17. Cupid
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CUPID
Thirty minutes pass with me sitting with Vanessa, talking to her and making sure she stays awake until my crew arrives. Her eyes remain closed, but she at least answers me in a sleepy voice when I ask her questions.
The knot on her head is quite pronounced and an angry shade of purple. She really did a number on herself trying to get away from those pricks. I’ll make them pay for targeting my woman, starting with the piece of shit restrained on her couch.
Vanessa moans, wincing with pain.
I run the backs of my fingers over her cheek, comforting her the only way I feel comfortable with until help arrives. “I know you’re hurting, Butterfly. Scalpel will be here soon.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, there’s a knock at her door.
Hating that I have to pull away from my woman, I go to the door and open it. Oaks, Marlene, Scalpel, Ruger, Drift, and Crypt are standing in the hallway outside Vanessa’s tiny studio apartment with a ton of boxes and packing tape.
I halt them at the door, raising an eyebrow at my VP. “Not that I don’t enjoy seeing your woman with you, but I thought I made it clear that we’re going under the radar for this run.”
Oaks pats me on the shoulder with a placating smile. “Relax. I figured if we were packing up your woman’s things, you’d want a woman running the show. Besides, I can imagine there may be things Vanessa owns you don’t want the crew seeing.”
Ah. I hadn’t considered that. Vanessa’s undergarments and pulsing toy come to mind. “Good thinking.”
“I’m sure Vanessa will appreciate having her stuff packed nicely,” Marlene adds with a gentle smile. She motions to the guys. “If you left it up to them, they’d be dumping things in boxes at random.”
“True,” I say, returning her smile and pulling her into a hug. “Thank you for coming and managing this lot.”
She hugs me back. “No problem, Prez. Happy to help.”
I motion for them to enter, putting a finger to my lips. “Try to keep the noise level to a minimum.”
They all nod, understanding sound can hurt Vanessa’s head right now. I also want them quiet while packing. If Vanessa knew my crew was packing up her place, I’m sure she’d start a riot, and she doesn’t need the extra stress.
“Where is the shit-stain?” Ruger asks, cracking his neck to the side as if he’s preparing to dish out some punishment.
I point to the couch. “Take him to the basement at the bunkhouse—I don’t want his screams upsetting my customers.”
“Sure thing, Cupid,” Drift says, heading toward the couch. He grabs the fucker’s ankles while Ruger grabs him under his armpits. Together, they haul the man out to one of our trucks, ready to make him snitch on his partners or lose an appendage each time he refuses.
While Marlene directs Oaks and Crypt on what to pack up first and how to wrap things properly, I lead Scalpel straight to Vanessa.
“I moved her inside—not sure if moving her was okay for her, but I couldn’t leave her on the street while we waited,” I tell Scalpel, worry leeching into my voice.
“You moved her to safety—you did fine, Prez.” Scalpel’s forehead creases with concern when sits on the bed, looking at my woman’s injury. “Vanessa, my name is Scalpel. Is it okay if I examine you?”
“Yes,” she whispers, keeping her eyes closed.
He leans over her, probing around the bruise on her forehead.
Vanessa whimpers, tears leaking from between her closed eyelids.
“I’m sorry, I know it’s tender. I’ll get you fixed up and better in no time. This part might hurt a bit, but I need to check your eyes.”
“Okay.”
He pulls out a flashlight pen, prying one eye open at a time. Vanessa groans, the light hurting her sensitive eyes.
Scalpel sighs, shaking his head. “You definitely have a concussion. What’s your pain on a scale of one to ten, one being the lowest?”
“Ten when it first happened, but more like a seven now,” she says.
Scalpel nods as if he expected her answer. “Did you lose consciousness at all?”
“I don’t think so. I was dizzy after giving the second headbutt and felt like I might pass out, but I don’t believe I did.”
Scalpel snickers. “I bet. Does anything else hurt, like your neck or back? Were you injured anywhere I can’t see?”
“No, only my head.”
“The good news is your pain has lessened since the incident, meaning I’m not worried about a brain bleed.
Yet, a concussion is a brain injury, and you will need to rest. No hard physical activity for at least a week until I reevaluate you.
Lessen your screen time and avoid bright lights. Sleeping is fine.”
Scalpel digs around in his medical bag, fishing out a bottle of pills. “Only take acetaminophen for the pain—avoid all other anti-inflammatory medications since they can increase the risk of bleeding. I’m going to need you to take some now while you’re awake.”
I grab a glass of water, handing it to Scalpel, and he’s able to coax her to take the drugs with a few sips.
“What about the contusion on her head?” I ask, concerned.
“I’m not overly worried about it. Frontal concussions often result in increased superficial swelling. It looks nastier than it is. The swelling will go down over the next few days. The most important thing is to limit her activity.”
“I have lectures and my clinic hours at the counseling center—I can’t miss them,” Vanessa says, cracking her eyes open to slits.
“Not for the next forty-eight hours you don’t,” Scalpel says pointedly, leaving no room for argument. “Attempting to return to normal activity before you are ready can set your recovery back weeks.”
“Missing a few days is better than missing weeks, Butterfly,” I say evenly, trying to reason with her.
She sniffles. “I don’t want to fall behind in my mandatory therapy hours and risk my graduation. It isn’t fair to me. I’ve worked too damn hard to fail now.”
“No worries. I’ll write you a medical excuse—they need to comply with that or risk a lawsuit.
Perhaps your professors will allow you to attend virtual lectures until you can return to in-person classes.
We’ll make a compelling case for you at the counseling center to get your required hours in on time after you return,” Scalpel says reassuringly.
“But I have to work,” she argues, tears streaming down her face. “I won’t be able to afford my rent if I don’t work my shifts at the deli.”
My crew freezes, their eyes turning on me. The whole room is quiet aside from the clock ticking on the wall.
Scalpel squeezes her shoulder gently. “We’ll worry about work in two days, okay?”
“Okay,” she mumbles, closing her eyes. “Can I sleep now?”
“Sure. Get some rest.” He rises from his seat on the edge of the bed, motioning for me to follow him.
We move to the other end of the apartment where she’ll be less likely to overhear us.
Scalpel leans in, whispering, “Does she know she’s not returning to this place?”
I shake my head. “She knows nothing. I don’t believe she overheard me on the phone with Oaks, either.”
He rubs the back of his neck, grimacing. “She’s not going to be an easy patient, is she?”
“Probably not,” I admit. “She’s stubborn.”
“Great,” he mutters. “Do me a favor. Break the news to her gently. I don’t want her getting upset while dealing with a head injury.”
“I’ll do my best.”
While Vanessa sleeps in her bed, the rest of us box up her belongings, hauling them downstairs to the trucks outside. Between the five of us, we clear out the place quickly and as quietly as possible. All that’s left is to move Vanessa to my truck.
I gather her up into my arms from her bed, kissing the crown of her head gently as I carry her out of the apartment and lay her in the backseat of my truck. Throughout the whole thing, she doesn’t wake, snoring softly.
Crypt hands me my truck keys, and I reluctantly give him the keys to my hog. “Be nice to my baby.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Am I ever mean?”
“Just don’t go off-roading with her like you do my truck.”
He cock’s his head at me with pinched brows, not realizing I’m being sarcastic. “Of course not. It’s too dark to do that.”
I roll my eyes, climbing into my truck and starting the engine. I take a moment to check on Vanessa in the backseat, running my hand over her soft cheek.
“Let’s go home, Butterfly.”