Demolition

by Cat Mason

  “Yeah,” he nods. “I’ll get right on that.”

  When we step into the room, I have to bite back a growl when I see Henley lying in the bed. She looks so goddamn small. Fragile. Nothing like the fierce, wicked-tongued woman I know her to be.

  There is a bandage on one side of her face, covering her temple and part of her cheek. Her arm is wrapped in gauze and secured in a black sling. She is wired up to monitors and has an I.V. coming out of her arm at the crook of her left elbow. Though, even with her face and body battered, she appears to be relaxed.

  Seeing her like this fucking hurts.

  “She been awake?” I ask, not taking my eyes from her.

  “On and off,” Torch says, closing the door behind us. “From the looks of it, they’re keepin’ her pretty doped up.”

  “On and off my ass,” she breathes, her eyelids fluttering. “How can I possibly sleep with you lurking over me like a heavy breathing creeper?” Her face turns my way, eyes fluttering open. Those stormy grays now glassy and bloodshot. “Hey, Colt.”

  Torch’s eyes snap to me, but I can’t take mine off her. My worst fear was never hearing her say my name again. “Hey.” Coming to stand on the opposite side of the bed, I run the tips of my fingers over the large bruise forming on her jaw. “How ya feelin’, Hotness?”

  She turns her face into my touch, her lips pulling into a small smile. “Get your eyes checked, Beefcake,” she whispers, her voice sounding small and weak.

  “Nah,” I chuckle, relief continuing to swell in my chest. “Twenty-twenty here, darlin’.”

  “You scared the hell outta all of us,” Torch informs her, coming around and squeezing her hand. “Thought you were checkin’ out early on me.”

  “Don’t cash in the life insurance yet,” she mutters sleepily. “You’re not that lucky.”

  “Smartass,” he grumbles, but doesn’t bother to hide the smile on his face.

  “Overbearing, jughead asshole,” Henley snorts, blinking slowly.

  “Careful,” Torch warns. “You’re in no shape to give anyone any shit.”

  “Oh, Donovan, you’d be surprised how little effort it takes for me to be an asshole.” Torch and I both chuckle at her comment. “Did you call Roman?”

  “Haven’t had time to reach out,” Torch tells her, not sounding very convincing. “I’ll get it done.”

  “Mhm.” Licking her lips, Henley sighs. “Rebel too. She’s probably freaked I didn’t come home.”

  “Let me handle that shit.” Giving her hand another quick squeeze, he releases her. “You rest.”

  “Sure. Okay,” she breathes, turning her gaze to me. “Jesus, Colt. You look like shit.” Searching my eyes, her brows furrow. Concern and worry flashing across her face. She shifts in the bed, hissing out a breath. Wincing, she presses her unbandaged hand to her side. Leaning up in the bed some, she reaches for me. “What happened?”

  “Blew out a tire on my bike,” I tell her, taking her hand. “Nothin’ for you to worry about, babe.”

  Four

  Henley

  Colt is hiding something. The fact that he is more than likely lying to me is written all over his face. I don’t care if it is simply because he is more worried about me than what he isn’t telling me. I can’t stand secrets.

  Yes, I dodged a bullet. A four-thousand-pound one on four wheels, to be exact. That doesn’t make it okay to decide what parts of the truth I need to hear.

  Unable to get comfortable, I shift my body, groaning when pain slices through my side and up my shoulder. This bed is about as soft as a porn star’s cock after downing a handful of Viagra. I couldn’t get any rest laying here if you gave me an epidural and a bottle of vodka.

  Everything hurts in a way that has me torn between tears and heaving up a lung. I have worked in the medical field for years, though I never imagined I would ever endure this sort of pain and live. The ache radiates from the pores on my skin, to the deepest depths of my bones. Still, while the meds being pumped through my I.V. are strong enough to make my head spin like a top, along with removing the little brain to mouth filter I actually have, they do little more than take the edge off the pain.

  Not that I’m complaining.

  If I have learned anything in life, it’s to embrace the painful moments. After all, if it hurts it means I’m still alive.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Donnie,” I groan, not even bothering to break eye contact with Colt to look at my brother. “If you don’t stop hovering, I’ll choke you out with my I.V. lines.”

