by Nicole James
A little while later, she glanced up at the IV and then at her watch. She thought she’d given him enough time for the meds to kick in, and she needed to clean that wound.
She readied her supplies and grabbed one of the towels, tucking it under him as she prepared to irrigate the wound to clean it. Snapping on a new pair of sterile gloves, she quickly moved through the steps. Once the wound was clean, she had to pack it with some gauze soaked in saline solution.
He grimaced a couple of times, but he was mostly stoic.
Bagger moved out into the hall where it was cooler and sat against the wall.
She re-bandaged her patient, and he soon drifted off to sleep.
She checked his blood pressure and temperature, swiping the instrument across his forehead. He was still hot, but his temperature had dropped a degree from one hundred and six to one-hundred and-five.
There was a wooden chair in the room, and she moved it next to the bed. Keeping an eye on the IV flow, she picked up an old magazine from the bedside table and fanned him. When her arm got tired, she tossed the magazine and dipped the towel in the water from the rapidly melting bowl of ice and wiped down his bare skin, trying to do everything she could to bring his fever down.
As her hand stroked his chest, she couldn’t help but be affected by his muscles. She’d had a lot of patients, but never one built like this one. She stroked over his neck and face, brushing his sweaty hair back as she struggled with the conflicting emotions warring within her. On one hand she’d sworn to help people, but on the other hand, she hated bikers. It was men like him she held responsible for her older sister’s death. And men like him who were responsible for her younger sister being held at knifepoint. She closed her eyes and said a prayer, hoping Holly was all right and that Dax hadn’t hurt her.
Opening her eyes, she looked at the man she was expected to save.
As much as she wanted to hate him, she couldn’t help but admit he was an attractive man. How could such a beautiful man be one of these filthy bikers? What a waste of one of God’s greatest, most magnificent creations.
She sat with him for hours while the first bag of IV fluids slowly emptied, alternately fanning him and wiping down his sweating body with cool water. She glanced into the hall; the biker had fallen asleep against the door that led to the outside staircase and freedom. Unfortunately, she’d never be able to get past his sleeping body to those stairs. And she could hear the others downstairs arguing about a poker game. There would be no getting out that way.
She got up from the chair she’d pulled next to the bed, stretched her aching back, and moved to the window. She peered through the louvered slats and the grimy window beyond. It was night now, probably close to midnight. She could see the headlights of cars moving down Rampart Street at the end of the block.
She surveyed the gallery that surrounded the front of the building. Perhaps, if she could get the window open, she could sneak out onto it. But upon closer examination, she realized—like the biker had informed her—the window was indeed nailed shut.
Who does that for God’s sake? Especially in a town that was incessantly hot and humid. She glanced toward the bed and her patient resting upon it, and she had her answer. Bikers who planned to keep someone locked up, that’s who. Bikers who didn’t want their captives crawling out the window.
Of course, she might be able to break the glass, but they’d probably hear. Who was she kidding? As long as Dax held Holly, she wouldn’t do anything that would jeopardize her sister, and escaping would only get her sister killed.
Cat picked up the magazine and fanned herself. The heat was getting to her. She touched Blood’s forehead again. He felt clammy and she could see him start to tremble with the onset of chills, tremors moving over his body.
She stepped to the end of the bed and pulled the light sheet over his body, tucking it around him. His body began to shake even harder, and his teeth clacked together. She smoothed the hair off his brow, murmuring to him, “You’re going to be okay.”
His glassy eyes opened and looked up at her. “Cold,” he whispered.
“I know. The fever is breaking. Your body is fighting off the infection. I’m giving you medicine for that. You’re going to get better soon.”
His eyes drifted closed again, and the tremors subsided.
She looked up at the almost empty IV bag. Moving to her duffel, she took out another bag and began to switch them out, humming to herself as she did the work, trying to block out the yelling and cursing and increasingly drunken laughter coming from downstairs.
She said a quick prayer that none of them wandered up here looking for some fun with their new nurse.
When she was through with her task, she sat back in the uncomfortable chair. The only light source came from the dim light of the small table lamp. It was just as well—sitting in the subdued light seemed cooler, even if it was probably only wishful thinking.
Eventually, her head began to droop, and soon she nodded off in sleep.
Chapter Five
Blood awoke and glanced around at his surroundings. Judging by the faint gray light coming in from the windows, he figured it must be just after dawn. He kicked the covers off; they had been soaked with his sweat. The fever must have broken finally.
The room was a little cooler now, but he knew as soon as the sun rose and climbed in the sky, the room would heat up again. He saw the IV catheter sticking out of the top of his hand, taped down with clear medical tape. His eyes followed the tubing up to the bag rigged to the bedpost, and then his gaze fell to the woman dozing in the straight-backed chair at his bedside.
Well, goddamn. She was real. He thought he’d dreamed her up, but there she sat, his guardian angel, asleep in a chair. She was dressed in green scrubs, her long blonde hair tumbled in a ponytail over her shoulder, a cascade of silk he longed to run his fingers through. His eyes moved over her thin frame. It was hard to make out much about her figure in the baggy scrubs, but he made out the shape of breasts that would be at least a handful. Christ, he’s laying here half dead, and he was thinking about sex.
