Go With It (A Go Novel Book 1)

by Scarlett Finn

  “Two weeks? You think you can keep him here that long?”

  “I think if he goes against medical advice they’ll lose their doctor pretty fast,” he said. “I take a huge risk treating them like this. If something goes wrong, I lose my license, possibly go to jail, and have to live with the guilt for the rest of my life. They know I’ll keep doing everything I can to help them, providing they respect my professional opinion. That includes convalescence instructions. I’ve fought with them about this too many times. They know I win or I won’t be here the next time.” He flashed her a fast smile. “This is not our first rodeo, Miss…”

  “Sweeting,” she said, hearing the question in his voice. “Harlow Sweeting.”

  “Do you have a boyfriend waiting for you at home, Harlow Sweeting?” She shook her head. “Kids?” Again, she shook her head. “Good. Do you live alone?”

  “Why does that…”

  “I’m checking how wide the circle is,” he said. “I just told you that what I’m doing could get me into trouble.”

  As a doctor, it was his responsibility to treat the person in front of him. Just as she’d felt it was her responsibility to support the person in front of her when Ryske had bowled her over in the street.

  Decisions made on impulse weren’t always the most reasoned, or easy to explain later when someone was trying to rationalize them… like in an interrogation room.

  “Your secret is safe,” she said, wondering if she could get into trouble for what she’d done too. Technically, nothing she’d done was illegal, but unethical could cause her problems in her professional role. “If mine is safe with you.”

  His smile became more genuine. “Creeping around with criminals not your usual bag?”

  Relaxing, she returned his ease. “Not exactly.”

  He stood up, removing his gloves. “Then I guess you’re part of their toolkit now too, just like me,” he said and came over, raising his open arm to her shoulders. “Welcome to the club. Come on, I’ll get Noon to drive you home.”

  “Noon? I don’t need a ride.”

  Pausing with a hand on the bedroom door handle, he smirked. “Noon does the driving… always.”

  3

  Harlow hadn’t expected Noon to show up the following morning in spite of him saying that he would come to pick her up. But, when she came around the corner from the deli that Sunday, he was there, waiting on the sidewalk.

  The previous night he’d driven her home and actually thanked her for bringing Ryske to them. She wouldn’t exactly call him warm and fuzzy, but she’d felt comfortable enough to tell him that she wanted to come and see Ryske again. That was when he’d offered to pick her up and take her back to Bale’s.

  Getting into a car with him again was a much calmer experience that day and conversation on the ride over to Bale’s was civilized if inconsequential. When they arrived at the doctor’s apartment, Harlow wasn’t surprised to find Dover, Maze, and Bale in various states of tired and grumpy strewn around the living room. They’d obviously been up all night.

  Harlow won friends when she put down the tray of coffees and box of fresh pastries that she’d collected from the deli before finding Noon outside her building.

  Like a pack of desperate hyenas, the men attacked the feast. “Did Ryske wake up? How’s he doing?”

  “He’s still on the IV,” Bale said, slurping coffee. “But, I withdrew the sedative, so he should be waking up soon.”

  Unlooping her scarf, she laid it on the back of the couch and then took off her jacket. “Can I go in?”

  Bale nodded. The other three were too busy fighting over pastries to object.

  Keeping her purse and a sports bag hanging across her body, Harlow went into the bedroom. Ryske was exactly where she’d left him. His general color was better, but the bruises were more developed. On the floor by the nightstand was an open trash bag filled with various used medical supplies and dirty dressings.

  Taking the straps of the two bags she was wearing off over her head as she went closer, she put both on the floor and sat down in the leather tub chair that had been angled toward Ryske just in front of his IV stand. This wasn’t like any hospital she’d been in. The set up made it feel like visiting a patient, which she guessed it should because that was what she was doing.

  Sliding her hand under his felt a little odd. They weren’t friends, didn’t really know each other at all. Yet, she felt a connection to him; one that told her she’d be devastated if he didn’t pull through.

