Wicked Kind of Love

by Nicole Snow

  Why was I still listening? Because the man was an ass, but he had the gift of gab. I wondered how many helpless girls he'd talked into his bed or onto his bike over the years.

  “It's gonna be different this time! You got my word.” He paused. “Now, open the fuck up so I can pass along the new address and this checklist to go over. It's your infirmary, Em. Anything you need, we'll get it shipped over. Just say the word.”

  “Different? How? Will I get blown up instead of losing my license?”

  Blaze snorted. “Fuckin' please. The Grizzlies aren't at war with us anymore. We got ourselves an understanding. Besides, I'm the goddamned President of this club now. Maverick rode off into the sunset with his new old lady. That's what Nomads do.”

  I rolled my eyes. He was seriously trying to tell me that having his hotheaded brain on top was an improvement?

  For some stupid reason, I turned, reaching for the chain. It clipped off and Blaze stepped inside, looking me up and down.

  “We really need you back, Em. I don't give a fuck if I have to pay you more exorbitant stacks of loot. Shit went wrong the first time because we walked into a damned trap. That isn't gonna happen again on my watch. The biggest things you'll be dealing with are hangovers and handing out condoms. You got my guarantee.”

  He flashed a grin. Anybody in the right mood would've smiled back, but I just felt my intestines knot, tight with confusion.

  “All right. Fine. We can work something out either way,” he said. “I'm not interested in having anybody working with us who's there against their fucking will. This club doesn't roll like that. We're not into slaves. Take a good look: you got an offer here for more pay on a part-time gig than anything you'll make in a year at that damned hospital. Think it over and call me back. I won't force you to do shit. But I still hope you choose wisely.”

  He slammed the paperwork down on the counter and walked right out. He didn't wait a single second before starting his Harley and roaring away.

  I wasn't sure what was worse: seeing him and instantly being reminded how hot and unstoppable Tank looked in the same colors, or grappling with this brutal decision he'd dropped in my lap.

  God help me, I took the bait. I wanted to believe things would really be different. Maybe the Devils would settle down and stop killing. Maybe they'd be satisfied running their strip clubs and black market goods out to the Pacific.

  For awhile, the club lived up to Blaze's promise. I made myself scarce around their place, always trying to avoid Tank.

  The first few calls were easy: a checkup for their new club whore, Marianne, prescription antacids for big bearded Moose, Reb's tooth infection. That one was beyond me, and I referred him to a dentist.

  Otherwise, I only stopped by to check inventory and make sure the new prospects were cleaning the room to proper medical standards. There was a new girl I saw from a distance working the bar, a former stripper named Saffron.

  Never bothered approaching her because she seemed so caught up in her own turmoil with Blaze and some other drama I wasn't sure about. I saw Tank once in two weeks, and only from a distance.

  He'd been voted in as Sergeant at Arms, a perfectly dangerous position handling the club's defense and internal order. I was walking to my car after dropping off Moose's refill when I saw him. He was right outside the garage, perched on his Harley, engine revving.

  Damn! I'd forgotten how sexy he was – and that was before I'd seen him on his bike. Welded to his machine, he was a coarse barbarian with a wicked charm designed to send panties soaring over the mountains.

  He looked up, a beautiful tattooed hulk on a steel rocket, black ink rippling on his arms as he gripped the handlebars. The Harley sputtered, new and loud like all the other bikes the guys had. He didn't need to yell at me. The machine did it for him.

  I smelled oil in the air, the same gritty scent welded to his masculine richness up close. I wasn't sure how I moved my heels and got my ass in the car, but I did.

  My shaky hands steadied on the steering wheel. I drove like an idiot, desperate to get the hell away before the gate closed, scared to death he'd follow.

  Don't lie, girl. Part of you wants him to.

  “Shut up!” I snarled at the sardonic voice in my head.

  I was so damned tired of everybody else telling me what I wanted, or what was best for me. Now, even my own head and heart deserted me. The fight when he left seemed like a lifetime ago.

  Did it really matter anymore? Or was I going to listen to the nagging urges, the ones that screamed at me to spin the car around and return to him?

