Chapter 12
CHAPTER
TWELVE
WILDE
W ell, this is fucking perfect.
I stare at the very unconscious asshole lying on my property.
Technically, if I nudge him over a little to the left, he’s on someone else’s property and therefore not my problem.
With a sigh, I look around to check we’re alone, even though I already know the answer to that.
Then I move closer, half-convinced he’s going to jump up and stab me.
I don’t trust anyone from the city.
The closer I get though, the less likely it looks as though he’s going to be doing anything but bleeding out.
For fuck’s sake. Why is this my problem?
It figures that he’d come here and force me to deal with him. He’s bleeding all over, arms cut up, front of his shirt covered in dirt and shredded in places, and even in his sleep, he’s shaking. Then my gaze finds the nasty burn on his side.
Guess he came off his dirt bike, then .
My head drops back toward the canopy as I whine at the universe for bringing him my way.
Too much of my day has already been dedicated to this fucking guy.
Completely against my will, I stalk to my truck, throw open the back, and head over to Hudson’s sprawled body. He’s lucky I refilled my tires with air while he was gone, otherwise we wouldn’t be going anywhere.
I crouch beside him, and I’m gentler than I should be as I tug the helmet off and toss it into my truck.
Then I slip one arm under his knees and the other behind his back, then haul him against me and stand, cursing his name the entire fucking time.
Hudson says something incoherent right before I dump him in the back, lock the tray into place, and then round the truck to climb into the cab.
This proves exactly what I’ve been saying. These guys don’t get it. They don’t respect what it’s like to live in a remote place, they don’t understand how different and dangerous it can be, and they definitely don’t take accountability for any of the bullshit they bring our way.
I slam my palm into the steering wheel as I drive, cautious not to take the corners too sharply and avoiding the bumpy tracks where I can.
Not that he wouldn’t deserve a few extra injuries.
It only takes a few minutes to reach the chop shop, and Booker must have heard me coming because he’s waiting on his front steps.
The second the engine is off, I climb out and slam the door a little too hard.
“What are you doing here?” he asks.
I don’t answer, just walk around and open the back so he can see where Hudson has been thrown in there.
Booker hums as he approaches. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”
“ What in me? ”
“Murder. Is this mine now?”
My eyes close for a brief moment as I ignore what he could mean by that. “I didn’t murder him. He came off his bike.”
“Pity.” Booker looks him over. “Bring him inside.”
“You’re the doctor, you do it.”
“You’re the one with the muscles.”
Like that means anything. “You’re more than capable.”
“Oh, I know.” Booker shrugs, chubby cheeks creasing as he smiles. “It’s more fun this way. Pick up your pretty boy and follow me.”
Booker doesn’t wait for me to argue. He goes back inside, and I’m left to grit my teeth and reach for Hudson. I grab his ankle and haul him closer. He’s a dead weight, and it would be easier to toss him over my shoulder, but that burn looks nasty, and even I don’t hate him that much.
As I carry him inside, I ignore the way his head lolls against my shoulder, how heavy and solid his body is, how he mutters something in his fitful sleep, and still manages to smell sweet, even covered in filth.
Booker has cleared off the examination bed for me, and I dump Hudson onto it as soon as I can.
The chop shop is attached to Booker’s house, and for us being in the middle of nowhere, he’s well stocked.
The place has been lined with white vinyl on the floors and walls, and there are metal racks on one side filled with who the fuck knows what medical equipment, a locked industrial-sized fridge for medications, and a computer on a movable desk right next to the bed.
Booker clucks his tongue against his teeth as he leans in and inspects the burn. He gets close, breathing deeply as he studies it for a few minutes, before he looks up suddenly and catches my eyes. “You’re too good to me.”
There isn’t much I can say to that. Our Peril matches keep Booker in business and well funded; I think it’s the main reason he landed in Wilde’s End. Having an actual doctor close by is definitely a win, but that doesn’t mean I like everything about it.
The way Booker’s eyes sharpen, innocent face lit by some deep glow as he inspects Hudson’s injuries, creeps me the fuck out. I haven’t and won’t ask about his past since it’s our unspoken rule, but there’s also a part of me that doesn’t think I’d like what I found out.
Booker holds out a pair of scissors. “Want to do the honors?”
“Nope.”
“Your loss.”
I watch as he cuts Hudson’s shirt off and peels the material from his body. He cuts around the burn with more care than I’m used to seeing from him, and then he tosses the scraps of shirt into a bin at his side, pulls on a pair of medical gloves, and sets something cold over the burn.
I’ve been treated by Booker a lot in the past, thanks to Peril, and he usually relishes seeing me in pain.
He never tries to hide his excitement as injured fighters turn up to see him and he has to deal with stitching skin back together or setting broken bones.
He’s in his element, and while he might make me uncomfortable, I also know we need him.
As long as he doesn’t do anything inappropriate to patients, he can enjoy what he does all he likes.
Some people would argue that enjoying your job is a good thing.
While Booker works, my gaze strays back up to Hudson’s face and the unnaturally long eyelashes that look out of place with his other, harder features.