His eyes climbed up her long graceful neck to her angel face. Beautiful cheekbones, full pale pink lips made for kissing—or something better—delicately arced brows over big slanted eyes… A fringe of long lashes lay against her cheekbones as she slumbered, just a touch of mascara darkening them. A smattering of the barest freckles covered her nose.
Blood grinned, not sure why that got to him.
He didn’t know how long he’d been in this room. A few days? A week? It was all a fuzzy blur. But he remembered the girl and the way she’d bathed his skin with cool cloths, assuring him he would be okay. Promising him she’d…
His eyes darted to his hand still cuffed to the iron head rail. His ring was gone. She’d done as he’d asked and taken it, hadn’t she? Or had he just dreamed that? Had the Death Heads taken it like they had his cut?
His eyes moved over her then fell to her chest again. He seemed to remember her tucking it into her bra. Or did he imagine that, too? It was all so fuzzy.
He moved, and the cuffs rattled. Her eyes opened, and she looked blankly over at him, their gazes locking. Blue. They were blue, just like in his dream, blue and beautiful. And they were staring wide-eyed and innocent into his.
“My angel,” he murmured.
She licked her lips and frowned. “What?”
He just grinned back at her.
“You’re awake,” she said in a soft voice that melted over him like honey.
He nodded, kicking the covers farther off him.
She noticed and reached for his forehead. “You’re clammy. That’s good. It means the fever has broken.” Her eyes moved to the IV above his head. “You still have about an hour’s worth left of fluids. I gave you a second one during the night. Each last about six hours.”
He nodded.
“Do you want some water?” she asked, standing.
“Please,” he rasped out.
She
helped him sit up, jamming a pillow behind him so he could sit against the headboard. Then she brought a bottle of water to his lips. With one hand still cuffed and the other with an IV he wasn’t the most coordinated, but he was able to take the bottle.
“Thanks.” His eyes stayed on her as he guzzled half the bottle.
“Do you…have to use the restroom?” she asked hesitantly.
He shook his head. “No.”
“Probably because you were so dehydrated.”
He nodded taking another long drink, his eyes on her. When he pulled the bottle back down, he said, “I thought I dreamed you.”
Her smile lit up her face and took his breath.
“I’m real.” Her eyes moved around the room. “Unfortunately.”
He nodded, realizing she didn’t want to be here anymore than he did. He lifted his chin toward the man asleep on the hallway floor. “You with them?”
Her eyes got big. “Me? No. I’m definitely not with them.”
“Then how’d you end up here?”
“It’s a long story.”
He rattled the cuff. “I’ve got time.”
She cocked her head to the side, her eyes moving to the handcuff. “How’d you end up here?”
“Just in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He glanced toward the hallway again, uncertain how much he should share. He still didn’t know her relationship with these assholes, and he wasn’t sure he could trust her. He studied her eyes. She’d taken his ring though and made that promise to him. Why would she do that if she was working with them?
Blood had lived most of his life knowing when to keep his mouth shut, being careful with giving his trust out. It was a hard lesson he’d learned very early in life—one he wasn’t about to forget now. But she’d helped him, and in the position he was in she might be the only shot he had, the only person who might be able to get him out of here. Or, at the least, she might be able to get word out to his club.
Way he saw it, he didn’t have much of a choice. He’d have to take a chance on her. “You’re still in your scrubs. They kidnap you out of a hospital parking lot?”
She frowned. “Where did you come up with that?”
“It’s what I’d do,” he admitted and watched her chin lift. Hell, he was just being honest, but he could see she didn’t care for his answer. She’d treated him, but she didn’t like him, or maybe more specifically, men like him. “You don’t like me much, do you?”
“You’re a biker, like them. And I don’t like bikers.”
He shook his head slowly. “Not like them. My club and the Death Heads are sworn enemies.”
“Well, I didn’t think they had you cuffed to the bed because they liked you.”
He gave her half a smile. Sarcastic little wench.
“So…you came on their turf and—”
He cut her off. “This isn’t Death Heads turf. This is Evil Dead turf.”
“Evil Dead. That was on your ring.”
He nodded. She was observant, too. “Evil Dead MC. My club.”
“So—” She looked toward the hallway. “If this isn’t their territory, what are they doing here?”
“Hell if I know.”
“And if you’re enemies, why are they concerned enough to get you medical care? Weren’t they the ones who shot you in the first place?”
He watched the pretty little frown on her face. She was sarcastic, observant, and smart.
“Been wonderin’ that myself. Maybe they didn’t mean to shoot me. Or maybe they decided I could be of better use if I’m kept alive.”
“For what?”
He shrugged. “Haven’t figured that out yet. Maybe for leverage with my club. A bargaining chip.”
“To get what?”
She was sarcastic, observant, smart, and curious. Blood shook his head. “Doesn’t concern you, Doc.”
“I told you, I’m not a doctor.”
