by Joanna Wylde
I considered ignoring it.
Christ, but I wanted to ignore it. Unfortunately, one of the downsides of club life is always answering the damned phone, because a brother might be in trouble. Giving Red’s generous ass one last squeeze, I pulled away to grab my phone.
Melanie.
She never called, not unless it was about Izzy, and I couldn’t think of a single reason she’d be in touch at midnight on a Friday if it wasn’t an emergency.
The pretty redhead ceased to exist.
Catching Puck’s eye, I mouthed Melanie as I made for the bar’s open patio, away from the music.
“Hey, what’s up?” I asked, feeling anxious.
“Painter? Are you there?”
“Just a sec,” I told her. “I’m heading outside where it’s quiet.”
“Okay.”
It took a minute, but I finally found a patch of privacy toward the back. “Hey, what’s going on? Is Izzy okay?”
“She’s fine,” Melanie said, her voice sounding strange. Harsh, like she’d been coughing. “Look, I need your help.”
Well. That was different.
“All right . . .”
“Here’s the situation—my shift was supposed to end at eight, but there was an accident at the hospital. Izzy’s with a sitter and they’re keeping me here overnight. London’s out of town and—”
“No, it’s fine,” I said, my mind switching modes instantly. I’d heard some guys bitching that their exes were always dumping the kids on them, but Mel wasn’t like that. If she’d called, it was because she’d run out of options. “I can get her. What’s the situation?”
She didn’t answer for a minute, and I went from concerned to suspicious.
“Melanie? What’s going on?”
“A patient attacked me,” she admitted slowly.
“The fuck?” I asked, chilled. “Why?”
“He’s mentally ill,” she said quickly. “Probably doesn’t even remember doing it. Look, it’s no big deal but they want to keep me for the night to make sure the head injury isn’t serious. I told them it’s not, but you know how it is. Liability.”
“I’m coming to the hospital,” I said. “I want to see for myself.”
“No, it’s nothing,” she said. I might’ve believed her if she hadn’t sounded like she’d swallowed a truckload of gravel. “I’m fine, but Izzy’s sitter has work in the morning and she really needs to get home, to bed. She’s at my place. I’ll call her and let her know that you’re on your way. Izzy’s sound asleep—she won’t even realize anything happened.”
I considered arguing with her, then decided it was a waste of time.
“All right, I’ll head there now.”
“Thanks, Painter,” she replied, sounding tired. “It’s been a rough night. Knowing Isabella’s covered is a big relief.”
• • •
“Thanks for watching Iz,” I told Marie, Horse’s old lady, early the next morning. “She’ll probably wake up around seven, and if she’s upset that Mel isn’t here, you can have her call and I’ll talk to her.”
Marie nodded, smiling at me reassuringly. No complaints from her, despite the fact that we’d dragged her out of bed at five a.m. Horse was a lucky man. “No worries—we’ll have a great time together. Just go make sure Melanie’s okay and I’ll keep you covered on this end.”
“Thanks.”
Grabbing my cut, I made for the door, knowing it was too early to go see Mel and not caring—I couldn’t hold out any longer, I needed to see her for myself. Puck followed. He’d ditched the girls last night to come with me, because that’s the kind of friend he was. Horse had offered to come, too, but I figured two bikers were enough to keep people at the hospital from fucking with us, but not so many we’d have to worry about them calling security on our asses.
We pulled up to Kootenai Medical Center and parked, stopping by Information to find Mel’s room. The little old lady manning the desk probably wasn’t supposed to hand that out, but a few sweet words and she fell right into line. Sometimes it scared me how easy women were to manipulate.
Make that women who weren’t Melanie—she saw right through my shit.
We followed the signs upstairs and found the right hallway. A tall, sexy black chick with braids was at the nurses’ station, and I left Puck flirting with her while I looked for Mel’s room. The door was shut. I gave a little knock, then stepped inside to find her sound asleep on a bed.
Ah, shit.
