Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
It was all-hands-on-deck in the ER. Independence Day in Texas meant beer, barbecue, and bad decisions. I’d already evaluated two men for blown-off fingers, three burns, and one bourbon-soaked teenager.
“Those are for you.” A nurse gestured at an over-the-top vase of red roses and a box of my favorite hazelnut pralines. I opened the note stuck into the flowers and ground my teeth as I read the message.
Thinking of you as I visit my family this week, amore mio. They can’t wait to meet you. When I return, we’ll fix things. I love you. — Luca
I handed the box of chocolates to the nurse. “You can have these. Give the flowers to someone who needs them.” I stormed toward my next patient.
“Wait,” she yelled.
I turned. “What?”
“Dr. Rossi asked me to give you this letter if you wouldn’t take them.” She reached her hand out with a folded note.
I crossed my arms. “You can toss it in the trash.”
“Dr. Morris, please. Take it,” she begged. “He said he would make my life hell if I didn’t give it to you.”
I clenched my jaw and took the note, slipping it into the pocket of my scrub pants. It was one thing to threaten me. I’d have to talk to him about intimidating the nurses.
My next patient, a young mother, rocked a sleeping baby against her shoulder, one hand rubbing slow circles on his back while a toddler with crooked pigtails played with a doll beside her.
“Elena Alvarez?” I asked, glancing up from her chart.
“Yes, that’s me.” Her accent curled softly around the words.
“And who’s this?”
The little girl peeked at me.
“This is Sofia,” Elena said. “And this”—she shifted the baby carefully—“is Tomás.”
“Nice to meet you, Sofia and Tomás. You’re the cutest patients I’ve seen all day.”
Sofia’s mouth twitched like she wanted to smile but wasn’t sure she was allowed.
“You think you broke your wrist? When did that happen?”
She shifted, adjusting Tomás. “A few days. I fell. In the kitchen. I’m clumsy.” Her laugh was brittle.
My gut wrenched. I’d heard this script too often. And, this time, I couldn’t hide behind charts and clinical notes. Recognition and shame curled through me—not for Elena, but for how close I’d come to walking in her shoes. It could have been me.
“OK. Let’s take a look.”
She held out her hand, and a bruise flashed at the edge of her sleeves, too long for the heat of a Texas summer. I pushed the fabric up. The shape of a hand pressed into her skin in sickening yellows and purples.
“Elena,” I said gently, like speaking to a cornered kitten in a rainstorm. “Someone hurt you.”
“I fell,” she insisted.
“No,” I said, my voice soft and quiet. “You didn’t.”
Panic flashed across her face. “Please don’t call the police. If they go to the apartment, he’ll know I said something.”
I leveled my gaze at her. “I see this a lot more than you think. You’re safe here. We can help you get out.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “I have no place to go. No family. No money. No papers to get a job.”
“What about the shelter?”
“There’s never space.”
“So, you’ve tried to leave before?”
She nodded. “They ask too many questions. I’m afraid of being deported without my children.”
“Let me try calling the shelter for you, all right? Sometimes spots open up. If not, we’ll look for another option.”
I completed the exam quickly but thoroughly, finding more hidden bruises and scars. Her wrist wasn’t broken, but badly sprained.
When I stepped away, I leaned my forehead against the cool hallway wall for half a second and let myself seethe. She’d stayed for too long already. I wouldn’t discharge Elena without a plan.
I dialed the women’s shelter. It rang twice before an automated system offered a menu of options. I jabbed numbers before finally hearing the voice of a real human. I provided the bare-bones details and ground my teeth at the response.
“I’m sorry,” the man on the line said. “We’re at capacity. Our family units have a waitlist. I can put her name down—”
“How long?” My voice came out flat.
“A week? Maybe longer. We don’t have the beds.”
I hung up before I said something that would get me written up again. The last time I’d made this call, I’d told the man on the other line that he was a useless sack of shit. He’d reported me, and I’d had to spend an afternoon getting lectured by HR.
No beds. No space. No help for women like Elena. But I needed to get her out.
I considered an idea niggling at the back of my mind before shooting off a quick text.
Me: Does the club still have that RV parked out back?
Hatchet: Yeah?
Me: Can you ask a prospect to clean it out? Change the sheets?
