I close my eyes and roll from one side to the other, searching for a comfortable position, but there is none.
I'm going to feel every ounce of what I deserve. And when that pain is gone, I'll go out and find some more.
2
Bree
"He won't appreciate what you are doing for him?"
I'm not sure why they call the man I just left on a bed, moaning in agony, Bear, when the man standing before me seems to have the same larger-than-life build and an even more demanding temper.
"They call you Doc," I shoot out the side of my mouth. I'm standing outside Bear's closed door. I told Doc five seconds ago that I have no intention of leaving until I know for sure Bear doesn't have a concussion or a set of broken ribs.
I may only be a nurse technician, but I know enough to be worried Bear could have internal injuries with massive consequences if he isn't supervised.
The man blocking the door smiles, and his stubble covered cheeks crease in a way that almost makes him as handsome as the man I left lying in his bed alone. "They call me Doc because, on the road, I patch the brother's up. No formal training except what I learned in the Army, but for a bunch of walking wounded who are too afraid to seek out real healthcare, I do pretty damn well around here."
It's my turn to smile, and I open wide, showing Doc every one of my pearly whites all the way back to my wisdom teeth scars. "That's great for bumps and cuts, but this man needs medical attention. He could have broken bones and-" I'm about to mention internal bleeding when I'm cut off.
"He's had much worse," Doc drapes one arm on the door jam, giving me the option to step closer to him or to leave down the hallway. "Look. I get you probably have some oath you're trying to follow, but this isn't the outside world. Here, we make the laws, and Bear being our president makes whatever he says the rule we follow. He made it clear he's fine and wants to be left alone."
"President." I'd heard Doc call Bear Prez when we brought him into the room, but I'd been so focused on not letting Bear slip out of my grasp that I'd let it go. How could the man so drunk he couldn't feel a body slam into a car hood be in charge of anything other than failure?
I focus back on Doc. "If he's your president, why was he off getting drunk, alone? Not a single person in that bar stepped in to back him up. Doesn't sound very loyal to me."
I can tell my comment hit my target when Doc squints at me then shakes his head. "You know something, Sweetheart. You think you know so much about us." He steps forward, and I fight to keep from taking a step backward to avoid him. He observes me like he knows I'm scared he'll hurt me, then Doc reaches for the doorknob and pushes the door open. "Be my guest. But don't come running to me when he kicks you out in two minutes, and you want a ride home. There is a reason we call him Bear. You want to find out why? You're on your own."
I glare up at him. "Don't worry. I have my own car. I'll leave when I know he's out of the woods."
Without giving him time to second guess his decision, I step inside and slam the door shut before I lean on it to make sure Doc doesn't try to come in after me. What is the guy's damage, anyway? I'm trying to save his friend's life, not rob him blind.
"Doc," Bear moans from the bed. He's still half on, half off the way we left him before our argument in the hall, but somehow he's gotten his arm twisted under his side so that his elbow bends in an unnatural curve.
I step next to the bed and push at his abs to make room to pull his arm free. The man is hard. Stone hard. Harder than steel if there is such a thing. I'm in shock that a man his size isn't half muscle, half fat, but he's not. He’s all solid and heavy as hell.
"What the fuck are you doing?" He grinds out, fighting my attempt to move him.
I blow out a loud, exasperated breath on purpose. "Trying to free your dang arm if you'd stop pushing against me."
He gives in, and I almost fall on him when I lay all my weight into his, but the resistance isn't there any longer. His arm comes free, and I wrap both hands around his bicep to straighten out his shoulder. Yes. It takes both hands, and my fingers still don't circle his entire muscular upper arm.
He groans again, but by the way he adjusts his body, freeing his arm brings some relief.
"Where's Doc?" he asks, his voice all gravel and cotton.
"Probably just outside the door still." I wrestle with one boot, untying the laces and pulling with everything I have until it comes off his foot quicker than I anticipated. I fall back, but catch myself before I lose complete balance and drop his massive boot to the floor. "He wasn't too keen on leaving me in here with you, but I convinced him otherwise."