“Fine, then I’ll call you Scrubs.”
Her brows arched. “Not if you want me to answer.”
He fought back a smile. “What’s your name?”
“Catherine. My friends call me Cat.”
“Cat.” He tried it out on his tongue and nodded. “Suits you.”
“I said my friends call me that.”
His brows shot up. “And I’m not included in that bunch, is that what you’re sayin’? Honey, right now, right here, I’m the only friend you’ve got.”
She looked toward the hallway. “I’m just here to get you well. That’s all.”
“You still got my ring?”
Her head swiveled back, and she put a hand to her breastbone. “Yes.”
So, he hadn’t dreamed that part. She had stuck it in her bra. He nodded and whispered, “Think you could get to a phone? Make a call?”
Her eyes were sharp when they met his, and she answered in an equally hushed tone. “You mean call the police?”
He shook his head with a grimace. “No. No police. MCs don’t ever call the police.”
She gave him a stunned look. “Even now?”
“Even now.”
“Then who?”
“My club. You get word to them, they’ll get us both out of here.”
“Both of us? Why would they give a damn about me? ”
“Listen to me, Cat. I give you my word, I’ll take you with me.”
She eyed him as if she were weighing his words and the strength of his promise. In the end, she shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t have my phone. I don’t have anything but the supplies.” She gestured toward the duffel on the floor.
His eyes fell to it, and then he looked toward the man in the hall. “Think you could get his?”
“If I tried and woke him,” she broke off, shaking her head. “I’m not sure what he’d do.”
“What about the rest? They all passed out downstairs?”
“I don’t know.” She moved to the window and peered out. “There’s a guy out in the backyard by the bikes taking a piss.”
Blood’s eyes again fell to that duffel on the floor. “Where’d you get the supplies?”
“The hospital where I work.”
“What if you needed more? Would they take you back to get them?”
She bit her lip and looked toward the hall. It was the cutest little gesture he’d ever seen. There was something about the way her perfect teeth bit into that plump bottom lip that really got to him. She turned back, and his eyes lifted.
“Babe? Would they take you?” he pressed when she didn’t reply.
“Maybe,” she admitted.
He nodded, suddenly feeling the strangest need to protect her. Feelings of protectiveness for women weren’t completely foreign to him, but they were damn rare. There was something about this one that brought it out in him in spades. There was a worldliness about her, but there was an innocence, too—innocence he felt the need to protect. She was in way over her head here.
He lifted his chin toward the hallway. “Don’t care how you do it, but you get them to take you to the hospital. You do, you’ll be safe, away from them.”
“You still need treatment.”
“Don’t worry about me. You make that call for me, and I’ll take my chances with my club.”
She shook her head. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“It’s complicated.”
Blood frowned and then his jaw clenched. “You are with one of them, aren’t you?”
“No!” she hissed, trying not to be too loud. “I told you that. There’s not a chance in hell I’d ever be with a fucking biker.”
A fucking biker. Great, the only chance he had rested with a woman who couldn’t stand the likes of him. Lovely. Well, he’d just have to change her mind about him then. “Sounds like there’s a story there. They hurt you?”
She shook her head.
“They have something they’re holding over you? Other than the threat of your own safety.” She looked away, and he had his answer. He felt the nee
d to set her straight. “You’ve seen too much, you know. If you’re not with one of them—”
“I’m not!” she swore vehemently.
“Then they’ll never just let you go. Death Heads aren’t too keen on leaving loose ends. Witnesses being at the top of that list.”
“They promised. If I helped them, they promised—”
“Their promises don’t mean shit, little girl.”
“And yours do?” she snapped at him.
“I don’t make promises unless I mean them.”
She huffed. “Right.”
“Don’t trust them,” he warned.
“Look, if you die, maybe they’d kill me. But I’m not going to let you die.”
“Babe, they won’t let you live either way. You’ve seen too much. Once your usefulness is over, they’ll get rid of you.” He watched her face. Maybe he was getting through. Goddamn, he hated the fear his words put into her eyes. “I wish I could get you out of here.”
“Well, you can’t.”
“If you get to the hospital, you can get away.”
She stared at him.
“Look, all I’m asking is for you to make a phone call. I’m not asking you to let me go.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because.”
“Because why, angel?”
She looked down and plucked at the hem of her shirt, and he knew she was struggling with telling him something.
“What is it?” he prodded. “What do they have on you?”
“They have my sister.”
Blood’s eyes slid closed. Fuck. If they were holding her sister as leverage, and he was betting they had her at another location, they could kill her before anyone could get to her. But there was one thing his pretty little blonde savior still didn’t seem to grasp. He opened his eyes and pinned her with a look. “When this is over, when your usefulness is done, they’ll kill you both. They aren’t going to let either of you go.”
Her eyes welled with tears. “But they promised. They said if I helped, they’d let her go.”
Blood shook his head. “They won’t. I guarantee it.”
A tear rolled down her cheek.
“Hey.” His hand moved over and took hers, giving it a squeeze. “I’m the only shot you’ve got of saving your sister.”