I shuddered at the thought of the science experiments that may be growing in there, but at least it was safe.
Hatchet: Are you moving again?
Me: No, I have someone who needs to stay there for a few nights.
Hatchet: Who?
Me: I’ll explain later.
It shouldn’t require a goddamn miracle, a sympathetic doctor, and a decades-old RV for a woman to escape a man who treated her like a punching bag. There should’ve been a line of open doors for Elena, not a maze of brick walls.
I slipped my phone back into my pocket and returned to Elena’s bedside. “I have a safe place for you. Wait for me in the lobby after you’re discharged. I’ll drive you there.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough,” I assured. “I want to help.”
“I can’t pay. I don’t have—”
“I’m not renting you a room. It’s an old RV behind my brother’s motorcycle club. And before you worry, no one will bother you. They’ll leave you alone, because if they don’t, they’ll have me to answer to.”
“But what about after? I can’t stay there forever.” Tears slipped down her cheeks.
“We’ll take it one step at a time. First, we get you out,” I explained. “I know a social worker who owes me a favor. She can walk you through the services you qualify for later this week. We’ll figure out a job and childcare after that.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
As I fitted her with a brace and printed instructions, my mind circled the same bitter thought: this shouldn’t be on me alone. But someone had to help her.
I shot off a quick group text to Eva and Kenna, giving them the short version.
They didn’t hesitate. The chat lit up with promises to raid their closets for clothes, find a few toys, and grab fresh food.
I wrapped up my paperwork as quickly as I could and nagged a nurse to let me borrow the car seats in the back of her van, since her kids were with their dad for the weekend.
I didn’t bother to change out of my scrubs, not wanting to make Elena wait any longer.
Elena’s fingers white-knuckled around the strap of her purse as she eased into my truck. Tomás quickly fell asleep while Sofia chattered excitedly.
When I pulled through the gates, Hatchet leaned casually against the side of the clubhouse, his arms folded. He straightened as my truck rolled to a stop. I felt Elena go rigid beside me.
“It’s OK,” I murmured, cutting the engine. “He’s a good friend.”
Hatchet came around to my side and opened the door. “Bringing home more strays?” he asked quietly.
“She needed a place today. The shelter was full.”
Hatchet studied the brace on Elena’s arm, likely putting her story together in his mind. He offered her a warm smile. “I’m Hatchet.”
“Hello,” she said, eyes skittering away.
Sofia, on the other hand, popped her head up from the back seat and stared like she’d just spotted a life-size action figure. She looked at Hatchet curiously. Elena lifted her from the truck and set her down gently as I worked to unlatch Tomás’s carrier.
“Hey, kiddo,” Hatchet said, crouching down so he was at eye level with Sofia. “You like piggyback rides?”
Sofia considered his question, then nodded. He checked in with Elena. “May I?” he asked.
Elena hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Careful,” she murmured.
“Always,” he promised. Hatchet hoisted Sofia up, her delighted squeal cutting through the air.
She babbled something in Spanish, and Hatchet answered in butchered but overly confident Spanish that made her giggle. A small, disbelieving smile tugged at the corner of Elena’s mouth.
“Let me show you where you’re staying,” I offered, handing Elena the baby carrier. We walked toward the back of the lot where the old RV sat. As the door swung open, Tomás stirred. Elena instinctively bent to scoop him up, then winced as her braced wrist protested.
“Let me take him while you look around. I don’t know what the girls put in there, but I’ll give you my number, and you can text me if you need anything else. If I’m at work, I can ask one of the guys to help.”
She hesitated for a beat before easing Tomás into my arms. He was heavier than he looked. His tiny fist curled in the fabric of my top as I breathed in the powdery-sweet baby scent of his hair. I stepped into the RV with Elena following closely.
Eva and Kenna had stuck Post-its on the cabinets—PLATES, CUPS, SILVERWARE—with little hearts doodled in the corners. An enormous selection of snacks sat on the small countertop, probably pulled from Eva’s personal stash of junk food.
We turned at Sofia’s shriek of laughter as Hatchet stepped inside the RV, pretending to hit his head on the top of the doorframe. He picked her up and then tipped her gently upside down by one ankle, his other big hand firm around her back so she was never really dangling.
