Chapter Four
CHAPTER FOUR
MCKINSEY
D raven looks like shit.
Shit that’s been trampled over by a herd of cattle, sliced to bits by a tractor blade, and flung through the air only to plunge back down onto the earth in a blood spatter pattern that would give even Dexter a run for his money.
It does nothing to stop my pussy from clenching at the sight of him.
I’ve never seen him appear so out of sorts. I mean, it’s not like I’m overly familiar with him. But the anger etched on his features currently… It’s like I’m looking at someone I’ve never met. Like there is a beast residing inside of him I’ve never seen come out before.
I thought I had a much better read on people. But this isn’t the first time the MC has made me question everything I thought I knew about myself.
When Royce called me this morning and added picking up convicts at the police station to my list of duties to perform for the club, I told him to go fuck himself.
Well, okay. Maybe in not so many words, but I made it known that I’m not his errand girl.
He did not take that well. Luckily, Delilah grabbed the phone as he started berating me, and she was able to diffuse his anger. Once Royce calmed down, she got on the line and explained the situation to me. I agreed, for her sake, but also because I was a little scared for my life if I didn’t comply.
I’d be lying if I told you I wasn’t nervous that this is actually a setup to get rid of me. My suspicion is outlandish, I’m quite aware of that, but a task such as this one is not part of their usual playbook, and it has me on edge.
Maybe I made the club angry somewhere along the way? Maybe they decided after all this time that I knew too much?
To be clear, I know the bare minimum about the club. Only those minute details that were imperative to learn in order to aid in Harleigh’s and Delilah’s progress.
Now here I am, standing in front of a man I barely know, who I would never voluntarily choose to help. With his pinched eyebrows lowered, he shakes his head at the sight of me.
“What the hell are you doing here?” His question almost makes me laugh, as though I’m the one who spent the night in the drunk tank.
“Royce sent me to get you.”
Trust me, this is the last place I want to be right now.
Draven’s brown hair blows in the breeze, tickling his ears, as I watch him take another drag of his cigarette. His peach-colored lips quirk, causing a flutter of something inside me that I refuse to acknowledge. Smoke billows from his nose as he exhales, and I move out of its path.
His tongue darts between his lips as he assesses me, swaying on his feet, before finally speaking.
“Now why would he do that?”
“Once you’ve put that out and we’re in my car, I’ll explain everything.”
An amused smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, his eyes locked on mine as he takes another drag.
This isn’t going to go over well at all. What if he refuses? Am I just supposed to manhandle this guy into my car? I never should have agreed to this. Whatever. I can only do so much. If he doesn’t listen to me, I’ll just get in my car and call Royce. Tell him to come get Draven and deal with this bullshit himself. I should have stuck to my guns and refused in the first place.
Draven throws down the butt of the cigarette, stomping it beneath his boot, then moves closer to me. His proximity makes my pulse spike, but I keep my head high and refuse to cower away from him. He looks me up and down for a brief moment before speaking again.
“After you, Doc.” Winking, he waves his hand toward the sidewalk behind me before putting his sunglasses back into place.
Ignoring the weakness in my knees, I close my eyes. Knowing I’m getting myself further entangled with these men, I take a deep breath and lead him to my car.
As we’re pulling out of the parking lot, I feel his gaze on me.
Tapping my fingers on my steering wheel, I wait for him to say something snarky to me. But he remains quiet.
“Are you hurt?” I side-eye him from the driver’s seat, zeroing in on a jagged cut in his jeans. “Do you require medical attention?”
He laughs faintly.
“Nah.” He relaxes back into his seat. “’Tis a flesh wound.”
He laughs a little harder this time, clearly amused that he can quote an old movie. I’m glad I won’t have to play nurse to him in addition to therapist.
“So are you like … my babysitter?” he asks after several minutes of quiet.
“Not even close. Taking care of grown men who should know better than to behave like idiots isn’t in my job description.” He exhales a quick rush of air through his nose. “To paraphrase your boss, Royce thought it was in your best interest if he wasn’t the one to retrieve you from the police station this morning.”
Draven laughs, humorlessly, beside me. “I bet he did.”
“Royce, as well as Delilah, are worried about y?—”
“Ha! Delilah, I’d believe. But Royce knows better. He knows me.”
“What does that mean?” My focus shifts briefly from the road to him.
“It means … Royce knows better than to worry about me. He knows what I’m made of.” The pitch of his voice starts out loud but gradually reduces to a gravelly, first-thing-in-the-morning grumble.
Or a masculine, just after sex, bedroom purr.
Quickly shoving that staggering thought from my mind, I look at him again. I can only see a sliver of his face as he looks out the window. As he looks anywhere but at me.
Oftentimes, that’s a sign of shame. Of denial. Even through his sunglasses, from the set of his jaw, I can tell he’s hurting. People don’t act the way Delilah described his behavior—apathetic, destructive, despondent—unless there is a deep-rooted emotional reason behind it.
I open my mouth to explain more about the call between Royce, Delilah, and myself this morning, but decide against it. It won’t take long to get to my house. And with it being Saturday, I don’t have any other patients. There will be plenty of time to talk without interruption then.
When I make a left at the next stop sign, Draven’s head whips toward me.
“Hey, where the hell are we going?” Wincing, his body tenses in his seat, and he looks around as though he’s not familiar with his surroundings. “The clubhouse is the other way.”
Sighing, I answer him. “Back to my house.”