  “Deal with it,” he grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m your brother. Worryin’ about you is my job.”

  “Feel free to clock out any time,” I croak, slipping my hand free from Colt’s. Turning, I meet my big brother’s worry-filled dark browns. “I’m all good. Even speeding chunks of metal and fiberglass can’t keep me down for long.”

  “Funny.” As I expected, his mouth presses into a hard line, irritation written all over his face. “I think we both know you aren’t convincing me.”

  “You know,” I mutter, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. “All that stress is gonna give you gray hair. Besides,” I shrug, trying to reassure him further. “You’re always bitching about how I need to take some time off work.”

  “I don’t bitch.” Donnie runs a hand through his black hair, making me laugh. The vain prick will be checking that mop of his in the mirror first chance he gets. Pain slices through my side, causing me to suck in another breath. Pressing my good hand to my ribs again, I try to ease the burn while blinking back the tears threatening to fall. Noticing my discomfort, Donnie’s eyes shoot to mine, filling with worry.

  “Easy,” Colt scolds, pressing his hand to mine.

  “I’m fine,” I inform them both, breathing through the pain. “Don’t get your panties all twisted up your ass.”

  “Panties?” Colt laughs, the sound warming me all over like a shot of tequila. He smiles, and even through that thick blonde mess of a beard, it makes my stomach flip. Dammit.

  “I’ll get the nurse,” my brother says, heading for the door. “Perfect excuse to make sure that fucking cop finally got tired of waitin’ and left.”

  “The police?” I ask, his comment cutting through the haze of sexiness that this bearded badass of a man seems to cause every time he gets too close. Which is every time I see him. “I haven’t talked to anyone yet, Donovan.”

  Stopping mid-step, he turns slowly to face me, his eyes dark. “Exactly,” Donnie barks. “And you’re not going to.”

  “I think we both know that doesn’t work.” Silently praying for some kind of Divine intervention, I roll my eyes. “Problems don’t go away just because you refuse to recognize they’re there.”

  “Don’t start with me. You’ve been through enough.”

  “That’s not your decision to make,” I blurt, preparing for what I know will be a steamrolling tirade.

  “Goddammit, Henley.” Storming my way, he fumbles with some of the leads and wires attached to me before stepping around the chair he spent most of the night in. “For once, can you shut the fuck up and let me handle it?”

  “I’ll tell you what I’m about to do.” Shifting in bed, I bite back the groan that threatens when my sore body revolts against me. “I’m two seconds away from climbing out of this bed and breaking my I.V. stand off in your ass.”

  “Like hell you will,” he challenges, keeping his voice low. “So help me God, Henley Mae, if you think—”

  Glaring at him, I narrow my eyes. “I think you’re fucking delusional.” I shift again, dragging in a breath as my battered ribs adjust to my jerky movements. “You don’t get to come in here and start spouting off orders like some drill Sargent and expect me to fall in line.” Henley Wolfe doesn’t fucking bend to the will of an egotistical asshole. Not anymore. “I’d like to be done with this shit so I can focus my energy on getting my ass home where I can ignore your ass, like I normally do,” I hiss, ready to rip hi
s head off if he even thinks about telling me to shut up one more time.

  “Dial it down, Hotness,” Colt blurts, pressing his hand to my chest to stop me from sitting up further. Sliding an arm under my knees, and one around my back, he carefully lifts and settles me back in bed. “Gonna need you to keep that fine ass right here.”

  “No promises.”

  Colt chuckles at my response, his breath rushing over my neck, making me shiver. My eyes flutter closed as the smell of his cologne, mixed with leather and something warm and rugged invades my senses. Damn. Is it wrong that I want to pull his big ass into this bed with me and use him as a pillow?

  His warmth leaves me all too soon when he stands to his full height and faces my brother. “Henley’s right. She talks to the guy, he leaves. Last thing we need is that fucker takin’ residence up our asses.”

  “Fine,” Donnie says through gritted teeth. “We’ll play this your way. Keep your ass in that goddamn bed. I’ll go lay down the rules for your friend with the badge.”

