Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Dropping the bag on my stomach, and placing the coffee on a tray, Voss moved behind me and slowly adjusted the bed up enough that I could drink without aspirating.
“No. Went out,” he said, leaving me to think of the possible coffee places in walking distance of the hospital that might be open all night.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I insisted.
“It’s done,” he said with a shrug. “He have anything interesting to say?” He handed me the coffee.
“Just questions to ask,” I told him as I took a sip. “This is perfect,” I said. I may have said cream and sugar, but I totally meant light and sweet. This was exactly that.
“Some asshole I work with says that when women say two sugars, they mean three,” he said, shrugging.
“By work with, do you mean biker brother?” I asked, taking greedy sips of the coffee, hoping it would make me feel a little more alive.
It had been a long-ass day before the attack. Then thanks to the aftermath and the pain, I was dragging.
Seeing as things seemed to work at a glacial pace at a hospital unless you were actively dying, it could be hours and hours before my ankle was splinted, I got my discharge papers, and could finally leave.
“Yeah,” Voss said.
“Aren’t you all supposed to love each other and shit like that?” I asked, putting the coffee cup between my legs so my hands were free to fiddle with the bag.
Inside were three donuts.
“These are the best,” I said, pulling out a cinnamon coffee roll. “You don’t have to stay,” I told him as he stood there silently as I picked at my food.
“Giving you a ride after this,” he reminded me.
“I can get a ride.”
“Did I stutter?” he asked, making me turn to look at him, lips twitching a bit because I was kind of digging his grumpy, but kind, ass.
“I don’t think I can ride a bike with my ribs,” I told him.
“Switched out my bike while I was gone,” he told me.
“Oh,” I said, then sat for a second weighing the repercussions.
I mean, this was the guy I should have taken a ride with to begin with. He was decent enough to come back for me when something felt off. He’d tried to figure out what happened. And had gone to get me coffee.
It seemed fairly safe to assume that he wasn’t going to kidnap and murder me.
“Okay,” I declared, nodding.
After that, I finished my coffee and donuts. Yes, all of them. Then I was getting my ankle braced, given a set of scrubs since my clothes were evidence, then was given crutches to help me out for the first few days, got my blood test results, and was told I could leave.
Finally.
“You’re like a fucking baby deer on those,” Voss told me as I clumsily made my way out of the hospital.
“Gee, thanks,” I grumbled as the stupid tops of the crutches scraped under my arms and the hand rests pressed into scratches on my palms that I must have gotten when I’d fallen after one particularly hard punch. I had a hazy memory of being yanked up by my hair after that. And… more pain.
“This is us,” he said, waving at the black SUV that was parked mercifully close.
“Thank God,” I said, gritting my teeth for the last few yards, then hauling myself up into the car, dragging the blasted crutches in afterward.
I vaguely remembered muttering off my address before the smooth ride of the car managed to let me finally pass out.
But only for a few moments, getting woken up by the sound of a door slamming.
We weren’t at my house.
There was a moment of confusion before something else prickled at my skin as my gaze landed on all the bikes lined up, the tall fence to keep everyone uninvited out, then the long, low building that acted as the clubhouse.
He hadn’t taken me to my home.
He’d taken me to his.
As he came over to my door to open it, I might have told him to take me home. But then there was a trill of feminine laughter that had my shoulders relaxing a bit.
“Come on,” Voss demanded, taking the crutches, setting them on the ground, and holding them there for me.
Maybe I should have objected, demanded he take me home. A rational woman would have.
But I was too tired, too hurt, and, yes, as much as it killed me to admit this, too scared of being attacked again, to put up any kind of fight about it.
So I slid off the seat, got onto my blasted crutches, and hobbled my way to the front door.
Come what may.
CHAPTER FIVE
Voss
I expected her to object.
But she’d just climbed out and followed me up to the front door, hissing and cursing and almost falling five or six times as she went.