8. Morgan
MORGAN
“Oh good, you’re awake.”
I blink a couple of times to clear my vision, then jump at the stranger staring back at me, way too close. And oh my god, fucking ouch!
“Easy.” His hand on my shoulder gently pushes me back until I’m horizontal again. “You don’t want to pull your stitches out.”
“Stitches?” It comes out sounding more like sttchhs . My mouth is dry and gross and I feel spacey. As weird as it sounds, I feel a little... high? It’s been a while since I smoked anything like that, but I recognise the aftereffects.
The guy peering down at me straightens. His dark eyes narrow as he studies me, but they’ve got a kindness to them that sets me at ease.
“You’ve got stitches across your back and thighs and considerably more across your stomach.
They can come out in about a week to ten days, hopefully, but until then you need to be careful moving about. ”
“What?”
I don’t understand.
I mean I get what he’s saying, but what the fuck? I lift my head to try and look down at myself but woah . A wave of nausea hits me so hard I screw my eyes shut and swallow back the sudden urge to throw up. It takes several shallow breaths before I dare open my eyes again.
“Oh, and you’ve also got a concussion.” The guy—maybe a doctor?—smiles down at me, and wow, it’s a killer, and also kind of familiar but I can’t place how. “I’m Corey, by the way.”
Weird way to introduce himself if he is a doctor. Keeping my head as still as possible, I glance around at the room I’m in. Definitely not a hospital, but the white walls and sterile setting screams some sort of medical facility.
Where the fuck am I?
My heart rate kicks up, the high I woke up with quickly being chased away by the adrenaline flooding my system. Sweat prickles my skin, fear building as I try and remember what happened to put me here. Wherever the fuck here is?
“Morgan,” Corey says softly, and my eyes snap up to meet his. “Do you remember what happened?”
“No.” The answer spills out of me, and it occurs to me then that maybe I should’ve lied. I have no idea who did this to me or if Corey is a good guy or not.
Jesus, Morgan, you’ve watched too many true crime documentaries. Not everyone’s a serial killer.
There’s a tingle at the back of my mind, a feeling that something bad happened, but the more I reach for that memory, the more it skitters away.
Fuck.
“Where am I?” Maybe that’ll help or at least give me somewhere to start.
“At the Wild Wolves’ compound. We found you in the woods, you were almost dead.”
It takes a moment for his words to sink in. To make any kind of sense. “Wild Wolves?”
He nods. “Do you remember coming here yesterday?”
“Yes.” The memory surfaces as I answer. And really, if I was going to forget anything, why couldn’t it be that humiliating experience? I groan and close my eyes, wishing the bed would swallow me whole. I wonder if Corey was there when I made an absolute tit of myself.
Footsteps sound, then voices too low for me to make out words.
“Do you remember anything after that?” That voice... fuck me , it’s as sexy as ever. But now I know firsthand the wanker it’s attached to. Still sends a shiver through me, even as I scowl.
I snap my eyes open, refusing to react at the fucking unfair hotness that is Lynx Harper. He’s wearing a T-shirt this time, which is a shame. He might be a dick, but he’s still nice to look at. His T-shirt is plain black, like his soul, and unfairly makes his eyes seem that much bluer.
“Morgan?” It’s like a whip cracking and I startle again, enough to pull the stitches that feel like they’re everywhere .
I glance up to meet eyes full of nothing but cold impatience, and rage chases away the pain and any lingering embarrassment.
Fuck him.
“No. After your less than friendly welcome, I left and...”
Forest .
Sleeping bag.
Memories pop into my head like snapshots.
I went into the forest to camp.
I remember the midnight sky, the stars. A sigh escapes as I remember lying there feeling like shit. Of course I remember that part too.
Breath on my face.
My pulse races.
Smells like blood.
“Morgan? Do you remember who did this to you?”
Wolves. No , men.
Oh god. I shake my head. That can’t be... no. He said I had a concussion, right? Must’ve hit my head pretty fucking hard, because there’s no way I’m remembering that right.
But there are rumours . . .
And who the fuck would believe me? Not the members of the same MC that laughed in my face, that’s for sure. Yeah, no way am I giving them more entertainment.
“Nope.” I meet Lynx’s eyes again and lie to his face. “That’s all I remember.”
He stares at me for long enough that it gets awkward. I know he doesn’t believe me, can tell by his eyes. But tough shit, I’ve got nothing else to say to him.