  “Have it your way.” Waving him off, I carefully adjust the sling on my arm. “Go flex your big scary biker muscles, Torch,” I snort, rolling my eyes. “Have I told you that’s a stupid name?”

  “Yeah,” he grunts. “More than once.”

  “Good.” I smile smugly. “Should’ve called your ass Zippo the Dippo. At least then I could giggle about it.”

  “Would you shut up?” Donnie murmurs under his breath, shooting me a dirty look before leaving the room.

  Why he prefers to be called that, I will never understand. I sure as hell won’t pretend to either. Although, I assume if we are going to be known by name for our crimes, he could have done a hell of a lot worse than being infamous for his pyro skills.

  I am also willing to bet he has done a lot more than toss a few lit matches in strategically flammable places. The thought makes me shudder. I know my brother isn’t perfect. Neither am I. The Wolfe DNA demands we be massively stubborn and only mildly crazy. Out of the four kids my mother raised, Donnie carries the bulk of those genes. That doesn’t mean I am okay with picturing him involved in illegal activity that could land him in prison for the rest of his life.

  To be perfectly honest, the thought is terrifying.

  Although it isn’t my job to judge, nor has he ever asked for my opinion. It’s not that I don’t have one. I have many. I simply prefer to keep my thoughts on Donovan the Dumbass to myself.

  Most of the time…

  Five

  Henley

  While I expect Colt to follow my brother out the door to back him up as he lays down the law, he stays with me instead. The giant beefcake of a man is hovering. I may be plenty annoyed with the fact that both of these men are dead set on driving me straight into the crazy house, but I have to admit that he looks so much better doing it than Donnie. Colt looks damn good doing anything.

  Which can be unbelievably frustrating when trying to appear unaffected.

  My eyes drop to his boots before raking up to his faded blue jeans, the denim stretched taut over his thick, muscular thighs. The damn things look like tree trunks. Continuing to stare openly, my gaze lingers on his silver skull belt buckle, and the very impressive bulge below it, a lot longer than I care to admit before moving up his torso. The white t-shirt he has on beneath the patch covered leather fits over his body like a second skin. He is huge and I am unable to forget how every rock hard inch of his tattoo covered body felt beneath my hands the night he was shot last year.

  “You feelin’ okay, Hen?” he asks, snapping me from my haze. “You look flushed.”

  “Think so.” Clearing my throat, I force myself to meet his eyes. “Probably the meds.”

  Yanking the chair as close as he can, Colt drops into it and attempts to get comfortable. It is laughable seeing this big ass man sitting in the ridiculously tiny chair. It is a true to life Goldilocks story; except this Goldilocks is bigger than the bears, has a beard, and rides a Harley. I also don’t imagine any woman would be complaining if she found his gorgeous ass in her bed.

  I sure as hell wouldn’t.

  Leaning in, his fingers slide up the inside of my hand, his thumb circling my wrist, before stopping on my pulse point. I suck in a breath. Not in pain, but in shock at the way his touch affects me. It both calms me and unnerves me. The look in his eyes says he knows it too.

  Colt and I have been dancing around this building sexual tension bullshit for the better part of a year. Every time our paths cross, my stomach flips, and every cell in my body aches to be close to him. Hell, let’s be real. What I ache to do involves us being close enough for me to strip him down and ride him so hard neither of us would be able to walk afterward. I have no doubt the amount of fuck the man has in those hips carries the risk for potential paralysis.

  Though it never goes beyond a little shameless flirting and a few stolen glances. Not that I don’t think about what it would be like to mount that big fucker and ride him harder than a rodeo steer. I have my reasons why I haven’t pushed it.

  “You sure you’re up for this?” Leaning forward, he studies me carefully. “I can tell ‘em all to fuck off.”

  “Seriously?” I ask, blinking slowly.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he answers with a wink.

  The little bite of southern twang when he says ‘yes, ma’am’ makes my stomach flutter. Damn. Why does everything he do hit me straight in the gut? “That go for Donovan, too?” I ask, forcing my voice to work.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he replies without hesitation. My stomach does more wonky shit when he smiles. “Whatever it takes to keep your ass in that bed.”

