by Lilly Atlas
“All I know is what I’ve read in your chart. You were found at the bottom of a ravine off interstate fifteen. No identification and barely breathing from what I’ve heard. Beaten pretty bad and with multiple bullet wounds. If the bug-eyed look you just gave me is any indication, you aren’t from around here. There’s this guy who lives up in the mountains. He’s kinda famous around here. He’s a prepper. You know? The kind of guy who is preparing for nuclear disaster. Bomb shelter, food storage to last for years, that kind of thing. Anyway, he’s a paranoid guy and was apparently watching out his window with a pair of binoculars when he saw some guys dump something down the ravine then shoot at it. He called it in immediately. Saved by a Good Samaritan.”
Snake barely heard the majority of her monologue. The words melded together after she mentioned the ravine. Choppy memories assaulted him, out of order, but telling just the same. Casper. The motherfucker. The man Snake had depended on for years. His brother. His VP. His right arm. They’d been through hell together and emerged at the top of the MC food chain.
Well, Snake had been at the very top. Casper number two. Apparently, that wasn’t high enough in the pecking order for the traitor. The traitor who grew up somewhere in Idaho. The pieces of the puzzle were starting to fit together.
The Grimm Brothers had a prospect with a nasty drug habit who ended up using what he was supposed to be selling for the club. Snake had found out the prospect had a sister. Sweet and innocent school teacher named Emily. The club had blackmailed Emily into infiltrating a rival club for information with threats of killing her brother. The whole thing blew up in his fucking face when Emily fell for Jester, the sergeant at arms of the rival club, and ended up helping them instead of hurting them. In retaliation, Snake kidnapped her. Her old man was a giant fucker and when he rescued her, he’d beaten the shit out of Snake. He, and whichever bastards he’d been able to convince to go along with his plan, must have driven him far out of state, tossed his body, filled it with bullets, and left him for the vultures.
White hot rage heated his gut and traveled through his veins. His entire life had been spent working and fighting for that President’s patch. Shit he did in the name of his club was not to be taken lightly. He demanded respect and loyalty from each and every one of his brothers. Fuck with him and a man would pay.
“Whoa, easy there, big guy. Hear that crazy beeping? You need to calm down a bit. Your heart rate is through the roof and your oxygen level is dropping. I’m just going to turn up your oxygen a bit.”
She reached beyond the bed and turned a dial on the wall. The action made her lab coat rise up and stretched her baggy scrub pants taut across her ass. And what an ass it was. Why the hell would any woman want to dress in clothes that looked like a sack? Especially when they hid what Amanda’s were hiding. Women who hung around the club liked to make their assets plainly visible. Tiny, ass-hugging shorts, tops that gave a clear impression of the size and bounce of the breasts they cradled as well as molded to flat stomachs.
No flirty peek-a-boo games. No need to guess what a chick was packing. See a rack you like? Go for it. Her ass too flat? Pass her by. Simple.
The beeping on the monitor slowed to a steady pace once again and Amanda looked down at him with a smirk on her face. “No more of that, mister, or your nurse is going to come in here and spank us both.”
The moment the words were out of her mouth, her face turned a bright shade of pink. Most likely she hadn’t meant to be so informal with him.
“Sorry, that wasn’t—”
He couldn’t help it. Her embarrassment over using the word spank was hilarious. If she had any idea the level of vulgar profanity that was just everyday language around the club, she wouldn’t think twice about making a spanking joke. Of course, now he was imagining his handprint across the ass he’d just been ogling. Nice and pink, maybe the same color as her flushed face. He let out a soundless laugh, his body shaking. A shot of pain through his side reminded him that he was still in pretty rough shape.
One of her perfect light brown eyebrows arched. “Ah, so that’s the kind of patient you’re gonna be. Good to know I can joke around. Okay, let’s get started. I’m going to do a quick check of your motion and strength then we’ll try to get you sitting at the edge of the bed. Ultimate goal is getting you out of bed and in the chair for an hour or so, but we’ll see how your body responds to being upright first. Good?”