As I work the second boot, Bear wiggles his ankle and foot just enough to help me side it off without as much force. It joins the first on the floor before I round the footboard, moving toward his head. "Besides," I begin as I reach for a pillow and cradle his neck to tuck it under. "I have a feeling those guys out there would be perfectly happy leaving you to die of a concussion in here."
Bear tightens his closed eyes before he reaches for his head and grimaces. "Those guys," he says, opening one eye to watch me work. "Would give their life for mine. And I'd do the same for them. Leaving me alone has nothing to do with disrespect."
"Just following orders." It's hard to get his head up far enough to stack a second pillow underneath, but I need to. His ribs hurt, and his breathing is labored. This way, he'll be able to pull in more air, but his neck is as massive as the rest of him, and without his help, I'm lifting dead weight.
"Right," he says. He groans, and his head lifts enough that I can slide the pillow into position. "They do what I tell them."
"Everyone does what you tell them by the looks of things around here," I say. I spot a blanket on the back of a chair and am surprised to find it smells like Bear, leather, and sandalwood when I lift it. A smell I've grown used to in the last hour. It's buried under the stale beer lingering on him from the broken bottle, but it's there. I slide the blanket over his body and lean down near his ear. "I can't help but to wonder if they are all so loyal, why were their four guys on one side of the fight and no one standing with you on the other?"
Bear doesn't have an answer. His eyes close again, and the groan that follows this time is made of pure pain.
I step in the adjoining bathroom and look in the cabinets until I come up with some drugstore brand pain reliever in a drawer next to two other amber-colored medicine bottles. One name sticks out to me. It's the same drug they gave David after he returned from service with night terrors and PTSD. The same drug that made him a zombie for a solid month before he quit taking it. Then things really went downhill.
I'd ask Bear about it, but I'm only able to get the pain pill and a bit of water down his throat before he's out cold again.
He has a kind face when it's not all scrunched in anger or pain with a stiff jaw and angular nose that looks like it's taken on more than its fair share of fists. He's got a bit of a babyface in the right light, and I can't stop my fingers from brushing over his jaw and up to his temples where his hair needs a good clipping, and the small white scars are too many to count.
I'm watching him breathe when his hand clamps around my wrist, and he's sitting up in bed. I lose my voice, even when I try to scream. Then I'm reminded it wouldn't do any good anyway. Doc said he wasn't coming.
"Bear," I plead in a quiet voice. "Please let go of me."
His stare is blank, but he's looking right at me. "Who the hell are you?"
"Bree." I reach for the hand crushing my arm and try to pry his fingers off. "We met tonight at the bar. I brought you home."
"You're not safe here, Bree." His voice is hoarse. He's straining to talk. "They're coming. Get out."
"Who's coming?" I'm still trying to pry his fingers from the death grip they have on my wrist. "Bear." I stare into his eyes. He sees something I can't. Something terrifying. "Jordan." I try his real name, but even that doesn't get a reaction. "You have to let go of me."
My arm begins to burn. If Bear t
wists it much harder, I'm afraid the bone will snap. I drop to my knees, hoping the new angle will help with the pain. "Jordan," I scream. "Please, let me go."
Tears sting in the backs of my eyes, but I've been here before, and I know panic is not an option. David used to do this. He never grabbed me, but he'd zone out and go somewhere far away that I couldn't reach. It always took a few minutes, but he'd always find his way back to me.
"Jordan, please," I ask again. "You're hurting me."
As if I unlocked the latch holding him prisoner, Bear's gaze focuses on mine. I'm so lost in it, I miss the bedroom door open and the footsteps coming in my direction. I don't notice we aren't alone until strong arms reach down to Bear's hand and pull his fingers away from me.
I clutch my wrist to my chest and stand to put distance between the bed and me while Doc wrangles Bear in the bed. Bear protests for a second, yelling at Doc to get the girl out safe. Then he's out again, and everything falls quiet.