  “Okay,” I grin, happily prepared to use this little agreement to my advantage the next time my brother gets on my last nerve. “When I start fearing for Donnie’s safety, I’ll say the word jellybean,” I explain, nodding my head in satisfaction. “Then, you get him the hell out of here before I put him in his very own bed across the hall. Sound good?”

  Yanking his fingers through his long blonde hair, he huffs out a laugh. “Christ, woman. You’re too fuckin’ much.” Reaching inside his shirt pocket, he retrieves a Twix bar. Ripping the wrapper open with his teeth, he tugs one of the sticks free before extending the wrapper with the other piece still inside for me to take. “Want some?”

  “I probably shouldn’t,” I reply, knowing the hospital’s protocol is for meals and drinks to be on a certain schedule, or be cleared with the staff beforehand, in case of procedures and administering medications.

  “Hen,” he says, his smile widening. Inwardly, I curse that fucking beard for hiding most of it. I have a running bet with myself that there are the sexiest pair of dimples behind all that fuzz. I’d give my left tit for a razor and the strength to hold him down right now to prove it. Taking my hand, he places the candy in my palm. “Live a little. Take the damn chocolate.”

  “Fine.” Wrapping my fingers around it, I point it at him. “You just make sure you run Donnie out of here when you go. I can’t sleep while he sits there staring at me.” My eyes drop to the chocolate bar in my hand. I snort, completely amused with this whole situation. “It’s almost as creepy as taking candy from guys I don’t know.”

  “Darlin’.” His brows arches, disappearing behind the veil of sandy blonde hair surrounding his face. “Night we met, you straddled me on a pool table with a sewing kit.” He licks his lips and I feel every inch of that long swipe in ways I will be taking to my grave. “We’re not strangers.”

  Taking a bite, I nod thoughtfully at his comment. “If I remember correctly, you didn’t leave me much choice. Did you?” Truth be told, I don’t need him to remind me of anything about that night. I spend far too much time thinking about it. Not that he needs to know that.

  Leaning back in the chair, he scratches his chin. “You sayin’ I’m stubborn, woman?”

  A giggle bubbles out of me, and though it stings like a bitch, the smile that spreads across his face is well worth the bite of pain. “I think that goes with
out saying, Beefcake,” I reply, causing him to laugh.

  “Henley,” Donnie blurts, clearing his throat. “This is Officer Fowler.”

  Looking up, I groan. Levi fucking Fowler, my train wreck attempt of a one-night stand that won’t fucking go away. Dammit. The last thing I want is to deal with this guy. Two to one odds he will be picturing me naked the entire time he talks to me. Or, even worse, trying to figure out ways to get me naked again.

  Ugh. I would rather wear a porcupine pelt thong than let that man anywhere near my vagina again.

  “And God kicks a bitch when she’s down,” I mutter, wishing I could crawl in a hole and die. “Levi and I know each other, Donnie,” I say, trying to be as polite as possible. “He lives in my building.”

  “Henley and I know each other very well,” he greets, flashing me one of his trademark million-dollar smiles. “Don’t we, sweetheart?”

  Shit. As if I need Donnie latching on to any of this bullshit. My sex life is not something I want to discuss with my brother. Ever. Leave it to Levi to think this is the perfect time to walk in and start sprinkling hints about the one time I was desperate and drunk enough to let him in my panties. Does this moron not realize this is worse than dropping nuclear bombs on starving third world countries?

  Great job, Henley. You managed to bang a guy who doesn’t know what hit it and quit it means.

  My brother and Colt exchange a look, before both of them look to me. I swallow hard. “Donnie said you have questions for me?” I ask, starting to regret my decision to talk to the police already. I should’ve known Levi would take it as an opportunity to stick his nose in my business.

  “I do,” he nods.

  My brother leans back against the wall, his eyes staying transfixed on me. The room feels too fucking small. And hot. It feels like hell is preparing to rain down on me for my bad choices. The day I gave in to all the stipulations Daniel’s lawyer had for the divorce agreement, and signed those damn papers, will officially go down in infamy.