“I caught a murciélago,” Hatchet announced. “Better hang the little bat right here.” He pretended to consider the doorframe like a bat hook. She laughed so hard she could barely breathe, arms flailing.
“The men here will make sure you and your family are safe,” I said quietly, rocking Tomás as he blinked up at me. “No one will hurt you again.”
“And if he finds us?” she whispered.
“He’d never get through the gates,” Hatchet promised. “And, if he did, he wouldn’t leave on his own two legs.”
Something about the way he said it seemed to settle her. She nodded.
“Is there anything else you need? Anything we forgot?” I grabbed the stack of sticky notes from the counter and a pen.
Elena’s eyes swept across the small space. Blankets and pillows stacked on the bed. A package of diapers in the corner. Toothbrushes and a mini toothpaste on the table.
“This is too much already. You’ve done enough.”
“Yeah, that’s not how this works,” I said, shifting Tomás and gently placing him on the bed. “You’re a guest. Humor me. If you could have three things that would make this easier, what would they be? Don’t overthink it.”
She chewed her lip. “Some chamomile tea, maybe?”
I smiled at her encouragingly as I jotted down her request.
“And some popcorn? I see there’s a microwave. Sofia loves popcorn.”
“How about I bring my tablet over, and you can have a movie night?” Hatchet suggested.
Sofia hopped in the air and grinned at him widely. “I want to watch Beauty and the Beast.”
“And a nightlight,” Elena added. “Sofia’s scared of the dark.”
“Am not!” the little girl shouted, all sass with her hands on her hips.
I grinned as I scribbled down a few names and phone numbers and smacked the note on the mini refrigerator. “Text me if you think of anything else. I’ll be back in a bit with a few things and some takeout for dinner.”
“I can cook something,” Elena insisted.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s been a long day. We’ll be right back.”
Outside, the air felt cooler. Hatchet fell into step beside me as we headed toward my truck, boots crunching on gravel.
“Have you told Thane and Merrick about this yet?” he asked as he settled into the passenger seat beside me.
I shook my head. “I guess I should,” I said with a small laugh as I started the truck and shifted it into gear.
“I’ll tell them,” he offered. “You know I’ve got your back.”
My mouth curved into a smile. “I knew you had a soft side under all that chrome.”
“Don’t tell the guys,” he warned. “No one can know. I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”
I chuckled. “Sofia already blew your cover.”
“She’s a cool kid. I don’t get how anyone looks at kids like Sofia and Tomás and decides to hurt them. If I had a kid, I’d burn the world down before I let anyone lay a hand on them. Or their mother.”
My chest tightened, and I cracked the window, letting the soft breeze cool my skin. “Softie,” I teased.
“Violently soft,” he corrected.
I reached into my pants pocket for Elena’s list. As I tugged the Post-it free, a receipt and a folded note slipped out and blew into Hatchet’s lap.
I handed Hatchet the list and rustled through the center console for a pen. “Can you add baby wipes? I only saw one pack, and I want to make sure Elena doesn’t run out.”
Hatchet scribbled on the list and slipped it into the pocket of his cut. He crumpled the receipt in his lap and tossed it to the floorboard before unfolding the note. His eyes skimmed the page. “What the fuck is this?” The shift was instant. His simmering anger radiated from the passenger side.
“What?” I glanced at the paper in his hand. My pulse kicked up. “I forgot about that. I haven’t read it yet. What does it say?”
“‘You belong to me,’” Hatchet spat out as he read the note out loud. “‘I’ve been patient while you slum it with bikers, but that ends soon. Stop whoring around before I make you regret it. Luca.’”
I pulled over to the side of the road. “Let me see,” I said, my mouth dry.
With the chocolate and flowers, I’d expected apologies. As I read the note, the clinical part of my brain lined up the data points: love bombing, entitlement, threats, escalation. Classic narcissistic abuser behavior.
“I don’t get what he even wants from me. What’s he getting from this?” I asked, my chest feeling tighter.
“We can’t keep letting this slide,” Hatchet growled.
I shook my head. “He left to visit his family in Italy.” I bit my lip and looked at the note again. “I’m sure by the time he gets back, he’ll be done with me.”
“And if he’s not, we’ll show him who you really belong to.”
I raised a brow. “And who, exactly, is that?”
“The Mavericks.”