Chapter 7
Shooter
Icould have taken care of myself. Though I’m not one to stay down for too long, stillness makes everything in me uncontrollable, itching to be a part of some chaos.
The guys joked that I was as antsy as a grumpy old man.
I wasn’t that old. I wasn’t even forty yet, just shy of it by two years. I was still young.
When Hound found out about the little hospital visit, my ass got chewed out for one, not telling anyone else, and two for being stupid enough for thinking that Dillon wouldn’t strike back.
My ass got handed to me more when I “wasn’t following my plan of care”.
As my brother I wanted to push him away, but as for him as my president, he wasn’t too happy with me.
Partly because I was going to be out of commission for a bit until I could at least move on my own.
“I know how to take care of myself,” I grunted, after Hound Dog made the call.
“Oh yeah, and you’re doing an amazing job.” He rolled his eyes. “Tell me, if you know how to take care of yourself and your years of experience, why need the boot and crutches then? How much pain are you in?” he started hounding me, no pun intended.
Anger started to rise to the surface. I was already hating myself, feeling like I was letting people down and not protecting the club.
Being an enforcer wasn’t for the faint of heart.
Twitty was the Sergeant at Arms, and I had a tougher job.
People stepped out of line; we were their next visit.
Someone outside of the club fucked around and they found out what happened next.
The amount of anger could send anyone down a path of swirling darkness if you weren’t already down in those depths. We carried the memories of the lives taken, paid a toll in blood to protect the club.
It had taken years to find outlets to let out all the demons, even if they like to stay around and play with certain people and call others like souls.
Twitty, Otis, and I were hanging out in the common area, music playing in the corner and a sports recast of a game from last season on the TV. A typical down day for the club, the only time I could be social, at least with the boot tying my ass to the compound.
“Jesus, man, why can't you just follow fucking directions and Prez wouldn’t have to worry about you.” Otis groaned.
He just didn’t want the arguing to keep happening. He also didn’t want to have to pitch in and do some of my duties. I didn’t blame him. He’s just lucky he doesn’t have to worry about any court actions or anything.
“Because I can handle myself.”
“Like you handled yourself by falling on your ass at the gym. Got too cocky, didn’t you?”
“Want me to put my boot up your ass?” I lifted my boot in his direction.
“Save your attitude for Mia. I can’t wait to see her handle your dumbass,” Twitty chimed in, sipping on probably day-old coffee.
A sudden chill ran down my spine with anticipation. As much as I hated the idea of Amelia being around this place, maybe there was something else to her being around me.
She was a mystery wrapped in goddess shape.
I didn’t like not knowing and I was going to know one way or another.
She could tell me willingly or I’d find out for myself.
She pushed away certain people but invited others.
She built her walls and wasn’t afraid of me.
Though most people would run away from me, afraid of giving into their deep desires and wishes, and just afraid I’d skin them alive.
Amelia didn’t back down, even when she tried to find a spark of curiosity.
I knew the sound of her strides when she walked in the door. I didn’t bother to turn around. “Damn, I thought they’d stop evil nurse.”
I pushed off the couch, my brothers trying to hide their excitement for the little show that was about to happen. “Only evil to those that are stupid enough to ignore medical advice.” I saw her hands on her hips, surveying me, “Where the fuck you think you’re going?”
I hobbled over toward the kitchen, “About to go make me a snack. You want one?” There were a few giggles from the girls that hung around the compound who sat at one of the tables in the corner.
They were harmless, just friendly ladies that needed a place to blow off steam. They hung around sometimes to catch the eye of a brother. But they weren’t what I wanted.
They weren’t Amelia. And she was going to be mine. Just had to give her a little push to give into her darkest desire.
“No, and now I need you to go back to your room,” she tried to chastise me.
“Oh peaches, you wanted to see my room? All you had to say was, “Shooter, take me to bed”.” I threw in an extra wink for good measure. I liked pushing her buttons, getting her all flustered.
“It will be a cold day in hell the day I turn up in your bed.”
“I like my odds.” I threw together a sandwich and a snack, because if evil nurse had her way, my ass would be locked up tight in my room, and she would have the only key. I wondered if she would use rope or chains to pin me to the bed.