  Sitting beside him felt natural, even though taking physical liberties should feel awkward. In contradiction to that rational, reasonable thought about containing herself, her fingertip stretched out to graze the curve of his tattoo just above his elbow. The black ink mesmerized her, drawing her in. Turning her nail against the edge, she traced the shape of it further up his arm, over the bulk of his bicep.

  She didn’t know how long she’d been sitting there, outlining the pattern on his arm with her fingernail because the hypnotic act pulled her into a trance. Ryske was clearly strong and capable. If he was smart enough to be on this side of prison walls, he had to be intelligent enough to know what he was doing.

  That left her to speculate: what caused someone to choose crime as a way of life?

  Harlow was a trusting person. Many colleagues and clients had accused her of being naïve. She’d be the first to admit that her upbringing was more sheltered than most. But, she was savvier than her sister and had seen more than she was given credit for. Not rushing to judgement was a point of pride for her.

  On the job, she’d learned plenty about people and appearances and how they could be deceiving. Just because she accepted people didn’t mean that she believed everyone was redeemable or wanted to be saved. But, choosing a life of crime had to be a sign of a deeper pathology. Was Ryske punishing himself? Did he enjoy the thrill?

  No one was flat evil; that was one truth she was certain of. Blaming inherent wickedness like it was unavoidable was a cop out as far as she was concerned. People had to take ownership of their actions. She couldn’t deny that there were people who took pleasure in cruelty. Too often in her job, she met selfish people who would choose their own wants over another’s needs.

  But was anyone truly selfless? It was a truth she hadn’t yet figured out, but that didn’t stop her from trying every once in a while.

  “Was I good?”

  The croaking masculine voice pulled her out of her philosophical pondering. Ryske’s eyes were open to slits and were definitely fixated on her.

  Harlow’s hand fell from its exploration. “Good?”

  “When I was out and you took advantage,” he said, his voice rough.

  Moving made his expression distort in discomfort. Realizing that he was trying to sit up, Harlow panicked and leaped to her feet. “No,” she said, pressing his shoulders to prevent him from rising. “Lie down, Ryske.”

  Giving up the fight, he relaxed onto his back, taking the time to check out where they were. “Guess we made it to Bale’s.”

  “Would you like me to get him?” she asked, shuffling backwards a half step.

  His hand shot up to grab her wrist before she could get too far. “Floyd’s,” he murmured, intent on her. “Did anyone hurt you?”

  That he even thought to ask stunned her enough that she sank back down into the chair she’d left just a moment ago. “No one hurt me,” she said. He loosened like that was a relief and closed his eyes. “I had to curse at them to get them to move. You should’ve introduced yourself before you passed out, that might have helped.”

  Pain and exhaustion joined the scratch in his throat. “Crash was just fine, Trinket.”

  His grip on her wrist slackened, which gave her the chance to slide her hand beneath his. Holding his palm over hers and wrapping her fingers around his thumb didn’t make her self-conscious. It should because they were strangers, yet, it felt familiar.

  Taking it as a good sign that he remembered their meeting, she gu
essed that was an indication there was little chance of brain damage.

  He cracked an eye for a second. “It’s daylight. Have you been here all night?”

  “Noon took me home,” she said. “I had to get cleaned up. I came back with food a while ago. Your crew are eating in the living room… They’ll want to know you’re awake.”

  “Just give it a minute, Trink,” he said with a groan that betrayed he wanted a minute to orient himself before everyone descended with questions. “Just talk. Keep talking.”

  Unsure what to say, she licked her lips and ran her gaze down over his tattoos again. “You gave everyone a scare,” she said. “We didn’t know if you were going to make it. I don’t think your friends wanted to answer Bale’s questions. For a minute, I think they suspected that I’d hurt you. I don’t know, maybe they still do… Bale’s nice. He was nice to me anyway. He likes you, said you were close… At least as close as you could be to anyone outside your crew. Maze told me that you’re criminals.” Shifting closer, she clung to his hand, but a fingernail from her other hand began to move around the lines of his arm tattoo again. “He didn’t go into detail, but Bale implied there was a plan and you like to con people out of things… Guess that’s why your friends were suspicious of me. If you go around duping people, you have to accept that one day someone’s going to dupe you right back.”