She looked like hell. There were bruises all over her face and ringing her neck. No monitors hooked to her, though—that had to be a good sign, right? There was a recliner-looking chair not far from the bed, a weird, skinny piece of furniture that was probably supposed to look normal, but was off just enough that it rang all kinds of “institutional” bells.
I sat down, leaning forward to study her. There were finger marks on her throat. Finger marks. Someone had put their hands on my woman, tried to kill her, and I hadn’t even known it was happening. I felt rage boiling up, starting deep down in my stomach, twisting and tightening every muscle in my body as I braced myself for violence.
Except there wasn’t anyone to defend her from. Just Melanie, pale and broken in a hospital bed.
What the fuck had happened?
Twenty minutes passed, and then the door opened. The babe with the braids walked in, looking me over.
“And you are . . . ?” she asked.
“I’m the baby daddy,” I said, keeping my voice steady with no small amount of effort. “Mel’s kid is my daughter. She called me last night, said there was an accident and she needed me to watch over Isabella. Got that covered, so now I’m here to make sure she’s doin’ okay.”
Her face softened a little.
“Mellie’s fine,” she said. “She can tell you the details when she wakes up, but we’re just keeping an eye on her.”
“Hey,” Mel whispered. She was fighting to open her eyes, raising a hand to her head. Relief flooded me, although it couldn’t fully calm the violence inside. “Sheesh. I feel like death.”
“How’s it going, Mellie?” the nurse asked. “You remember what happened?”
Mel nodded slowly. “Yeah. Todger—never saw it coming.”
Braids snorted.
“None of us did. You have company.”
Melanie looked at me, and I cocked my head, forcing my face to stay calm.
“Where’s Izzy?” she asked, frowning.
“I spent the night with her, and then Marie came over early this morning,” I said, my voice harsher than I’d intended. “She and Horse will take her out to pancakes or something—that’ll blow her little mind. Now tell me what’s going on here.”
“Mellie, you want him out of the room?” Braids asked. “He’s here with a friend, but I can call Security on them.”
Her gaze was challenging, making it clear she’d stand up for her fellow nurse as needed—apparently Puck’s flirting would carry us only so far. Inconvenient, but also good to see. I liked the idea of Mel’s coworkers taking her back.
“No, it’s good,” Melanie said. “I want to get home as soon as possible. Don’t want Izzy freaking out.”
“I hear that,” said Braids. “Soon as we get you cleared, we’ll get you on the road. Let me take your vitals and then I’ll see if I can find a doctor to clear you.”
I probably should’ve offered to step into the hallway while she did her work, but no way I was letting Melanie out of my sight until I knew the whole story. This situation felt too much like the morning I’d first met her. We’d been at the hospital then, too—London’s house had blown sky-high, and Mel had gotten caught in the explosion.
“Hit your call button if you need me,” said Braids, making a point of handing her the little remote thingy. I took in a deep, calming breath and offered her a sweet smile and she softened, just like the old lady downstairs. Too easy.
“Why are you here?” Melanie asked after Braids left. I think she was trying to soun
d tough, but it came off more pathetic than anything else.
“To find out what the hell happened,” I told her, studying the bruises. “You look like shit.”
“Fuck you.”
“Anytime, although you’re probably not up to it today. Now tell me the whole story.”
She glared at me for a second, so I just crossed my arms and waited her out.
“One of the regulars in the ER—a homeless guy—attacked me.”
“Why?”
“He’s mentally ill,” she said, shrugging. “Paranoid. Probably decided I was trying to do something to him. Off his meds.”
“So what happens to him?”
“Oh, they sedated him and hauled him off to Psych. They’ll stabilize him and then he’ll probably be out again.”
“Seriously?” I asked, startled. “No charges, nothing?”
“It wouldn’t make any difference,” she said, sighing. “System’s not set up for people like him. He’s sick, not evil. I don’t want them pressing charges.”
“So they’ll just let him out again?”