  I managed to ignore it, but didn't relax until I was almost home. Tank didn't follow after all. My heart sank like a stone.

  Why? was the only thing on my mind that night.

  He could be a dick, but he was serious about his word, just like Blaze.

  Was he staying away because he was hellbent on protecting me? Or had my inner bitch driven him away for good?

  The phone I hated woke me up the next morning. It took me a groggy minute to realize it wasn't my usual alarm. I lazily tapped the key and pressed it to my ear.

  “Emma? Get your ass down here for the club. Stab wound.” Blaze's voice barked over the line.

  “Tank?” His name came out of my mouth without a second thought.

  “Yeah, it's him. Again.”

  I gasped. Now I was completely wide awake, jumping out of bed. “I'll be right there! Move him to the infirmary if you've got something on the wound. But be careful!”

  What crappy luck. Poor Tank. Poor me!

  The full realization I was going to have my hands on him hit me on the drive over. I didn't let it slow me down, even if it nearly paralyzed me. Whatever had gone down before, I was his nurse first, and only his nurse.

  When I got to the clubhouse, Moose pointed to the infirmary. “He's in there. Sneak attack. Bastards almost got the Prez and we had to roll to defend the clubhouse right outside our own fucking gate. Did our best to stop the bleeding, and I hope like hell it was enough.”

  I wandered on past. No time to slow down for idle chatter.

  When I got inside, Tank was conscious, groaning on the table. His pants were off, leaving nothing below the waist but tight black boxers. A steady trickle of blood surrounded his huge thigh, leaking past a crude tourniquet someone tied to stop the bleeding.

  Blaze, Reb, and Roller were gathered in the tiny space. I had to nudge my way past them to get to my patient.

  “Well? Is he gonna be okay?”

  “Give me some space and I'll work on it!” I snapped.

  Blaze bared his teeth like he was about to strike back, but he trusted me, and waved the other two guys out of the room. It hadn't taken long to figure out bikers were the most demanding pricks around when they needed to be.

  “Just lay still,” I whispered, my first words to the man I hadn't spoken to since he stormed out of my house. “Here's something for the pain.”

  I moved to his healthy side and pushed a syringe deep into his flank. With any luck, the stuff would put him down and keep him still for a few hours, giving me ample room to do my work.

  Blaze watched the whole time. I sliced off the tourniquet, examining the cut. It was nasty. A long, jagged blade had slid right across his thigh, possibly tearing through several major nerves. It was bad, but it could've been even worse.

  I grabbed alcohol and antiseptic, splashing the whole area generously. Good thing the morphine worked fast. If he were awake with all his nerves, he would've been throwing me and Blaze around the room, going mad with fire arcing up his hip.

  “Come on, woman. Throw me a fucking bone here,” Blaze said from the corner as I was moving for stitches.

  “He'll live.” I shot him a stone cold glare.

  The intimidating President didn't scare me at all with Tank hurt. Work was more important than egos, and I had to stuff mine too, keeping my eyes on the injured flesh. I couldn't let it wander across his boxers, not to the huge lump straining ther
e.

  I'd seen it on male patients a hundred times. Anxiety, adrenaline, and red hot blood makes for some scary erections at the worst times, and Tank had it all storming through his system.

  I chewed my lip. Stitches were usually left to the doctors unless they were very minor. I'd never patched a wound so big, but I worked my fingers fast, stuffing it with medicated gauze before I began to close the threads.

  The stuff inside would dissolve as he healed. I hoped the knife wasn't dirty, or else he'd be in a world of hurt when infection took hold.

  Blaze leaned on the wall, arms folded, glowering at me impatiently. When I cut the last thread and looked up, letting my tools clatter on the big steel cart, I mimicked his stance.

  “Don't you have something more important to do, Prez?” God, I wanted to make him choke on his title. “He'll be okay if the thing that sliced into him wasn't too dirty. We'll keep a close eye on that. I can take it from here...all by myself.”

  Blaze's eyes narrowed. He stepped forward, circling me like a hungry shark, all bowed up because I'd called him out on his crap.