  The sight of his chest expanding was startling. The loud, sharp whistle that echoed from his lips a moment later gave her a jolt. His eyes weren’t open, but he tightened his grip on her hand when she tried to withdraw it.

  A moment later, the bedroom door opened and everyone from the living room poured into the room with them.

  Off-kilter and braced to see what would happen next, Harlow was on the edge of her seat. Her attention flicked from the expectant men at the end of the bed to the one lying down who’d opened his eyes again, but this time their intensity was trained on his crew.

  “You fuckers talk too much,” was the first thing Ryske said.

  Bale came around the bed, forcing Ryske to let go of her when she pushed the tub chair back out of the doctor’s way.

  Grabbing a penlight, the doctor used it to test Ryske’s pupils. “What day is it?” Bale asked.

  “Fuckday,” Ryske said and had enough strength to push the doctor so hard that he stumbled. One more step and he would’ve ended up in her lap. “Get out my face. What you doing running your mouth?”

  Glancing over his shoulder, Bale looked from her back to Ryske. “She said you weren’t sleeping together.”

  “Not yet,” Ryske said. Cradling his injury, he pushed up into a seated position. Though he was fighting through obvious pain, no one stepped up to stop him. “We get any whisper?”

  “No,” Dover said.

  Maze and Noon flanked the bartender at the end of the bed. With slow, tentative movements, Bale went about taking Ryske’s blood pressure. The patient glared at the doctor but didn’t put up a fight.

  “You deliver the package?” Maze asked.

  “I did that,” Ryske said. “As per the plan, I lost ten grand to the bastard… then his slave stabbed me.”

  “Ophelia?” Maze asked, ignoring the shocking thing he’d just been told.

  If Harlow had heard it, the others had to have heard it too. Instead of caring about their friend and his near death experience, the crew were focused on this “plan” talk.

  “Present and correct,” Ryske said. “For a minute, I thought I’d have to go deeper, but they took the bait.” He hissed when Bale peeled back the dressing on his wound. “Maybe a little too well.”

  “You played dirty?” Maze said.

  “Like he expects me to.”

  “The guy is desperate for any excuse to spill your blood. Violence is his first impulse whenever you give him an opening,” Dover said. “It’s amazing that you made it twelve blocks.”

  “Made it more than that. I had to try losing them. Took them in circles a while. Thought it was no big deal, the knife went in smooth,” Ryske said. “Brash doesn’t know how to fight clean. Animal took pleasure in pleasing Hagan. Prick.”

  Whatever Bale was doing, it made Ryske wince and push at the doctor who was trying to help him. Despite the patient’s obvious discomfort, Harlow didn’t leap to his aid. She was too busy trying to put together the pieces of what they were saying.

  “I have to check it, Ryske,” Bale said, but that didn’t quell the mood of the man on the bed. “If infection eats its way down to your dick, you won’t have anything to fuck the pretty social worker with.”

  That statement stopped Ryske’s objections. While he sagged back, letting his head fall and his eyes close, she perked up. “Social worker?” she asked, gaining the attention of the men at the end of the bed. “You’re talking about me?” Rising slowly, she wasn’t sure whether to be livid or offended. “You checked up on me?”

  “Turns out you didn’t fake name me,” Maze said.

  It was galling that these people thought it was acceptable to investigate her without cause. When she’d come in to find them awake, she’d been touched that they cared for their friend so much. Now she learned they’d spent time trawling her past.

  “I can’t believe you assholes,” she said, leaping from her chair. She shoved Bale aside and grabbed the two bags she’d dumped onto the floor. After tossing the strap of her purse over her head, she threw the sports bag at Ryske, without caring that when it landed on him, he cursed and braced against it. “Save yourself next time, Crash.”

