Chapter 3
Chapter
Three
Charm
I step into the hallway in time to intercept Hyram and his old lady, Thyrie.
She’s clearly trying to sweet talk the front desk and security to let them through the locked doors.
Hy’s just standing there with a menacing look on his face, giving exactly the sort of energy that will have the whole place on lockdown if he doesn’t let up.
“Mr. Holt, why don’t we talk over here? Ma’am,” I tip my head respectfully to Thyrie. The theater of distance is my only hope of keeping any separation between my professional life and my involvement with the club.
The two of them follow me to an alcove where we often meet with patient’s families to update them. Thunder has nothing on the glower Hyram sports, but Thyrie’s the one to watch out for. The woman co-owns a security company with her battle buddy, which, in a roundabout way, is how Hyram met her.
As a veteran and an all around badass, she’s no stranger to taking charge in chaotic situations.
Beyond that, she’s got a soft spot for the Ghost Born guys who served, Malachi especially.
Then again, it’s impossible not to adore the lovable oaf.
He didn’t used to be like he is now, but a traumatic brain injury, coupled with nearly being blown up, has a way of changing a man.
So the look she fixes on me packs as much lethal intensity as any commanding officer I ever had possessed. . It’s no exaggeration to say I’ve been in front of my fair share of pissed off COs during my days in the military. Thyrie has my respect just as much as any of them did.
It’s common knowledge, once Malachi finished his rehabilitation after his final mission left him at death’s door, I walked away from my commission as soon as it was legal.
Yes, it required a lot of pulled strings and dirty deals for me to be reassigned as his personal physician after years of being a field doctor.
In the deal, I’d signed away several years of my life to the same shadow op organization as Shaw and Konrad, the founders of our mother Charter.
It was worth it, and I’ll be damned if some random punks will undo everything I sacrificed.
“What do we know?” Hyram asks. He knows I’ll be judicious with the information I relay. As private as this space is, we’re still in a fairly public place. There’s no evidence to indicate this attack has anything to do with the club, and I let him know it appears to be random.
Thyrie’s eyes sharpen on me when I tell them about the witness, who says she got a good enough look to identify the men who hurt Malachi.
They’re both impressed to learn she arrived with him, unwilling to abandon our brother while he was injured.
Her expression turns shrewd as she looks around as though she can spot the witness in the sparse clumps of people occupying the waiting room behind us.
“I’ll want to talk to her,” Thyrie says, and I can’t suppress a snort at her demand. Hyram may be the prez of our chapter, but Thyrie’s the bossiest of anyone I know.
“What about cops? How much do they know? I’m assuming it was reported,” Hyram adds.
“Do we have anything to worry about?” I ask.
I know if we do he won’t go into it, not here and possibly not with me at all.
I’m a part of Ghost Born, patched in and everything, but I’m no officer in the club.
I don’t call any shots. My role is mostly to show up and sew up the guys when things get a little too rough.
“Nothing specific,” Hyram says cryptically.
The curiosity that makes me a good doctor pricks at me.
I want to know the non-specifics he’s withholding.
Because I’m sure as shit there must be some.
Protective instincts rise to battle with my vow to do no harm because I won’t let this club be the reason Malachi has a setback in his TBI recovery.
He’s a grown man and can make his own decisions, but everyone knows better than to put him in a position to suffer more.
I won’t be rational about the guy. Not when he’s both my patient and my responsibility of sorts.
“Shaw’s on the way,” I state simply. It’s all the threat I need to make. While I’m not in the club’s hierarchy the way the others are, I know damn well Shaw will make sure nothing Hyram did caused this shit.
“I think you both should take a deep breath and focus on what Malachi needs. Less dick measuring, especially between brothers,” Thyrie interjects.
She’s not wrong. Of all the things I want to do right now, fucking around with the two of them doesn’t even make the list. I’ve been on shift for damn near fifteen hours at this point, and it’s well past the time I should have been able to leave.
Not that I’ll even think about leaving until Malachi’s out of surgery and doing well in recovery. Maybe not even then.
And that’s to say nothing for the bone-deep compulsion urging me to get back in the room with Tegan Farris to learn everything I can about the incongruities I’ve already noticed. There’s something about her I can’t look away from. Some pull I’m unable to ignore and unwilling to let pass by.
“Fine. Follow me. But keep your voices down and don’t make me look bad,” I grouse.
“Oh,” I add. “And don’t freak out the witness. She’s already had a terrifying night, and she stuck around to help. Her showing up and stepping in likely saved Malachi’s life. So be gentle with her.”
I don’t wait to hear how my lecture lands, turning and walking through the double doors deeper into the emergency department. I’ll pay for being an asshole to my prez and his old lady later, but fuck it, something tells me Tegan Farris is worth it.