ around until she does get here. Period.”
“I can’t leave her in here alone with a stranger,” I insist. “It’s this hospital’s job to make sure she’s safe and not in any danger.”
“Lady, if that’s the case, this hospital is doin’ a piss poor job of it.” Irritated, he glances over at the girl before continuing. “Look, let’s take this out in the hall. Paisley, you good here?”
To my surprise, the girl immediately nods, looking at him trustingly. Before I can make sense of it all, I find myself following him out into the hallway.
I’m giving this man way more power in this conversation than I intended to. Dammit.
“Who are you, anyway?” he demands as soon as we’re out of the room, nodding at my outfit. “Some bureaucrat?”
“I’m a social worker,” I say defensively. “In other words, an employee of this hospital. I think the real question is, who are you?”
“I’m visiting someone in that room there,” he says, jerking his thumb across the hall. “I heard a commotion over here and came in to find some scumbag yellin’ at a nurse and scaring the kid.”
My brain works to make sense of what he’s saying. The nurse he’s talking about must be Katie, of course. When I got the frantic call from her a few minutes ago, she said a strange man was in the girl’s room and refusing to leave. I just assumed this was the man. But now, I’m not so sure.
“You… came over here trying to get another man to leave?” I ask stupidly.
“Not tryin’. I got him out of here. Look,” he mutters, glancing at the closed door of Paisley’s room. “I just got rid of the only danger that kid was in. Her mom’s scumbag boyfriend was in there yellin’ about how he was gonna take her out of here and no one could stop him.” He crosses his arms in front of him and cocks his head. “Well, I stopped him.”
“So…” I say in confusion, “you aren’t the man the nurse called about?”
“Jesus Christ,” he growls, raking a massive hand through his hair. “Are you listening at all? For the last time, no. Though I don’t think that nurse was much of a fan of me either.”
Just then, hurried steps draw both of our attention down the hallway. Katie is striding toward us, followed by a harried-looking woman in heels and a faded denim mini-skirt. She’s a bleached blond, her hair so light it’s almost white, but it’s been a while since she’s had her it treated. Her roots are the same color as the little girl’s hair.
“Where’s my daughter?” the woman cries.
Katie stops in front of us. “Laney, this is Paisley’s mom.” To the woman, she says, “Your daughter is in there,” and points to the door.
“So that’s the scumbag’s girlfriend,” the biker mutters after the mother has hurried into the room. “How the hell do women fall for lowlifes like that?” He looks disgusted.
Katie looks at me and rolls her eyes. The biker catches the look and snorts.
“For fuck’s sake,” he mutters, turning away from both of us. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
Before either Katie or I can react, the biker sticks his head through the doorway to the little girl’s room. “Yo, Paisley! I told you your mom would be here soon!”
Through the opening, I see the mother perched beside her on the bed. The girl turns and gives him a wide, beaming smile. “Thanks, Rourke!”
“No problem. I’ll catch you later, little one. Okay?”
“Okay!”
He pulls back from the door and gives us both an angry look. “Keep an eye on her, for fuck’s sake. That scumbag boyfriend of her mom’s is no good.”
Then he turns to me. He scans my face, eyes lingering for a long moment.
Somehow, my insides feel like they’re turning into molten liquid.
“See you around, Laney the social worker,” he murmurs.
I can actually feel my heart thudding inside my chest as I watch him turn on his heel and go back into the room across from Paisley’s.
Beside me, Katie blows out a breath.
“Whoa. He’s hot,” she exhales. “But scary. I can’t believe he was calling the mom’s boyfriend a scumbag. I mean, hello? Pot, meet kettle!”
Before I realize my mouth is even open, I hear myself snap: “Just because he rides a motorcycle doesn’t make him a scumbag, Katie.”
Katie shoots me a surprised look. “Wow. Okay, sorry. You’re actually defending him?”
“Well, he protected that little girl, after all,” I retort. “Didn’t he?”
“I mean, yeah, I guess,” she concedes, cle
arly not happy about it. “But who’s to say he isn’t some sort of weird perv or something himself?”
I shake my head in disbelief. “That’s… just silly, Kate. Why would you think that?”
“Um, maybe because he looks like a total criminal?” She wrinkles her nose. “What is up with you? Are you into him, or something?”
“No. God, no.” I laugh weakly. “I just think he, you know, deserves some credit for what he did. Don’t you? Besides, if you were that worried about him, why did you leave the little girl alone with him?”
That shuts her up for a moment. “I went to get security,” she fires back finally. “So yeah, I thought the boyfriend was the bigger problem. That doesn’t mean I thought the biker guy was safe.”
I open my mouth to protest some more, but then close it again. Why am I insisting on this? Why am I so irritated that she’s judging him? After all, just a couple of minutes ago, I was basically doing the same thing.
“Okay, fine,” I say irritably. “Let’s just forget it. It’s over now. Come on, let’s go in and talk to the mom.”
“Fine,” Katie mutters back. She does a barely perceptible eye roll that I catch but decide to ignore. Suppressing a sigh, I let her open the door to Paisley’s room and fall in behind her.
Katie’s words echo in my head as I follow her inside:
He’s hot, but scary.
It’s true, there’s something about him that’s definitely a little frightening.
But what’s scaring me has less to do with the possibility that he might be a criminal.
And everything to do with the fact that when he looked into my eyes, for just a moment I might have done almost anything he asked me to.
3
Rourke
“How’s Bear?” Axel asks as I climb off my bike in front of the clubhouse.
Iron Will: Lords of Carnage: Ironwood MC Page 2