He nodded. What the hell else could he do? He was at her mercy. He almost laughed again. At a woman’s mercy. What the fuck happened to his life? Three weeks ago he’d been stretched out on a bed at the clubhouse while some club whore—who the hell knew what her name was—choked down his cock until he came. He had been at nobody’s fucking mercy. Especially not a goddamned woman. They were at his mercy. Always. As was every member of his club.
As soon as he got his shit together he’d be reminding Casper of that fact. Slowly and painfully.
Chapter Four
Questions rolled through Amanda’s mind as she focused on the mysterious stranger in the hospital bed. Questions she was dying to ask. Clearly, he’d been shocked to discover he was in Idaho. Where the heck was he from? What had he done to warrant such a brutal attack? It was a bit of a stretch to believe he was randomly assaulted. Was Nick Gould his real name? Something flashed in his eyes when she asked if he was Mr. Gould. Something that led her to believe he wasn’t being truthful about the name.
Was someone after this man? Was he hiding from the law? She could have grilled him for hours and still had more queries.
The room was warm, so Amanda shrugged out of her lab coat, hung it over the foot of the bed, and shook off all the wonderings. She was the man’s physical therapist, not any kind of detective. Boy, would Kat love to dive into this mystery. Confidentiality rules would prevent Amanda from sharing much of anything with her curious friend, though.
“First off, Nick, are you in any pain right now?”
He hesitated. Just like a man.
“No tough guy stuff. You have some serious injuries and I’m about to make you use an arm and leg that both have bullet wounds. You have to be in some level of pain. Just tell me.”
He nodded.
“On a scale of one to ten how bad is it? One is very minimal and ten is the worst you can tolerate.”
He held up four fingers on one hand. The arm that belonged to that hand was covered in colorful tattoos and the biceps bulged. Impressive considering he’d undergone three weeks of atrophy. The man must have been in some pretty fine shape prior to admission.
Ink on a man had always been a serious weakness of Amanda’s. She’d never really dated anyone that was overly tatted, only admired men like that from afar. And her fantasy man, the one whose body she imagined was attached to her battery-operated boyfriend, well he was a tattooed bad boy with muscles, a rough touch, and a dirty mouth. In real life, she steered clear of those kinds of men. Could they really give her what she wanted in life? She almost snorted out loud. Maybe she should be looking for a bad boy. The good ones certainly hadn’t brought anything worthwhile to her existence. Just frustrations and heartbreak. But those were regrets for another time.
“Four. Got it. If your pain level starts to rise to intolerable, let me know. I can check with your nurse and see if you are due for any pain medication.” When he nodded his assent, she continued, “Okay, we’re going to start at the bottom.” As Amanda spoke, she drew the sheet up to his knees. “Are you able to move your ankles up and down?”
He did as she asked, no problem, and seemingly without pain.
“Nice. With your right leg, can you bend your knee? Good. Straighten it back out, please. Lift straight up and down. Slide it out to the side and back in. Bring your knee to your chest.”
He followed every instruction without difficulty. She’d check the actual strength of each limb in a few minutes, but it was good to know he could at least lift against the force of gravity. Not too shabby for someone who hadn’t moved a m
uscle in three weeks.
“Now for the tricky side.” She moved around to the opposite side of the bed. Chances were, he’d need some assistance with the leg that had taken a bullet. “So,” she said as she moved the sheet to expose his bandaged thigh while still keeping his pelvis covered. She’d had one too many surprise anatomy sightings to be flippant with the sheet placement. Those hospital gowns tended to ride up and patients tended to slide down in the bed. Bad combination where modesty was concerned. Though this guy would probably wink and smirk if she exposed him.
“A bullet went into this thigh and shattered your femur about six inches down from your hip. The orthopedic surgeons worked their magic with screws and plates and pieced you back together.” She smiled at him. “That being said, any movement is probably going to be pretty darned uncomfortable and hard to do on your own for a while.”
