Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
brONWYN
Ishouldn’t have come here. Shouldn’t have run away. I should have stayed. I’d protested, fought, got injured for my pains, but nothing else would have compelled him to stop what he was planning. I’d bought a reprieve, some time, but only hours, days at most, by sacrificing myself.
He’s never turned on me like this before. Sure, he’s used his fists, but never lost his temper so far as to leave marks anyone could spot. But I’d have let him kill me to prevent him from carrying out his threats. I never thought he’d sink so low.
If I’d have stayed, he might well have killed me.
I couldn’t take that risk. I’ve good reasons to live.
So, I’d run, and the only person I could think of heading to was Short.
The man who, over a month ago, had offered to be my friend.
As I drove up to the clubhouse, I wondered whether, after so much time had passed, whether that offer still stands.
“What the fuck, Bronwyn?” he asked. Then, without waiting for a response, he puts his hand to my back and leads me inside the Kings of Anarchy clubhouse.
Using his body, he shields me from prying eyes and takes me up the stairs, and to his room that I remember so well, from the time when it had been me nursing him.
Now the tables are turned. As if sensing I’m in no state to answer questions, he guides me into his bathroom, his large hands easily lifting me onto the counter.
After wetting a towel, he attempts to staunch the bleeding oozing from the wound on my forehead, the one that still seeps out from a cut to the side of my mouth, and from my nose.
When he sees the blood won’t stop flowing from the latter, he produces, of all things, tampons, which he inserts into my nostrils.
At my confused look, he raises one side of his mouth. “Brother’s spar, darlin’. I’ve often got a bloody nose.”
While he’s treating me, he doesn’t ask questions, as if he knows I’m in shock. But once he’s cleaned me up, as expected, his gloves come off.
“Who the fuck attacked you, Bron?” His tone is soft.
I knew this was coming, but I know I can’t tell him everything. My dad and my family depend on patronage from his club. My heart starts racing. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come here…”
“But you did,” he says softly. “You don’t deserve to be treated like this. Tell me, Bronwyn, how did you come to be hurt?”
I already know I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life by coming here. I hadn’t thought when I’d run. Both the attack and the reason for it had taken me by surprise. Now I’m faced with the only person who’d ever offered me sanctuary, and that’s so wrong, on many levels.
“I’m sorry,” I say again. “I just…” I can’t even explain myself. “I’ll go, Short. Thank you for taking care of me.”
He rears back in surprise. “Taking care of you? Fuck, Bron. I’ve done nothing but mop up your blood. Me looking after you is killing the fucker who dared lay his hands on you.”
I jerk back in surprise. “You can’t.”
“Wanna bet? Bron, I’m not letting you out of here until you give me a name.”
Oh shit. I’m in too deep. His intense stare signals I won’t get away with any half-truths.
And honestly, someone else knowing at least the part that I can tell is very compelling.
It’s also safe. I know his services mean too much to the club.
Short would never be allowed to kill him.
“It was my dad,” I admit. “He lost his temper.”
His eyes go wide. Seems my answer was unexpected. “Doc did this to you?”
The vehemence in his tone tells me the depth of the mistake I’ve made. I try to brush it off. “I shouldn’t have come to you. I don’t know why I did.” That much is the truth. Brushing myself down, I insert as much strength as I can into my voice. “Thank you for helping me. I’ve got to leave now.”
“You’re not going back home,” he growls.
“I’ve no choice,” I tell him, removing the tampons from my nose and taking the tissue he immediately hands to me. Blotting my nostrils gently, I’m relieved the bleeding has stopped. I go to jump down from the counter, but his massive hands come around my waist and stop me.
“You can’t go when you’ve still got blood running down your face.
” He loosens one hand and fumbles in the first-aid box, coming up with some adhesive medical strips, with which, using both of those massive paws surprisingly gently, he forms butterfly stitches to keep the edges of the wound on my forehead together.
As he cleans up the blood, fear rushes through me that the band aids will show I’ve been given assistance.
Then, I remember with an internal snort, I’m a nurse.
It won’t come as a surprise to anyone that I can doctor myself.
“What the fuck made Doc lash out at you?”
