Chapter 15 #3
“Depends on who’s describing it,” I drawled, watching Wraith’s expression become openly amused.
“Come back,” Tamsin ordered.
I looked toward the brothers securing the vehicles while the company driver was checked again beside the truck. The scene was controlled, but we were not finished. “Still cleaning up this shit.”
“That was not a request,” she barked, enunciating each word with the same authority she used when a crew member tested her patience.
Despite the blood oozing down my side, I smiled.
“Developing a demanding streak, pretty girl,” I teased, pressing one hand near the wound when the movement pulled against it.
“You disarmed a bomb under my car and then rode into an ambush,” she shot back. “I think I’ve earned one.”
“They brought the ambush to me,” I pointed out, letting my smile deepen.
“You know what I mean.” Tamsin exhaled, and I heard the effort it took not to start issuing a full set of orders. “Is the cargo safe?”
“Truck’s sealed. Driver’s upright. We caught one asshole and found a key tied to a storage location,” I reported, watching Wraith bag the burner and route sheets.
When she spoke again, her voice had softened without losing its command. “Come back as soon as you can, Gavin.”
“I will,” I promised.
I ended the call then got the shipment moving with twice the escort it had started with.
Hawkeye stayed on the Bellamy truck, Trigger and Wraith rode tight on either side, and Smoke and Breach took the prisoner while Stryker and Nomad coordinated the search for the damaged SUV.
I took the burner, key, and routes toward the compound for Cipher to tear apart.
By the time I rode through the Black Crowns gates, the cut beneath my ribs had glued my shirt to my skin. I used the clinic’s exterior entrance instead of walking through the lounge and letting Tamsin see how much blood there was.
Reaper looked up from the counter, took in my shoulder and side, and pointed toward the table with the expression of a man whose bedside manner had been killed in action years ago.
“Just patch the worst of it,” I grunted, trying to peel the fabric away from my ribs as I stood beside the table.
He scowled as he snapped on a pair of gloves and ordered, “Sit your stubborn ass down.”
I growled in frustration but lowered myself onto the table. “Just stitch the side, jackass.”
“Both need cleaning,” Reaper replied, cutting the rest of my shirt away.
“I can handle the shoulder,” I told him, bracing my palm on the edge of the table. “It’s just a scratch.”
“Is that what you told her?” Reaper stared at me as if deciding whether medical ethics allowed him to punch a patient. Then he shook his head and muttered a curse as he got to work.
He cleaned the gash and reached for a suture kit while blood tracked down my side. “You let that woman find out you’re hiding half the damage, she may open another cut herself.”
“She told me to come back.” I kept still while he started closing the wound. “Trying not to waste her fucking time.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“Stitch faster.”
The dressing had barely stuck to my skin before I pushed off the table and shrugged my cut over my bare shoulders. What remained of my shirt lay in blood-soaked pieces near Reaper’s boots, and the slice across my shoulder was still open, leaving a thin red trail down my upper arm.
I headed for the interior clinic door while Reaper told me to get my dumb ass back on the table. I reminded him Tamsin was waiting.
“She’s gonna love your definition of scratched,” he called after me.
The door opened directly into the clubhouse lounge.
Cipher sat at one end of the bar with his laptop open, while Tamsin paced between the couches and the pool table with her arms folded tightly over her chest. She turned the instant I stepped through, and relief swept across her face before her gaze dropped to my bare torso, the fresh white dressing wrapped around my ribs, and the blood still streaking from my shoulder.
Cipher took in the damage with one glance before closing his laptop and sliding off the stool. “Told her you were alive. Apparently, that wasn’t enough.”
Tamsin ignored him and crossed the lounge fast. She caught the front edges of my cut, pulled them farther apart, and inspected the dressing before her attention climbed to the untreated slice across my shoulder.
Her blue eyes narrowed as she looked me over from boots to face, searching for whatever else I had decided did not deserve mentioning.
Her gaze flicked toward the unmarked clinic door behind me, and understanding gleamed from her eyes.
She tightened her grip on my cut, turned toward the residential hallway, and started pulling me toward my room with a determination I had no intention of resisting.
The fury tightening her mouth promised Reaper had been right about the danger waiting for me on this side of the stitches.
“You said scratched,” she accused, looking over her shoulder as she kept walking.
“I was describing it.”
“Badly,” Tamsin snapped, tightening her fingers around my cut as she pulled me down the hall.