“Not until he’s stabilized. Who knows, maybe he’ll realize what he did and stay on his meds this time. It’s a fucked-up situation, but I guess anything’s possible.”
I didn’t like this shit. Didn’t like it at all.
“So what’s to stop him from coming back and attacking you again?”
“Hopefully the medication,” she replied. “We’ll see. I’m careful, Painter. This was just a random accident, it’s not like he’s out to get me. He probably won’t even remember doing it. Just let it go, okay?”
I stood, pacing across the room as I tried to wrap my head around the situation. “So I have to explain to our daughter that her mama’s beat to shit because of some crazy guy, and when she asks whether it could happen again, I just say maybe? No. You need to find a better job, Mel. It’s fucked.”
“I’ll tell her that there was an accident, I’m fine, and it won’t happen again. There’s no reason to scare Izzy.”
“There’s a thousand different ways to be a nurse. I don’t get why you want to be around crazy people and stabbings and accidents. Why would anyone choose that?”
“Because it’s challenging and exciting?” she snapped. “Because these people need me, and every day I’m pushed to the limit of my abilities? Anything could happen and I like that—it’s never boring. You of all people should understand that, Mr. Reapers MC. At least I’m fixing the holes in people instead of making them.”
I spun around, staring her down. “Excuse me?”
“You’re an adrenaline junkie, Painter,” she said. “You make damned good money with your art, but you spend all your time on a fucking motorcycle. Donor-cycle, that’s what we call them in here, did you know that? You get in fights, you go to jail, all for no reason other than getting off on the rush.”
“I’ve been a goddamned saint since I got out, and you know it. I’m not reckless, I take good care of our kid, and I’m not putting myself at any more risk than you are. Sure, I’m in a motorcycle club, but you’re the one who got jumped and beat to shit last night. You’re just as much of an adrenaline junkie as me. Admit it.”
We stared each other down, and despite the black eyes and ring of bruises, my cock was getting hard. Her chest was heaving and her nipples pointed at me through the thin hospital gown.
“Fuck you,” she finally said. I laughed.
“Anytime—we covered that already,” I said, feeling strangely relieved. If she was strong enough to fight with me, she’d be okay. “Will you promise me one thing, at least?”
“What’s that?”
“If you’re gonna work in this place, I want you takin’ some self-defense courses down at the gun shop, okay? Ruger teaches them, and he’s good at what he does. Maybe learn about guns, too.”
She frowned at me. “Why should I need to know how to shoot?”
“Why should you need to know self-defense at all?” I countered reasonably. “Because the world is dangerous and you got attacked. It’ll make me feel a lot better. Do it.”
Mel’s eyes narrowed.
“Please.” I added, rolling my eyes. She shrugged.
“All right. Although I was planning to anyway. Take a class, I mean. I never want to feel that helpless again.”
I smiled, knowing I’d won whether she wanted to admit it or not. “How much longer are you stuck here?”
“Just until they check me out.”
“I’ll wait and give you a ride home. We can explain to Izzy together. You look like you need sleep. Want me to take her for the night?”
Melanie’s eyes narrowed.
“Yes, that would be lovely. Asshole.”
“Bitch.”
“I’d say ‘Get a room,’ but you’ve already got one. Want me to stand guard outside the door?”
We both turned to find Puck watching us, his dark face grim. I caught the hint of laughter in his eyes, though. Next to him stood Braids.
“The doctor will be here in five,” she said. “Maybe the baby daddy should wait outside?”
I laughed.
“Yeah, I’ll do that. You’re on my bike going home, Mel. It’ll be just like old times.”
She flipped me off and Puck burst out laughing. I followed him into the hallway, leaning back against the wall, feeling strangely satisfied with myself.
“You get off on baiting her, don’t you?”
I shrugged, refusing to acknowledge the point, even if it was the truth. Hell, it was better than not getting off at all.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
ONE MONTH AFTER IZZY’S FOURTH BIRTHDAY
JULY
MELANIE
“You’re so hot, Mel,” Greg whispered, running his hands down my ass. He pulled me tight into his body, swaying awkwardly to the music, and I wondered if he was really the player Sherri insisted he had to be.