  “Yeah, I've got church to call. Gotta round up all the brothers and figure out how we're gonna gut the motherfuckers who did this. Fuck, that easily could've been Saffron there on that table. Tank saved both our asses.” Blaze's arm shot out, pointing at Tank's huge body on the table. “Listen, I'll let your bitch tone slide this time because you did your job well and I know you two are real tight. You're all he's fucking thought about since we got our shit together here.”

  Hot redness licked my cheeks. Anger, shame, embarrassment. The man really knew how to push a girl's buttons.

  “But you trot your venom out on me again, and we're gonna have a real close chat. Just you and I. This isn't a fucking game, Emma.” He tapped the PRESIDENT patch on the front of his cut, and then a small red patch beneath it that read SATAN'S SYCTHE. “You give respect in this club, you get it. You start fucking with me, and I'll take your damned head off. I'm a fair boss, but this isn't the fucking hospital. Only gonna say it once.”

  He turned sharp, walked straight, and flung open the door. It clattered against the frame, slamming loudly.

  With a heavy sigh, I looked at Tank. It took forever to lift off his cut and open up his shirt. When I finally did, I hooked up the monitors I needed to keep him safe while he was out.

  A flicker ran through me when I brushed his chest with my fingers, applying the sticky pads connected to the wires. Had I really taken my time on these bulging muscles before, smoothing his evil looking tattoos with a wet cloth in my own little bathroom?

  I had. It just seemed like half a lifetime ago.

  Everything about him screamed trained killer. All the brothers were. He obviously hadn't gotten stabbed in the ambush doing charity. Angels didn't wear demons on their skin, and they sure as heck didn't mold patriotic symbols with skulls that Gengish Khan would've smiled at.

  Touching the canvass on his rock hard chest should've reminded me how crazy this all was. But of course that would've been too sensible.

  His chest, his face, his world enveloping shoulders did the opposite. They started a mud fight in my head. Crazy, mischievous, salacious thoughts beat through my brain, heating up my blood, making me feel sweaty and soaked.

  The need was there. It hadn't gone anywhere. And I was in deep, deep trouble.

  I snorted, pushing my hand away. His warmth was too much. So were the visions I had of myself perched on his great big body, naked and raw, filling my wetness with his rigid fire. I wanted him to burn me deep, fucking away whatever disagreements we'd had. I wanted it bad, and if I didn't put some distance between us right now, I was going to drown in my own sticky desire.

  Christ, I needed something to take the edge off.

  The next hour passed in a haze. I left Tank alone, carefully monitored by the instruments. Saffron was working the bar, and she served me a tall glass of water and some beer.

  I drained both fast, eager to get fluids into my system to wash away the shock and awe, all the wild spell that came over me when Tank and I were together. We exchanged a few words. All the men were in the meeting room, a proper war council plotting their brutal revenge.

  It was nice to have someone to talk to. Saffron was on edge too. I even prodded her about Blaze, and saw the shameful blush in her cheeks I'd felt countless times.

  I was contemplating another beer when the door to the meeting room banged open. All the brothers came filing out, filtering through the clubhouse like soldiers who'd received their orders. Blaze came to the bar, walking right past me. He was going straight for Saffron.

  I tried not to listen, but it was impossible not to hear it. He was talking candidly, close, and intense in the way a man only talks to his woman, an urgency in his tone about protecting her that seemed to go way beyond his duties as MC President.

  My head buzzed pleasantly now, lightweight that I was. I cocked an eyebrow. Whatever was going on between those two, at least I was in good company.

  I wasn't the only dumb girl who'd stepped into this world and fallen for one of the badasses here. Too bad I couldn't tell whether Saffron and I both were just chasing our tails.

  I looked back at the infirmary while Blaze and Saffron danced around their passions.

  Loving these men was an either/or proposition.

  No matter how many times I went over the complicated possibilities, I didn't see a happy ending. If Tank ever relented and let me in, I was bound to lose everything.

  Becoming an old lady meant embracing this world, and nothing else, watching the other one I'd known my whole life sink into the shadows, lost forever.

  Later that evening, I slumped in the little chair next to his bed. Tank woke up late, sometime after midnight.