“Move your ass.” She groaned.
“Nope.” Even if the pain was killing me, the frustration in her eyes just added to my fire.
She stepped closer, until she was brushing up against me. Her eyes softened, not in flirtation but rather sadness. Damn it if that didn’t break my heart.
“River, please.”
And with those magic words, I was ready to be a good patient for her if only for a brief moment.
I didn’t argue with her, but walked down the first-floor hallway until we reached the back end.
It was a bigger space than most club bedrooms, but Hound Dog wanted the brothers to be able to have their space, especially when some never had such a space of their own. They took care of their brothers.
It was modest in my opinion, a full-size bed, a dresser or two, and a little desk. A bathroom that was my own, compared to the shared bathrooms upstairs with a jack and jill style. I didn’t have much of a personal touch. Some random sketches I did, a couple photos of men that I lost when I served.
Amelia stepped into the space, a little shocked and awed. She re-adjusted her tote bag, the same one she would bring over to Melody and Hound’s place. She nodded her head a couple of times, before turning her attention back to me. “Where’s your discharge paperwork?”
I nodded to the desk where the papers laid shuffled amongst other things.
She scoffed. “You truly are a medical personnel, ignoring what needs to be done and doing everything in your own way.” She rolled her eyes before snatching the papers off the desk, reading them over. She was still in her scrubs. Why didn’t she go home and change into something more comfortable?
Her mouth started to twitch from side to side, looking like she was biting the inside of her cheek, deep into thought.
I wished I had my sketchbook, just to attempt to capture the moment.
Her pixie cut was starting to grow out and I liked it, her little waves of dark blonde almost light brown started peeking through, little wispies pulling in different directions.
I consciously ran my hands through my hair.
Her eyes cut back on me, she shook her head fixing her gaze. “You’re staring. Did we miss a neuro scan or something?”
I sat on the bed, leaning my hands back behind me. “I can’t look at you?”
She tried to snap back but quickly closed her mouth. Interestingly, she had nothing to say.
She switched back to nursing mode, striding closer to the bed. “How much sleep have you gotten?”
“The same as always, a few hours here, a few hours there. Just enough to rest and get back to moving,” I answered, knowing that wasn’t what she was asking.
“Why aren’t you taking your pain medication?”
“Don’t want to.”
“Are you a recovering addict?” she asked as her cold hands started to look for a pulse point, attempting to do a quick check up.
The way she squeezed me had me thinking so many dark and desirable thoughts.
Especially wondering if one or both hands were wrapped around my throat.
Would she be willing to try? “Why is your heart rate racing?” She sounded concerned.
“Thinking about being a good boy for you.” She was towering over me, so when I looked up, I saw for a moment her pupils widening.
Oh, Amelia.
“Problem is, you don’t know how to be good. You're a pain being this difficult and somehow now intertwining my life with yours.”
“I could be good for you, but we both know you don’t want that part,” I said, feeling the heat come off her skin. I just wanted to reach down in her bottoms and find out just how much I was right.
“You’re trouble.” She whispered. “And I’m not that interested.”
“Pointing out the obvious, are we? Can I go next?” Now I was just being an asshole. But that was what she liked about this dynamic, I kept her on her toes.
“Shooter, you’re wasting my time. I have a job to do. You know what, let’s make a deal. If you can be a good boy and let me finish my exam, I’ll let you see my tattoo on my ass.” She sighed.
I gripped her wrists. “You don’t have a tattoo on your ass.”
She shrugged. “Guess you’ll never know.”
You better fucking believe I’d find out. All the possibilities started running through my head, maybe it was a little heart. I complied and let her examine me. She knelt to examine the boot, probably making sure I hadn't damaged it already.
I was cocky, but I wasn’t stupid. Even if my fucking leg was throbbing.
“Lay down, please,” she said softly.
I huffed but complied. “Amelia, I’m not lying in bed for weeks. I have too much important shit, and people to see.”
“I’m not telling you to do it exactly, because I know better than to think you’d actually do it. But a few days wouldn’t kill you. Then we can look into small movements.”
“Then what, doc?”
“I’m not a doctor.”
“Why not?” I asked. I was just trying to get a rise out of her, but she contemplated an answer. Color me intrigued.