All firefighters are players, she’d told me. So have fun with him, but don’t get your hopes up. You need someone stable. That new security guard keeps flirting with you . . .
I didn’t want to believe her, though. Me and Greg would be perfect for each other—like a storybook. He was also an EMT, and I’d seen him on and off at work for months now. Handsome, built . . . sort of rough and ready in a way that I didn’t like to admit totally turned me on, but it did. It so did.
He reminds you of Painter, my brain whispered insidiously.
Shut up, bitch! my vagina hissed back. He’s probably got a really nice dick.
You’re drunk. Stop being such a slut.
You’re a cock-blocker—we haven’t had sex in forever!
I blinked, realizing my brain was 100 percent right—I was definitely drunk, because why the hell else would I be imagining an argument with my vagina in the middle of a dance floor?
Pull your shit together, Mellie girl.
Greg had asked me out to the Ironhorse for a drink (which had turned into many drinks) and now it was nearly midnight. The music wasn’t great, but the crowd was into it and I was having a good time—a good enough time that I’d been giving serious thought to going home with him. Well, serious something. “Thought” might not be the best word, seeing as things had gotten pretty damned fuzzy after that last round of shots. But I was definitely turned on and it’d been a long time since I’d gotten laid. Not since the dentist . . . ugh. That’d been a mistake.
He was so . . . clean.
Greg nuzzled into my neck, then I felt something warm and sort of icky. Oh. My. God. Was he licking me? He was. He was licking me, like some sort of dog. Okay, so maybe going home with him wasn’t such a good idea.
All this was processing through my drunken head when suddenly Greg was gone. I nearly fell over as a hard arm wrapped around my waist, jerking me back into a tall, strong body that smelled like leather and just the faintest hint of linseed oil.
“Time to go now, Greg,” said a familiar voice. I blinked, trying to figure out what was happening. Greg stared
at me, something like horror crossing his face.
“She’s yours?” he asked.
“Mother of my kid,” Painter replied, his voice hard. “You lookin’ to get laid, Greg? You want to fuck my Izzy’s mama? Let me guess—you want to do all kinds of dirty shit to my girl. How you think that’s gonna end for you?”
Greg’s eyes filled with terror, and then he was backing off so fast I’m surprised I didn’t hear a “meep meep” and a whooshing noise.
“Sorry, Painter. Meant no disrespect.”
Suddenly he was gone, abandoning me on the dance floor like an STD. I jerked away from Painter, rounding on him and jamming a finger into his chest.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?”
He looked down at me, his face grim.
“What’s the rule, Mel?”
“What?”
“We got one rule—what is it?”
“That you’re an asshole?”
“You stay out of my world,” he said. “I’ve backed away, given you your space. But you stay the fuck away from my world, and that means no bikers.”
“Greg’s not a biker.”
Painter cocked a brow. “He’s a hangaround with the Reapers. Or at least, he was. Now that I’ve seen his hands all over your ass, I got a feeling he won’t be hanging around anymore. Never liked the look of that fucker anyway.”
I blinked, trying to bring things into focus, both literally and figuratively. This would’ve been a whole lot easier if I hadn’t drunk so damned much booze. Shit.
“How was I supposed to know that?” I asked, frustrated by how much my words slurred. I couldn’t hold my own against this fucker if I couldn’t even talk right.
“You should’ve asked,” he said. “And now you’re gonna pay the penalty.”
I blinked, trying to process this, then faster than you could say, “I hate bikers,” Painter caught my hips and jerked me into his body. He’d touched me enough over the years that I was well aware the raging attraction between us had never died. Now it roared to life, clouding my thinking almost as much as the vodka. We started swaying to the music, me tucked into him as one of his hands rubbed slowly up and down my back. The other one caught my head, resting it against his chest.