She placed a hand on his thigh and he jumped. She winced. Shit. Over the years she’d become so accustomed to laying her hands on patients, once in a while she forgot to warn them. The physical contact could be uncomfortable for some people, especially if they weren’t expecting it. “Sorry, I’m just going to hold on in case you need some assistance.”
Since he couldn’t verbalize agreement, she had to rely on nods and facial expressions to clue her in. The heat in his gray eyes almost had her stumbling back. Discomfort or embarrassment was what she’d been expecting. Not…a hot stare that made her feel like he could see straight through her scrubs to the completely non-sexy underwear she had on. Thank God, that was impossible. If the man was going to see her in underwear, it should be something lacy, with some push-up power…
Geez, what in the world was she thinking? Perhaps Kat was right and she needed to get a new man.
She cleared her throat. “Can you bend your knee?” Taking her hand off him now would be an obvious giveaway of her awareness of him as a man and not just a patient. But now, the skin under her palm seared her and she was ultra-conscious of him.
He grimaced and panted as he tried to slide his heel up the mattress, and the action was enough to make her remember why she was in his room. “It’s okay. Take a break for a second.”
He shook his head, fisted the sheet in both hands, and gritted his teeth. Then he stared straight at her and nodded.
Tough guy. Like she’d said.
She cupped a hand under his heel and wedged the other under his thigh. “Okay, lift.” This time she guided his leg, assisting with about fifty percent of the work. Sweat popped out across his brow but when she opened her mouth to request he ease up, he shook his head. With great effort, he was able to lift his knee a few more inches. “Okay, enough. There’s pushing it, then there’s too much.”
The range of motion in his leg was lacking and the strength was nil, but he sure seemed to possess the drive to regain his function. That would serve him well over the next few months.
She ran through what parts of the evaluation she could while he was supine in the bed. Getting any information about his home life and support system was pretty much impossible. Watching his head shake with each question she asked grew tiresome rather quickly.
Do you have someone to help you at home?
Head shake.
Where do you live?
Head shake.
What do you do for work?
Head shake.
After a few more questions and head shakes, he finally wrote something on the board. Thirty seconds of furious writing then he held the board up to her.
“None of that shit matters, just get me on my damned feet so I can go home,” she read aloud from the board.
Amanda rolled her eyes and jammed her hands on her hips. The man was infuriating to say the least. And the biggest problem was, the more frustrated she became, the more he seemed to enjoy the encounter. A sideways smirk grew with each question until his eye were twinkling and she’d have sworn he was just messing with her for kicks and giggles.
“Okay, fine, remain the man of mystery. You do get that I’m just asking you these questions because you’re going to need help when you leave here, right?”
He nodded and she wanted to scream. The smirk still curled up one side of his face when she finally gave up. Done tapping the stone for blood.
“Ready to try to sit up?”
This time he scrawled on the board and held it up to her. Fuck yes!
She laughed out loud. “Easy there, big guy. You may feel dizzy, lightheaded, or like you’re going to pass out. If that’s the case, tap me on the shoulder. Don’t try to fight through it if you’re too dizzy. If I have a warning I can lay you back down before you pass out. Good?”
He nodded.
With the ease born of years of experience, Amanda guided him into the correct position and helped him sit at the edge of bed. Even weak as a kitten, the play of his muscles under her hands was obvious. What would it be like to run her hands over his body when he was fully healed?
Until she was certain he wouldn’t keel over, she kept her arms around him. Their eyes locked for a moment and her heart fluttered before she had the sense to break the connection. Thank goodness she wasn’t the one hooked up to the monitor. She blew out a breath. Why was it so darned hot in the room?
Six years she’d worked as a physical therapist, her time divided by a rehabilitation hospital during the week and one weekend per month at the community hospital. She’d worked with young patients, old patients, large, small, male, female, attractive, unattractive and so forth. She’d seen them clothed, naked, helped them to the restroom, dressed them, held them up, helped them walk, and had her hands on nearly every part of their bodies in a professional capacity. Never once had she been affected by a patient’s proximity.