The direct question has my eyes open wide. His intense questioning gaze on mine makes me feel like a rabbit trapped in the headlights. I can’t tell him the truth. It would expose too many secrets. Shit that my family’s worked hard to keep hidden, and which I’m a part of, whether I like it or not.
The silence stretches on, and still I can’t come up with an answer he’d accept. Unwilling to lie, my head’s too fussy from the blows my father had struck to come up with a plausible explanation, I end up with a highly inadequate shrug.
Suddenly, he lurches away from me and brushes his fingers over the sides of his head.
“Oh fuck,” he breathes out as if an idea has come to him.
For a second, I stop breathing, wondering whether there’s any way he could have guessed.
He disavows me of that fear immediately, as he apologises profusely.
“I’m so fuckin’ sorry, Bron. I thought I was trying to help.
It’s because Bullseye told him we didn’t want you here, isn’t it?
I didn’t mean to get you in trouble when I suggested it. ”
“You didn’t want me here?” My voice squeaks.
I’m so damn stupid, believing a man like Short meant what he said when he offered to be my friend.
I try to think back to that last morning I was here, but my recollection of our exact conversation falls short.
It’s absolutely credible that I’d misunderstood him.
And I’ve been the stupid girl, thinking about Short, not brave enough, until tonight, to force a meeting, but hoping our paths would naturally cross.
That they hadn’t was down to him making it clear that neither he nor the club wanted me anywhere near.
I knew I shouldn’t have come here tonight. My face flushes red with embarrassment.
His hand grasps my chin, forcing me to look at him.
“Fuck, no, Bron. It isn’t like that. You were running yourself ragged coming here to treat me, then going to school and working at the hospital.
It’s Doc who pockets the money, not you, so Bullseye was going to have a word to that effect.
Nothing to suggest what you were doing was subpar, but if we were paying for a man with letters after his name, then we expected him to be present.
” He shakes his head. “I didn’t even think Bullseye had needed to say anything in the end, as Doc showed Trixie how to change my dressings, and she kind of took over.
” He hits his forehead repeatedly with the palm of his hand.
“I’m a fuckin’ idiot, of course, Prez must have had a word with him.
” Stopping from physically abusing himself, his hand gently touches my cheek. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry, Bron.”
I’m utterly speechless. If their prez had had that discussion with my dad, it would have to have been carried out very diplomatically.
Otherwise, Dad would have had quite the conversation with me about it long before now.
Said conversation would have had much the same conclusion as tonight’s, conducted with fists and a lot of shouting.
But Short’s thrown me a lifeline I’m willing to grab hold of with both hands.
In the end, I didn’t have to say anything for him to come up with his own conclusion, even as I hate myself for the misplaced guilt I’ve put in his eyes.
I need to get out of here now, before I get myself in any deeper, digging a hole from which it would be impossible to climb out.
“Short,” I say softly. “I’ve got to go home. Dad’s temper will have blown over, and it will be alright now. I’m sorry I came here to bother you…”
“But you had nowhere else to go,” he correctly surmises.
He’s right. My home situation keeps me from making friends, even if there was anyone who wanted to get close to the meek, awkward nurse. I’ve nothing with which I can contradict him.
He’s moved his body from being directly in front of me, so I ease myself off the counter.
His hand shoots out to stop me. “You’re staying here, Bronwyn.”
A flicker of fear runs through me. Is he suggesting he’d keep me captive?
Dad’s told me stories about who the men of the Kings of Anarchy really are, but I’ve always dismissed them.
They’ve never treated me with anything other than respect.
But tonight, I’m in Short’s room, and I didn’t come here to nurse him.
Does he think my gratitude for his help should be demonstrated by spending the night in his bed?
It is fear, isn’t it, that makes me tremble? Or is it a flicker of interest I feel?
Of course, it’s not. “I’m going.” My voice doesn’t sound quite as forceful as it should. “You’re not going to stop me, are you?” To be honest, I’m not sure what answer I want. But there’s no way I can stay here. I need to get home. I shouldn’t have stayed here this long.
The fuzziness in my head has cleared and I’m no longer acting on adrenaline.
What was I thinking? I shouldn’t have run.
Using both my hands, I push Short away. I wouldn’t have been able to move him if he hadn’t taken a step back of his own accord.
Something in my expression must have worried him, as he holds up his hands, palms facing me.