Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
SHORT
Glancing at the clock on the wall, I find I’ve spent far longer with the computer geeks than I expected.
It’s almost time for my next bandage change, so I expect my visitor to be Bronwyn.
Walking along the corridor that takes me to the clubroom, I remind myself to play it cool.
Bullseye had made it clear. Whatever’s going on between her and her dad is their business, and not mine.
My loyalty is to the club, not to her. I can’t take the risk that another brother might be hurt, and we’d have no medic on call.
As I approach the doorway, I’m hoping Bronwyn will be as eager as I am to keep things professional and forget the words I’d spoken this morning.
But it’s not the petite nurse who’s waiting for me in the clubroom. It’s the man himself, Dr. Maximilian Custer.
Has Bronwyn told him she doesn’t want to treat me anymore? Or has Bullseye already spoken to him, as he said he would? There doesn’t seem to be any hint of anger on Doc’s face, so perhaps I’m still in the clear.
“No Bronwyn tonight?” I innocently ask, as I close the gap between us.
His eyes sharpen. “You prefer my daughter to treat you?”
Fuck yeah, she’s prettier for a start. Sensibly, I keep that thought to myself. Instead, I reply with a shrug. “Just thought it would be her swapping my bandages out.”
Ignoring one of said bandages is right on my chest, his finger suddenly shoots out, probing the exact spot that makes me gasp.
“I’ve seen the way you look at my girl. Don’t think I’ve missed you carrying the bags like a schoolboy, relieving the crush of her burden.
Don’t you be thinking about making a move on her, because she’s not for the likes of a biker scumbag like you. ”
While I’d have preferred to have her gentle hands on me, my mind thinks fast. If Bullseye hasn’t spoken to Doc yet, maybe I can handle that task for him. If I make Doc suspect I’ve a carnal interest in the fruit of his loins, perhaps he’ll do his best to keep us apart. But I can’t be too obvious.
“Biker scum?” I raise my brow. “Pretty sure our money’s as good as anyone else’s.”
“It’s my medical skills you pay me for,” he hisses. “Not the services of my daughter.”
“She is a pretty young thing.” I smirk.
“Too good for you,” he retorts. His finger stabs me again. He might not be applying much pressure, but fuck, in my current state, that hurts.
It doesn’t stop me from poking the bear. “She’s an adult. She can make her own choices.”
“Not while she depends on me, she can’t. You keep your filthy hands far away from her.”
His reddened face and quickened breathing suggest I’ve gone too far, but still, I continue. “I think that’s up to her.”
“Get this in your stupid biker’s head. It’s what I say that matters. You don’t talk about her, think about her, let alone see her. And from now on, you can change your dressings yourself.”
“Whoa.” I hadn’t noticed Prez had entered the room. “What’s going on here?” His eyes narrow and fix on Doc. “Did I hear you say you're rescinding your services to the club?” Wriggling his finger in his ear, he adds, “Or is something wrong with my hearing?”
Doc’s eyes widen, his mouth falls open, then he recovers and puffs out his chest. “I meant my daughter won’t be attending to Short anymore.” Giving me a snide look, he continues, “It seems he can’t be trusted around her.”
“Short?” Bullseye barks, then gives a loud chuckle.
“Short’s a fuckin’ gentleman, not like some of the others I could mention in this club.
” As he pauses and looks around him, I see quite a crowd has gathered.
Words, Genie, Freak, Tempest, and Rattler are all looking rapt.
Not to mention the prospects, Heathen and Knight, are hanging on his every word.
Doc notices, and from the way his nose is wrinkled as if he smells a bad odour, it seems they, too, meet the definition of biker scum he applied to me.
And as if to add insult to injury, a scantily clad Heaven and Star appear.
Star, breasts all but exposed, approaches Freak and drapes herself around him.
Absently, the enforcer wraps his arm around her, his hand finding one of her ample tits, and starts fondling.
Doc pulls himself up straight and announces, “Bronwyn won’t be coming here again.”
That’s the result I wanted – Bronwyn having the freedom to continue her studies, complete her education, and gain the work experience, to become a qualified registered nurse.
I don’t expect to feel disappointment at the thought that our paths are unlikely to cross in the future.
The depth of that feeling surprises me. I tell myself, it’s only because I think she needs someone she could unload on, a friend who could understand.