Unfortunately for me, I can’t escape because I’m stuck in this bed. Which reminds me. “Why didn’t you take me to a hospital.” I direct my question to Corey, the more reasonable of the two of them. And maybe because I feel like being petty.
He glances at Lynx, and yeah, that’s not suspicious at all. Unease settles in the pit of my stomach. Ash’s words coming back to me. They’re criminals, Morgan. Who the fuck knows how they make their money.
“You were attacked. We couldn’t risk taking you to the hospital and have the police getting involved.” He gives me a pointed look, and even though I know I should, I can’t keep my stupid mouth shut.
“So you thought you’d risk me dying instead.
” I was almost dead when they found me, that’s what Corey said.
Maybe they were hoping nature would take its course?
“Why didn’t you just leave me in the forest?
” It’s not what I was going to ask, but the minute the words are out there, I know it crossed their minds. I can see it in Lynx’s eyes.
He shrugs. “Thought about it.”
Oh wow, not even bothering to deny it. Unease rears its head again.
“You were too near our territory, same risk if your body was found.”
I stare at him, too stunned to speak. If my body was found? I don’t think I’ve ever felt so inconsequential. He’s standing there talking about me dying like he’s discussing the fucking weather.
He doesn’t give a shit that I almost lost my life .
I feel sick.
Bile rapidly rises up my throat, and it’s nothing to do with my concussion this time. I haven’t a hope of stopping it either, but Corey’s there with a bowl as I turn to the side and heave.
I expect Harper to fuck off at the sight of me being sick, but he’s still there when I lie back with a groan.
Wonderful.
Corey lets me have a small sip of water and then backs off.
“Are you at least a doctor?” I close my eyes. I feel drained suddenly, tired down to my bones. I want to go to sleep and pretend none of this is happening. That it’s all some weird fever dream and I’ll wake up in Ash’s spare pullout bed on the floor.
“Yes, I’m a doctor.”
It takes me too long to remember I asked a question. “Thank fuck for that.” The words are a little slurred. I want to ask something else, at least I think I do, but remembering what is way too much effort.
Everything’s too much effort.
“Wake him up, I’m not done.”
“He needs to rest.”
The conversation sounds faint, distant, but I’m with it enough to know they’re talking about me.
And that Lynx Harper is an arsehole. I wave a hand in what I think is his direction.
“Don’t care if you’re hot,” I jab my finger in the air.
“Still a cunt.” Choked off laughter is the last thing I hear before I sink into glorious blackness.
“Stop glaring like that, you’ll terrify the poor fucker.”
I don’t recognise the voice that rouses me from sleep, and the words only register as I’m opening my eyes.
Jesus Christ.
I’m met with the cold, hard stare of who I think is Pierce Blackwell.
He’s been in the shop where Ash and I work a couple of times, and his isn’t a face you forget.
At first glance he’s tall, dark and handsome in that bad-boy way, but those eyes.
.. man . They’re green like a cat’s, but there’s something in that stare of his that chills you to the fucking bone.
And yep, being his sole focus is terrifying.
“ Jet ,” the other guy hisses, and I turn my head to find Flint Harrison sat at the other side of my bed.
Wow, I’m getting all the inner circle visiting me today. Pretty sure that’s not a good thing and I’m starting to wish I was still asleep.
Flint lifts something he’s holding and waves it in front of my face.
My phone.
I go to take it, but he lifts it out of reach. “Can I have it?”
He grimaces. “Here’s the thing, Morgan.” He taps the screen and turns it so I can see. There’s a ton of missed calls and texts from Ash.
Oh shit.
He’s gonna kill me. I reach for it again, scowling. “I need to let him know I’m okay.”
“In a sec.” Flint sets it in his lap and I grit my teeth in frustration. “First we need to go over what you’re going to say.”
“What?”
Jet scoffs like I’m the stupidest person to ever live. I turn to give him a piece of my mind, but the words die on my tongue when I’m met with that glare again.
Nope.
Still terrifying.
“He knows you’re here, and he’s threatening to come to the compound if you don’t tell him you’re okay,” Flint says, and I turn to face him again.
“Which isn’t ideal.” He gestures down the length of my body under the sheets.
“We sent him a brief text, from you, saying you were okay, but apparently that’s not enough.
So, we need you to call him and tell him that you’re fine. ”
I sigh and rub my temple, the slow throb of a headache making itself known. “He’ll want to know why I’m still here if I tell him you said no to me joining.”
“Then lie.” Flint shrugs, like the answer’s obvious.