  Ready to spin and leave them all to their insanity, she was once again stalled by Ryske grabbing her wrist. “Clear out,” he said.

  Dover, Maze, and Noon immediately turned to filter out, but Bale held back. “I still have to—”

  “In a minute, doc,” Ryske said, softer this time, with less impatience and aggravation.

  Bale went out after the others. Dover ducked back in to close the door. Harlow was still fizzing and couldn’t imagine what Ryske thought he could say that would appease her.

  “Coincidence doesn’t happen in our world,” he said. “We doubt anyone who occupies the same time and space as us. Serendipity is suspicious. They were looking out for me. That’s all, Trinket. They thought their friend was dying and needed to do something…. They had to do something.”

  Damn. But she understood his point. Relaxing her resistance, she exhaled and turned slowly to see that although he was trying to hide it, he was still in pain. The sports bag lay beside him on the bed. She shouldn’t have thrown it at him. It could’ve really hurt him. Rage wasn’t usually part of her repertoire, but she’d been hurt by the intrusion on her privacy.

  “Your friends could learn to strike up a conversation,” she said, sitting on the bed by his hip to reach across him to unzip the sports bag.

  “That’s usually my job,” he said, and surprised her by scooping his fingers through her hair at her temple to draw her attention up. “Didn’t you promise me something if I made it?”

  “No,” she said, noticing the deep green of his eyes for the first time. If she hadn’t just seen him wake up, she’d wonder if he was wearing colored contacts. “You got to live, that should be enough.”

  “Not enough,” he said, trailing the pad of his thumb down her cheekbone to the front of her chin.

  It was incredible to see such heat and desire in his magnetic gaze. The man had been unconscious only a matter of minutes ago. Yet, somehow, he was making her feel like they’d just come to the end of an intense date and there was only one thing he’d be capable of, and it wasn’t related to any injury.

  “Just back from the brink of death and you’re still making moves,” she said, taking his hand away from her face and shifting back to lay his hand just above his wound. “Your friends might have confidence in your abilities, but there’s only one thing you should be thinking about and that’s getting better.”

  Leaning forward, his hands seemed to be en route to her waist. “Don’t worry about tha
t, we’ll work around it.”

  All she could do was laugh and avoid his attempts to get hold of her. Pushing his hands away, she reached into the bag to pull out the sweats she’d bought that morning. “Work around a knife wound,” she said, almost shaking her head. Leaving the bed, she went toward the end to feed his feet into the pants. “Yeah, that’s hot, Ryske. Really hot.”

  It seemed like a smart idea to avoid looking into those eyes while she struggled to get him into the clothes. “What happened to my sponge bath?”

  This guy just didn’t let up, and it wasn’t easy to keep concealing her smile. “I want approval from the doctor before you even think about moving,” she said, deciding that being firm was the only way to handle him. “You should drink something and probably eat. You’ll need to keep your strength up.”

  Ryske was intent on his flirtation. “You like it energetic, Trink?”

  Any opening would only encourage him. As much as she was tempted to laugh, Harlow knew his behavior was probably a result of him being high on whatever Bale was feeding into him.

  “Yeah, that’s it,” she said. “You’re useless to me in this state.”

  “Tell me how you like it, baby,” he said, letting her pull the pants over his ass and take water from the sports bag.

  Opening it, she put a straw inside and sat on the bed next to him to hold the bottle and direct the straw so he could take a drink. “Have more,” she said, hoping the liquid would help him.

  “I’ll have more if you give me something.”

  He was worse than a taunting teenager. “I’ll slap you if you keep playing.”

  “Playing is what I do best,” he said, sliding a hand up her leg.

  Catching his digits, she pushed them down to her knee. “You’re lucky you’re an invalid on drugs,” she said. “If you were a client, I’d be lodging a complaint.”

  The deep purr of his voice was seductive in itself, but she had to ignore the tingle vibrating through her. “Let go of my hand and I promise you’ll have nothing to complain about, babydoll.”