“Why?” He doesn’t mask the sharp edge in his voice, letting his anger be known.
“I’ll explain everything when we get there.”
I don’t know what I expected from him.
Yelling? Complaining? Attempting to jump out of my car?
Instead, he blows out a frustrated breath, folds his arms, and throws his head back against the seat’s headrest.
I’m not any happier about this than you are, buddy.
I wish I could say it out loud to him, but it goes against everything I believe in when it comes to treating patients, no matter who they are.
Regardless of whether I’m being forced into helping them or not.
* * *
Draven’s head swivels left and right, slowly assessing my house as we enter the foyer.
His face gives nothing away, so I can’t tell what he’s thinking. Not that I care what his opinion of my personal space is. Though I do wonder if he’s comparing it to his own. My house isn’t anything to balk at. Its original features have been kept in pristine condition through the years. But the MC has a gorgeous clubhouse on a ton of land. It boasts high ceilings and was built with beautiful stone and wood. It wasn’t what I expected at all when I was first made aware of the MC. I’d half expected them to live in a dingy, old garage somewhere.
“I’m going to go brew a pot of coffee. Do you want some?” Taking my shoes off, I place them on the floor next to the front door.
“Sure.” I hear his voice behind me.
Turning back to him, I point to the door on the right side of the entryway.
“My office is through there. Make yourself comfortable, and I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”
I don’t wait for his response before walking through my dining room and into my kitchen. Opening the coffee, I'm relieved to get a little space from him. His presence here has my nerves working in overdrive. I add water to the reservoir, and the moment I press brew , I hear the floor squeak behind me.
Whipping my body around so quickly I lose my balance and begin to topple over. I grab onto the back of a kitchen chair to catch myself at the same moment that Draven leaps forward, grabbing me by my hips to hold me in place. As unsteady on his feet as he was back at the police station, his lithe movements surprise me just as much as his sudden appearance did.
Tilting my head up, my eyes zero in on his. My heart beats rapidly against my ribcage as my chest heaves from the fright.
It’s fright, right?
We both freeze, gazes locked onto one another for longer than is comfortable before I’m finally able to move again.
“What are you doing in here?” I bark at him, forcing his grip from my body before the heat from his hands seeps deeper into my skin. I ignore every thought and feeling his touch roused in me as my hand lands on my chest. “I told you to wait in my office. You scared the shit out of me.”
His eyebrows shoot into his hairline. He holds his hands steady before him as he takes a careful step away from me.
“I don’t like people waiting on me. I was just coming in to see if you needed any help.”
I swallow, trying to lubricate my dry throat while still breathing heavily as I take in his form. That’s when I notice he isn’t wearing any shoes.
Why isn’t he wearing any shoes?
“What happened to your boots?”
He gapes at me like I’ve lost it, changing subjects so quickly and asking him something so seemingly random. But to me, it’s not random. To me, I’m wondering if my fear of this being a setup has come true. If he’s removed his shoes in an effort to reduce the amount of evidence in my home.
“Uh…I saw you take your shoes off at the door, so I followed your lead out of respect for your space. Jesus, sorry. It won’t happen again.” He rolls his eyes, his tone brash and defensive.
What?
That’s actually … thoughtful. And nice.
My trust issues are beginning to get out of hand.
“Oh.” The muscle between my eyebrows constrict as a feeling of stupidity hits me.
I feel bad for jumping down his throat. God, I need to get it together. Shaking my head slightly, I curl my hair behind my ears and try to settle down before I make myself look any more like a fool.
“You don’t have to do that, but thank you.”
He offers me a thin smile and starts back down the hallway.
“Uh … Draven,” His golden-honey eyes dark back to me. “How do you take your coffee? I’ll be happy to prepare it for you. Please don’t think of it as me waiting on you. I’m just not used to having people in my personal space.”
“Black is fine, thanks.”
I nod, turning away from him to grip the edge of my countertop. Why did I tell him that? I’m never, ever one to just blurt out unsolicited facts about myself. It must be nerves.
Get it together, McK.
This is part of the reason I don’t want to work with the MC. They set me on edge from the second I enter their presence to the moment I leave it. I feel like I have to walk on eggshells around them, constantly in fear that I’m going to do or say something—or not do or say something—to get myself whacked.
Does the MC even call it that?
It doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t feel like I can’t relax in my own home.
Although thinking about it, I guess I should feel safer being here rather than at their compound. Completely out of my element and miles from anyone who could save me if they suddenly decide they no longer need me.
I’ve put my trust and faith in Delilah being on my side. That the work I’ve done with her will keep me in their favor. But if I really think about it, I suppose she has the power to determine my fate just as much as Royce does.
Trying my best to push my fears from my mind, I wait for the coffee to finish brewing before pouring two mugs full and returning to the front of the house. The door to my office is open when I get there, and I find Draven sitting on the sofa across from my chair.
He’s relaxed into the end of it with one foot propped up on the edge of the table in front of him, his knee bent and leaning to the side. His elbow rests on the arm, and he appears deep in thought as he fingers the dark, five o’clock shadow on his chin.
“Here you go.” I grab his attention as I hand him his coffee.
“Thanks.”
I place my own mug on the table before dropping the file I got on him from the police station onto my desk. Then I grab a pad of paper and a pen before taking a seat across from him.
“Now,” I clear my throat, nervous to get this conversation started. “Let’s talk a little bit about why you’re here.”