I make my way over to the chair I found the blanket on, and I fall into it, my weight suddenly too heavy to bear.
Before I can get my bearings again, Doc is standing over me. His seething by the way his jaw is clenched and his chest rises and falls with each labored breath. "I told you this wasn't a good idea. Now he's going to hate himself for what he's done. You never should have been in here."
"You also told me you wouldn't be coming to help me." I match his glare with my own. I should be thanking him. Another few minutes and I'd be nursing a broken arm instead of a bruised wrist.
"You have no idea what you're getting yourself into here, Sweetheart. He's a ticking bomb, and you're just the right kind of temptation to shorten his fuse. You're lucky one of the guys in the bar heard you scream."
I don't remember screaming. Maybe I did, but this guy has one thing wrong for sure. "I do know what I'm getting myself into. I've seen it before. He needs help. Are you qualified to give that to him?"
"He doesn't want any." Doc reaches down to take my hand, but I jerk away.
"From what I've seen, this man is begging for it in every way he can think of. You're just not good at listening."
The way Doc grinds his jaw and lowers his brows makes my whole body ice cold. He's pissed enough to pick me up and throw me out of Bear's room by force, but after a few seconds is staring him down and proving I'm not going to budge, he backs down.
"Fine. You think you can help. Maybe you can." He points to the white phone sitting on a table beside Bear's bed. "You pick that up and hit pound. It calls to the bar. Any trouble, you ask for Gunner or me. No one else."
I can only nod my head yes, before he storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him. With him gone, the room feels lighter. Like I can breathe after a long dip under freezing cold water. I use my good hand to drag my chair closer to the bed, and I sit back down with my hurt arm cradled.
A moment later and Doc is back in the room, holding a blue sack in front of me. "An ice pack. For your wrist. Don't let him know he did it if you can help it. He'll stew on the guilt for weeks, and that usually brings on another drinking spell."
He's gone again after I take the ice and lay it over my injured wrist. I get comfortable, watching Bear sleep peacefully now. The drugs have taken effect, and he'll be out for a while. I still want to be here when he wakes.
I have questions.
And seeing that Bear is in as rough of shape as David was, I'm more sure than ever the answers I hope to find are locked away in the man lying in front of me.
I just need to find the key to unlock the place he's hiding them in.
3
Bear
I know this headache well. My eyes are so dry I can barely get them open, and when I do, the room is blurry.
Fuck. I don't even remember getting back to the clubhouse last night. I guess someone from the bar called Doc or Gunner to get me. They'll be in the bar ready to give me hell again for picking a fight and not calling them for back up.
They know what I'm dealing with, and they know I'm trying to control it, but they're getting tired of cleaning up the mess when I spin out of control. I can't blame them. For three years, I've been the Prez of this group, but in title alone for the past year. Gunner's been running the show from behind the scenes, and Doc's been watching me like a hawk. I owe those guys my damn life, for what that's worth.
My neck cracks when I move it, and my back hurts like a mother. I can only hope the other guy feels worse. I sit up, and the room spins. There's a glass of liquid on the table next to me, and I have no idea where it came from or what's in it, but I gulp it down. It's water, though I'd hoped for something stronger. Fuck. My ribs are on fire, and my legs are dead weight. I can't even lift my right one.
I rub my palm over my aching abs, and I realize I'm not the only person in the room, and the lump laying across my lower leg isn't male. She's got a head of red curls that splay out over my upper thigh and pale, pinkened skin. I can't see much beyond that mane that covers the lower part of my body, but from what I can see of her back, it leads down to a jean-clad ass, I'm not hating.
As soon as I adjust myself from the surge of blood to the only part of my body that isn't screaming this morning, she makes a soft moaning sound and begins to move.
She rubs her neck as she lifts it, and I'm left waiting in great anticipation for her to pull her hair back. She lifts her hand and wraps her fingers around her curls, and as she pulls back the curtain of red, I see her wrist and an angry purple bruise.
I'd like ten seconds with the fucker who put that on her. I'd only need five, but ten and I could double his pain.