Until the mysterious stranger who hid secrets she probably didn’t want to know anything about. This guy she was aware of as a man. Part of her was glad she wouldn’t have to work with him every day.
With one eye on the screen, constantly aware of his vitals, she stood in front of him keeping her hands on his shoulders. So far so good. “Dizzy?” He was so close, warmth and vitality drifted from him to her.
He held up his thumb and forefinger about an inch apart indicating just a bit of dizziness.
“Is it tolerable?”
He nodded.
“You seem stable, so I’m going to let go, but I’ll be right here if you get too wobbly.” She took a step back and experienced the oddest feeling of loss. Keeping her gaze on his face, she looked for any signs of discomfort or distress. This close, it was easy to see his eyes were a medium shade of gray. A unique color that was quite captivating. She’d love to know what he looked like beneath the bruising. His hair had been shaved to allow the surgeons to drain some bleeding he’d experienced in his brain as well as to close up multiple scalp lacerations. It was now about the length of a military buzz cut and pitch black.
“How long was your hair?”
His forehead wrinkled and he shot her a questioning look.
“They had to shave your head for surgery and stitches. What did it look like before?”
His eyes widened and he lifted a hand to his head. Made sense it would be a shock. After blowing out a breath he touched the tip of his shoulder with his left hand.
Now it was Amanda’s turn for the wide-eyed shock. “Shoulder length? That long?”
He nodded and she giggled. “It’s hard to imagine.”
Nick’s gaze shifted to something beyond her. Someone must have entered the room. She just hoped it wasn’t—
“Well, if it isn’t my little miracle worker doing what she does best.” Dr. Michaels’ arm landed across her shoulders and she grimaced before she caught herself.
“Hey, Dr. Michaels. He’s looking pretty good, huh?” She recovered quickly, but not fast enough for Nick who turned out to be pretty damned perceptive. One eyebrow rose and his expression hardened as he looked at Dr. Michaels, whose arm still rested along her shoulders like a thousand-pound weight.
“What
are you thinking in terms of a discharge plan for Mr. Gould?” John asked as he gave her a little squeeze like he had a right to his hands on her.
If he didn’t remove his hand in the next five seconds, Amanda might resort to something unprofessional, like kicking him in the nuts. What the hell was he doing, some sort of weird male posturing in front of the beaten man who couldn’t get out of bed let alone provide any kind of competition? She’d made her position perfectly clear on the state of their relationship. They could be cordial coworkers, nothing more and he was not to lay a hand on her for any reason short of CPR if she collapsed.
“Um…” Pissed that his proximity was making her brain stutter, she shook her head. “I’m thinking a few weeks in rehab will be perfect for him. Get him back on his feet.”
“Sounds like a plan. I’ll speak with the discharge planner and get the ball rolling.”
Just then, Nick wavered. His hand shot out and tapped her shoulder.
“Oh, he’s getting dizzy. Time to lie down.” A quick glance at the monitor revealed no change in his vitals, but it didn’t matter. He said he was lightheaded; he got to lie down. As she stepped forward to assist Nick back in bed, Dr. Michaels’ hand fell from her body. Relief was immediate.
“Better?” she asked Nick as she settled him against the raised head of the bed.
His face was just inches from hers, and his mouth curled up in a grin at the same time he winked.
She gasped and stared at him for a moment too long. Nick Gould had just come to her rescue. In that moment, she found herself wishing she worked at the hospital full time. Who knew if she’d see the man again. She’d recommended the rehab hospital where she worked, but he may not have insurance, and even if he did, there was no guarantee it would be approved. Chances were high this would be the last time she laid eyes on Nick Gould.
Probably for the best. Her interest and curiosity had nothing to do with her job at hand. And that was dangerous for both her personal and professional life.