Everything about him plain pisses me off.
An inhale hisses between his teeth, followed by a groan going in the other direction. Those eyes of his blink open, squinting against the bright light above him, and it takes a second for reality to kick in .
Hudson flinches away from Booker, gaze shooting to the racks of medical equipment to the ceiling and then to me. “What the fuck did you do to me?”
Booker sets a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You need to stay still.”
“Fuck that. Where the fuck am I?”
“I’m a doctor. You’ve taken a nasty fall on your motorcycle, and I’m popping you back together again.”
Some of the tension leaves Hudson, and his eyes screw up as he presses his hand to his temple. “Everything fucking hurts.”
“Oh, shoot. Painkillers. Silly me. So forgetful. Give me a moment.” There’s something in his tone I don’t believe.
Booker disappears into the large refrigerating unit, and Hudson shoots me a suspicious look. “What really happened?”
“You’re a shit rider.”
“Fuck you.”
“Next time, I’ll leave you on the road to die.”
He manages a painful, unamused laugh. “Why didn’t you?”
“You were too close to my house. Your body would have attracted bears.” It’s not a complete lie, but as much as I want to never see his face again, my conscience wouldn’t let me leave someone—anyone—to die. Not even Foley.
So Hudson isn’t special.
“Bears. Right.” He lets out a long, painful noise. “Why does everything hurt?”
Booker takes that moment to return with a catheter, and I don’t miss the upward tilt to his lips as he slowly slides the needle in.
“There we go,” he says, sounding sympathetic and not at all like a sadist. “The pain will disappear relatively quickly. I’m going to clean you up to see if anywhere needs stitches.
Then we’ll deal with your burn, which won’t be fun—for you—and after that, we’ll move on to anything else that’s annoying you.
The good news is that I think it’s all cosmetic.
Well, except for the concussion, but that’ll only scramble your head for a couple of days.
” He turns toward Hudson’s chest. “Oh. But if you have sunglasses, put them on. I’m keeping the light angled away from you, but I need it to see what I’m doing. ”
It doesn’t look like Hudson followed any of that. “Sunglasses,” I snap at him.
He pats down the pockets of his shorts, but he still looks confused.
With a huff, I stalk closer, reach into the same pocket he pulled them from earlier, and slide them out. One side has a deep crack in it, but they’re mostly in one piece. “There.”
He takes them without a thank-you and shoves them onto his face. Thankfully, they hide his eyes from my sight, but even that isn’t enough to relieve my bad mood. “I’m going,” I say. “You’ve got it from here, Booker.”
“Actually, you can’t,” he says in that annoyingly singsong voice. “I don’t have a car, and he’s going to need a lift home once I’m done with him. It’s not like I can discharge him in this state—what kind of doctor do you think I am?”
I glare at him, and he smiles innocently back. Then my gaze moves on to Hudson.
He smirks in my direction, but it sounds like it hurts to talk. “Doctor’s orders.”
The challenge in his tone has my hands curling over into fists. Give me my post, and we can settle this like fucking Wenders—until one of us can’t stand up again. I’d like to see Hudson smirk then. “You really trust me not to dump you in the middle of the forest?”
“Trust? You?” The heavy pain in his voice is fading. “I’d rather take my chances with the bears. ”
“Funny …” Booker glances at me. “Isn’t that what men call you ?”
“Fuck off.”
Hudson settles his head back against the bed. “You gay?”
“You fuck off too.”
“That means yes.” Even with painkillers kicking in, his voice is slurred.
“I don’t care. It’s none of your business anyway.” I’m ready to ignore him for the rest of the time Booker is treating him, but he keeps talking.
“I’m gay. Kennedy is bi, and Hart is … something.”
“Something?” I ask and then want to kick myself for caring.
“Don’t know if he dates. Or hooks up. Won’t talk to us.”
“Guess you should go back to the city, then, so he can meet someone.”
“Ooh, nice try.” He spares me an appreciative look, and I assume his pain must be gone now. “But it’s still a no.”
Booker leans in and whispers, “He’s always been like this. Very serious. One-track mind.”
“What did I say about fucking off?”
He lifts a shoulder and goes back to cleaning melted skin. “It’s true. If you’re not looking after the town, you’re in Peril matches, and if you’re not in Peril matches, you’re down in Wayward once a month, hooking up.”
“That’s my business.”
“Nah, can’t see it,” Hudson says.
“Can’t see what?”
“You hooking up.”
Bold claim, considering I had him pinned to the wall earlier. “I do just fine.”
“Don’t believe you.”
“Don’t care. ”
Booker looks gleeful. “You might have met your match, Wilde.”
I glare at them both and head for the door. “I’m going to wait outside. Hurry the hell up.”
I don’t know which of them it is that says bye because the door slams behind me at the same time.
So what that I have a simple life? It’s the whole point of moving out here.
It’s hard work, way harder than life in the city, but it’s quiet, cut off, and I’m free to focus on the important things.
Make sure the town is safe. That we have everything we need.
Then, once a month after my fight, I go and get a release.
It works for me.
And this weekend, I’m going to need it more than ever.