  The craziness we'd been through today drained my energy. I'd already called in a sick day at the hospital tomorrow, but it wasn't much consolation.

  “Emma? Emma?” Tank repeated my name, his smooth baritone voice echoing off the ceiling.

  I rushed up and was at his side. “I'm right here.”

  “Fuck. Can't believe we're right back where we started. Sorry, babe. It all happened so fast...”

  Right back where we started, huh? Does that mean more than just me working on his flesh wounds?

  “Tell me what happened. The club's been so crazy today nobody bothered to fill me in.” I swallowed hard.

  I wasn't sure I wanted to know if it meant more ruthless trouble, more people getting hurt. Maybe even me.

  “Fucking Grizzlies. They chased down Blaze and Saffron while they were coming to the clubhouse this morning. We rolled out to fight 'em off, but the bastards had the numbers. It was a fucking melee out there with blades and hammers. Fucks were smart enough not to come in blazing and shoot off guns where any neighbors could hear. Nobody wants any badges involved.”

  “Grizzlies? I thought you had a truce?”

  Tank shrugged. “Blaze says it's a rogue charter. Loose dogs who aren't listening to the old heads of their pack further west anymore. Whatever. All I care about is getting the fuck out of here and breaking their heads.”

  He shifted with a groan. Next thing I knew, my hands were flattened on his chest, trying to hold back a mountain.

  “You're not going anywhere! That leg needs to heal for a few days before you can walk. We need to make sure there's no infection too. Already gave you a booster for tetanus while you were out, plus some antibiotics.”

  “You're kidding me, babe. How many days?”

  “At least two or three. And then the only walking you're doing is with this.” I pointed to the corner.

  He followed my finger. When he saw it, his whole chest jerked against my palms.

  My stupid, sick brain wondered if it was the same way he heaved for air when he spent himself during sex. Jesus, what would it really feel like to make him lose control?

  “Fuck! No. No, Em! No way in hell am I gonna use that fucking thing.”

  My hands swe
pt up, landing on his shoulders. Fat chance of soothing him with words and a gentle touch, but I was going to try.

  “It's only for a little while, Tank. I don't think you'll be away from riding and doing your business too long. It's temporary. I promise.”

  He turned, locking his angry eyes with mine. “You really expect me to stagger around the clubhouse with a fucking cane?”

  I nodded. “You can't put too much pressure on your leg while it heals. If you want to walk, you'll be doing it my way. If you don't, you could rip the cut open and do a whole lot more damage.”

  His muscles heated up like hot stone slabs. I could practically feel the rage steaming through him – cursing the Grizzlies, cursing his luck, cursing me.

  “It's not like I'm enjoying this,” I whispered. “I'm trying to help. Please, listen to your doctor and you'll be back on the road in no time.”

  “Doctor?” He snorted. “You're a fucking nurse, babe.”

  I bristled at the insult, even though it was true. I wanted to slap him across his stupid handsome face until he looked up again, the storm settling in his eyes.

  “And a damned good one,” he said. “I'd be way more fucked up without you. The whole club would be toast. I'll listen this time, shitty as it is.”

  Nice save. I almost laughed.

  My heart did a cartwheel. I couldn't believe I'd managed to get some sense through his thick skull.

  I relaxed a bit, but only a bit. “I'm glad. You've got a good head on your shoulders, Tank. You just like to hide it.” Smiling, I paused, resisting the urge to massage his shoulders again. “Tank. What kind of name is that, anyway? Is it from the army?”

  The tension in his face eased. I was staring at the man who'd made smile before our blowout. Still hadn't touched that crap. It wasn't the time or place.

  “That's what everybody thinks. Actually, Throttle laid it on me back in North Dakota. I just got my prospect cut after being a hangaround for fucking forever after my last tour in Kandahar. His old man, Voodoo, Prez at the time, had a big fucking tank of some explosive shit that needed to go up to our friends in Winnipeg. The drunken idiot welding on the supports for transport on the truck knocked out one of the stands. Fucking thing crushed his leg and landed on the blow torch.” He stopped, raising his hands. “You're a nurse. What'd you think about these hands?”