A part of me is furious, not only on my behalf, but on that of my brothers as well.
What does Doc really think of us? What have we done to deserve his low opinion?
However we may seem to outsiders, we don’t force ourselves on women who don’t want what we’re offering.
Why should we go somewhere we’re not invited when we’ve got four club whores who’d satisfy any urge we might have?
Why should Doc take the moral ground when it’s he who’s put his hands where they’re not wanted? Something I’ve witnessed with my own eyes when he treated Pippa. And he’s the one who’s not allowed to practice anymore. Who’s really the scum?
Bullseye’s giving no ground, his eyes focused again on Doc’s.
“So,” he starts, casually. “Are you going to be attending to Short or not? Or have we just saved ourselves the fuckton of money we pay for your medical services? I seem to remember it’s you who receives our dollars.
We didn’t pay for an unqualified nurse.” He tilts his head as if interested in the answer, as everyone else, including me, holds a collective breath.
Having an on-call medic who needs our patronage, just as much as we need his services, is worth pure gold.
Fuck. I can read hatred in the narrow-eyed expression Doc throws me.
Right now, I don’t want him anywhere near my wounds.
But the conundrum is that I don't want to return to the hospital, where more questions could be asked. My injuries, obviously, weren’t actually accidentally self-inflicted, and that weak explanation wouldn’t stand up to too much scrutiny. Neither do I want an infection.
“I’m your doctor,” he says at last through gritted teeth. “Short, if you go to your room, I’ll change your dressings now.”
Bullseye looks around, spies Trixie, who’s just appeared.
He calls out, “Hey, Trix? Can you accompany Short and Doc to observe?” Thank fuck Prez is smart enough not to leave me alone with him.
I’d trust Doc not to make my injuries worse as far as I could throw him, and in my current state, that would be measured in inches.
Prez hasn’t finished. “Maybe we can come to some compromise, Doc. Trixie might be able to change his bandages herself, if you show her what needs doing?”
His eyes grow cunning. “As long as you pay me what I’m owed, I don’t care if you want a whore to treat him.”
And I’d prefer not to have botulism or whatever rubbed into my wounds instead of antiseptic.
I’ll take Trix any day over him. She’s actually a good choice.
She’s proved she’s more than just a club girl when she stepped up to support Pippa and helped her whip the other girls into shape.
I’ve actually no doubt that if a task is explained to her, she’d have no trouble carrying it out.
Inwardly, I sigh with relief that Prez suggested it.
I might be a big bastard, but I’m actually nervous about being alone with Doc.
“He still needs medical attention.”
Prez shoots Doc down. “Yet you were quite happy having an unqualified nurse attending him. I’m sure Trixie will do just as well.
” It’s a statement, not a question. “You come when he needs your expert assessment, and Trixie can help in the meantime. Short, take Doc to your room, and Trix, you go with them.”
Leaving Doc with no other option if he wants to keep the retainer, his only source of income as far as I know, I head past him. I make my way up the stairs, trying to walk steadily with no sign of limping when in truth my leg’s killing me.
I almost laugh at the comfort Trixie's following behind gives me. She’s club property, along with the other sweet butts and Pippa, of course, and us brothers are sworn to protect them.
But under these circumstances, she’s protecting me.
I doubt Doc’s going to be gentle, but at least there will be a witness to any actual harm he does.
I’m right. The old bandages are ripped away and removed none too gently, and his hands are heavy and rough when he applies the new ones to my skin. But I am surprised when he offers me a tube to blow into, and then reads off the result.
“Your output is so poor, I’d guess your right lung is only working at twenty-five percent capacity,” he tells me. His manner changes, and he looks like the competent medic he’s supposed to be. “It could improve, but it looks like you’ll have continuing limited function.”
Forgetting my beef with him, I ask anxiously, “But I’ll be one hundred percent when I heal?”
His head shakes. “You’ll have scar tissue. When you’re healed, exercise may help, but your lungs will likely never work at full capacity again. You’ll have to learn to compensate.”
I’m not even sure what that means, but I’m determined to beat the odds and be as strong and fit as I used to be.
Trixie’s been silent, observing, but now her soft voice chimes in. “So, in the morning, I change his dressings, just like you’ve shown me?”