Chapter 5
FIVE
Levi
I cataloged Doc. The problem was how automatic it felt, as if my brain had decided he mattered before I’d had a say in it.
Dark hair, dark eyes. Jeans, a T-shirt, a gun in a holster under a thin jacket, a knife hidden somewhere close, and a bulge at his sleeve that said there was more steel on him than he let show.
The footage from the warehouse hadn’t done him justice.
Doc, as everyone called him—real name unknown—had the kind of beauty that made my stomach drop before my brain caught up.
His hair fell in an untidy sweep that flirted with a curl at the ends, soft enough to look touchable.
His mouth was wrong on a man like him—unsettlingly beautiful—full lower lip, thin upper, a contradiction that made me stare, although I shouldn’t.
His nose was straight, and a thin scar cut through his right eyebrow, giving his expression a permanent, dangerous hitch. And his dark gaze was fixed on me.
He was calm, dangerous, and sure of who he was, and the fact that I noticed—really noticed—set my teeth on edge.
Enzo had called Doc an asshole, then grudgingly admitted he respected him for saving Robbie’s life.
Jamie flicked his lighter at the mention of his name, that small click sounding like a threat all on its own.
Rio stayed silent—too silent—his jaw tight, muttering about owing Doc a favor and warning of some hell he assumed Doc would visit on Redcars.
Robbie was grateful, he said, but still squirming over something the two of them had discussed about sex, although he’d brightened when he said the talk had gotten Enzo’s head out of his ass.
Lyric claimed he’d been half-dead when Doc had helped him and didn’t remember a thing about the man.
The men of Redcars knew nothing that could help.
And me? I was left staring at scraps. No answers, no data from the Cave, just fragments from those who’d seen the man and still couldn’t agree on who the hell Doc really was or why he did what he did.
All the Cave knew—all I knew—was that Rio’s footage had him with Rourke, hands on the man while he was bleeding out, calm as hell. That, tied to his back-alley doctor routine, screamed criminal. It wasn’t proof, but it was enough to make every instinct I had light up like a warning flare.
The coroner suggested the other bodies went back years, but Doc couldn’t be more than thirty. Had he and his cleanup team used an old dumping ground he was aware of? What did he know about the other remains? What was his connection to the MC? Or the cartel?
He looked too damn young to be a doctor—too composed, too precise, like someone who’d learned to control himself long before he should have needed to.
I wasn’t sure if it was curiosity or fear that had me watching Doc so closely.
His stillness didn’t make sense. He talked about Red, and his hands never shook, but this man wasn’t normal.
The way he spoke, the precision, that faint edge of amusement—it wasn’t right.
He could easily give us the names of his cleaners and walk out of this whole mess clean, but he didn’t. Not a hint, not a crumb. He was hiding someone and protecting something, or waiting for us to look in the wrong direction while he handled the real problem elsewhere.
“So, as much fun as this has been, Detective Rosen, I have things to do,” He collected his bag and yanked the door open, to be met by the brick wall that was Rio, backed up by a snarling Enzo, and behind them both, Robbie peering around the two bigger men.
Doc sighed. He reached under his sleeve with a smooth, practiced motion and let his hand fall open, revealing a hypodermic tucked there.
“I’ve got a fast-acting sedative,” he said, voice flat as he stared at Rio.
“It’ll take even your huge ass down, Villareal.
And as for you, Enzo,”—he turned his focus to the big man—“in less time than you can blink, you’ll be cradling Robbie’s cold body on the ground. ”
Enzo’s growl rumbled up from his chest, low and dangerous, and he took a hard step forward, shoulders bunched, eyes locked on Doc as if he were about to tear him apart. Rio was rigid, every muscle tightening.
“So much as breathe near Robbie, and I’ll end you right here,” Enzo snapped, stepping closer with a crowbar, scraping the wall, crowding Rio, fists clenched.
I pushed into the space between Doc and them with a shoulder and a look that said we weren’t starting a brawl, and no one was dying or getting sedated on my watch. Enzo would kill anyone who came anywhere near Robbie, and Rio would back him up.
Thank fuck Jamie wasn’t here, otherwise Doc would’ve been a human torch.
“Stand down,” I barked. “Not here.”
Enzo glared past me, jaw tight, burning with fury. Doc didn’t flinch, the syringe still steady in his palm.
“Jamie is hacking everything to pin this fucker down,” Enzo snarled. “He won’t have the upper hand for long.” Then he stared at Doc. “I’ll tear you apart.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Doc said. “Robbie will always be your weak spot.”