"Good morning," she says, her voice cracking over the words. Her eyes are green. The color of grass on a crisp spring morning when winter is losing its hold, and the blades are new and young. I realize I'm staring, and I drop my head. Damn, it hurts.
"I'd ask how you slept, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't good they way you were bent over."
She keeps rubbing her neck and smiles at me. "I wasn't out that long. The sun was up before I gave in and put my head down. I woke you up a little before seven, and since enough time had passed to clear you of a concussion, I guess my body gave out and sleep won."
"You were here all night?" Where the hell did this woman come from? She's not a sweet butt. They'd never dress the way she is, covering all their best assets with clothes. She also didn't help herself to my bed or my body for comfort. Well, she didn't that I can remember anyway. Though I wouldn't be pissed if she had.
"The bottle hit your head pretty hard, and I could never be sure if your head hit my windshield or not, so I'd rather be safe than sorry and keep an eye on you."
I don't have a clue what she's talking about. I remember the fight. The bartender begged me to take it outside. The fourth guy joining in at the last second. The girl staring at me from across the car, calling me Jordan.
"Christ," I say, not meaning to speak it out loud. "Last night, I…"
"Probably totaled my car and tried to run me off."
I close my eyes, and everything comes back. I landed on her car, leaving a massive dent in the hood. And I was an ass. A drunk jerk pissed at the world, and I took it out on her.
I glance at her wrist again, and a surge of anger runs red hot throughout my body. I nod to it. "And that?"
Red glances down before she rubs one hand over the purple bruise and holds her arm close to her chest. "That was my fault."
I'll bet it was. I squeeze my fist and release as if I'd be able to tell if I grabbed Bree last night. There's nothing there, but the guilt drops in my gut regardless. Doc will tell me the truth.
"One of the guys here owns a shop," I start when I open my eyes again. She's staring at me. "I'll have Doc tow it in and replace the hood."
"Good luck. That car's only a few years younger than me. Parts are hard to come by." She smiles, and my whole body goes numb. Holy fuck, when Bree's face lights the entire room follows. She has a familiar quality to her. I know I've met her
or seen her before. Maybe she just has one of those faces. I can't stop staring until I realize she's talking, and I'm not answering.
"You'd be surprised what this guy can dig up. Probably can talk him into updating your car’s whole body and a new paint job.
As soon as I mention the body, hers turns pink. I'm screwed. I haven't been this attracted to a woman in...well...longer than I can remember anyway.
"I'm not that worried about the car." She smiles again, and I wish she hadn't. I don't deserve it, and yet my body reacts to it as if she'd crawled into my bed naked and stroked a hand along my bare abs. I can't for the life of me figure out how I know that smile, but I do. It's going to tease the back of my brain like a low, annoying buzz until I figure it out. "I'm sure you're good for getting it fixed. I'm more worried about you. That hit to the head was nasty, and you have a few bruised ribs. You could have a broken one. And there's that wound just above your hip."
I place my hand over the knife gash the last braw left me nursing. It's low on my abs and high on my right hip. Not low enough, she'd have to pull down my boxers to see it, but it's not high enough she'd noticed just by tugging my shirt up a bit.
She peeked. My chest tingles with a thrill.
"It isn't the first time I've been hurt, and it won't be the last. I can take care of myself."
She tilts her head, so she's looking at me from the side. "You keep believing that, and one of these days, you're not going to make it out of the bar alive."
"Hasn't happened yet." No matter how badly I think, I want it too.
She huffs a breath and stands. "Those guys last night only stopped because I was there. I don't want to know what would have happened if I hadn't driven up when I did."
My head is pounding, and I'm not up for the lecture from a woman. Especially one who's responsible for my dick digging into my inseam. I throw off the blanket covering my legs and move to stand, but the second I swing my feet over the edge of the bed, I'm spinning again. I drop my head to my hands and shut my eyes to stop the room from moving, but it doesn't. I'm on a rollercoaster, only I didn't pay to ride this ride, and I want off.
Bear Page 2