Enzo narrowed his gaze. “Nah, Doc, he’s the one who makes me strong.”
Doc considered Enzo carefully, and I was there to stop whatever happened next—no one got near Robbie, or threatened Robbie, without Enzo losing his shit.
Then the tension was thick, but Doc huffed a laugh as he flicked his wrist, a casual motion that exposed the needle to closer scrutiny, and held his wrist close to my face, his dark gaze fixed solely on me.
I’d moved before any of the others could.
Not for bravado—because moving was what I did—but to put myself between that needle and the three people who weren’t supposed to be in whatever the fuck standoff this was.
I nudged the door shut with my shoulder, the metal thunking into place, sealing the room from the others so it was just Doc and me.
He didn’t lower his hand, and I fought the instinct to point my gun at him.
I kept my hands where they’d be helpful—one near my holster, the other free to close the distance in an instant.
“Give me the names of your cleaners, and I’ll let you go for now.”
“Cute that you think you can keep me here,” he deadpanned, and his eyes met mine, serene and cold.
No flinching. He let the syringe glint under the light, then relaxed his grip, folding his fingers and disengaging the mechanism.
He crowded me, closing the distance, and when he reached me, his hand came up—not fast, not a grab, but a deliberate movement that made my pulse kick.
There was no hesitation, no warning, as his fingers brushed the underside of my chin, tilting my face toward him, then sliding to rest on my lip.
I shook him off with a sharp twist of my head. He tutted.
He fucking tutted!
“Some people are liabilities,” he murmured.
For half a second, I was sure he meant me. “What the fuck does that mean?”
“Not you.” Doc raised an eyebrow. “But whatever happened to my patient, I’ll deal with it.”
The air between us was charged, a shiver crawling over my skin.
His gaze locked on mine, then flicked downward, lingering too long where it shouldn’t.
The distance between us was inches, right into my space, close enough I could feel the warmth radiating from him.
He dipped his head, slow, deliberate—and fuck, was he sniffing me?
I cataloged the twitch in his jaw, the calm pulse at his throat. Dangerous didn’t cover it.
“So pretty,” Doc murmured, and I stiffened as something pressed into my side—a knife?
A syringe? A gun? I couldn’t tell, and that uncertainty crawled under my skin like electricity.
I was rigid—not out of fear, but out of instinct, every nerve keyed up, ready.
But beneath the tension, something darker pulsed.
Not terror. Not a threat. Something else. I inhaled the scent of him, because…
I don’t know why…
Jesus Christ. I was getting hard. His gaze stayed on me too long, unblinking, analytical, and it made my pulse jump for all the wrong reasons.
There was nothing gentle about it—his stare dissected, studied, and owned.
It wasn’t tenderness, it was curiosity, a predator’s kind of fascination that crawled under my skin and left my thoughts tangled.
I hated the way my body reacted, the heat that rose despite the danger; every instinct screamed to back off, but I couldn’t look away.
He leaned in until his breath ghosted over my skin.
“Goodbye, Detective,” he murmured, and a warmth in his voice made my thoughts whirl.
My hand twitched toward my gun, but my mind wasn’t catching up.
I wasn’t scared. I was fascinated and maybe tempted.
“I’m leaving now. So, you’ll need to call your guard dogs off.
” He reached past me to open the door, and I stepped aside to let him.
No sign of Robbie now, but Enzo still held the crowbar, and Rio wielded a wrench.
I sidled past him, blocking Doc’s path for a second. Enzo wasn’t ready to stand down yet, muscles tight and fury radiating from him. “Remember what I said,” Enzo warned Doc, voice low.
“Blah blah don’t touch Robbie blah blah die,” Doc murmured.
“Let him leave,” I said. Doc waited until Enzo and Rio stepped aside, then reached the top of the stairs. A bristling Enzo went to move after him to do whatever the hell Enzo did to anyone who mentioned Robbie’s name. I placed a hand on Enzo’s arm. “It’s okay.”
Enzo growled again, and we watched as Doc descended the stairs and stalked through the garage to the open bay doors.
I held up a hand to forestall arguments from the two men, as Enzo opened the bathroom door, tugging Robbie out and holding him close. Then I tapped my ear, and Caleb was responding instantly.
“Tell me you got all of that.”
“Yep.”
“Tell me you’re tracking him now.”
“Facial rec, yep.”