Page 8 of Obsession

I wished I knew who owned the club because then I would have their names, but I didn’t. I wasn’t a party girl, but after a rough few months, it seemed like a good idea. Even standing here with dried blood on my hands after almost being attacked, I couldn’t regret the choice. Healing my savior had been the most exhilarating thing I’d done since I had quit working in the emergency room.

“He needs rest and pain medication. I’d write you a script, but I assume it won’t be a problem for you to get it on your own.” They both smiled. “Figured. If the wound starts to look infected, take him to the hospital. Don’t wait. He’ll need the stitches removed in about a week.”

I glanced back at my savior, whose eyes were still closed on the table. My teeth sank into my cheek as I debated giving him my number so I could make sure he was okay. He could call me to come and remove the stitches.

No.

Even if my duty as a doctor told me to do just that, I couldn’t. I didn’t know these guys. It would be stupid to trust them. I’d repaid my debt. He would live.

A sweaty piece of light brown hair curled on his forehead, and my fingers twitched to put it back in place. He seemed like someone who liked everything in its place. Before I could stop myself, I raised my hand. But I regained my composure at the last second.

Instead, I patted his shoulder. I whispered so only he could hear. “Thank you, Superman.”

His eyes opened, and I was hit with his serene blue gaze again. “I wanted to make sure you could keep singing, Songbird.”

I had no idea what that meant. I didn’t sing. Shaking my head, I moved towards the door.

The newcomer stepped in front of me. His dark eyes weren’t friendly, but I didn’t fear it as much as I probably should. Maybe it was because I’d just saved his friend. Or that my savior was still in the room. I wasn’t sure.

“Here.” He held out a stack of cash.

“I don’t want your money. I did it because he protected me.”

He raised a brow, looking at me like I was a fool. “And I’m paying you to stay quiet, not for saving his life.”

My teeth ground together as I stepped around him. “I wouldn’t. I have no interest in hurting the man who jumped in front of a knife for me.”

Before they could stop me, I was out the door and down the stairs. I crossed my arms over my chest as I walked through the club and into the night. My heart ached, but I didn’t look back.

Goosebumps broke out on my skin as the cool air hit my bare legs. The concrete was harsh on my feet as I kept going. It was then I realized I left my shoes behind. But I still didn’t stop moving.

It was insane, but I was glad I’d left a piece of myself behind. Something he could remember me by. Because I wouldn’t be forgetting my savior anytime soon.

5

Nathan

My eyes stayed focused on the little Songbird as she walked through the door and away from me. My chest ached as she went. It was an unfamiliar feeling. Maybe it was from my injury.

I grabbed the silky fabric she’d used to tie off my wound, resisting the urge to bring it to my face and sniff. See if it held the scent of vanilla that had lingered on her skin.

The blood loss may have been excessive because I sounded crazy, even to myself.

“Follow her,” Vander said into his phone, speaking to one of our security guards outside. My cousin’s tattoos flexed as he shoved it back into his pocket.

That ache inside eased. She’d get home safe.

“Why?” Vander’s pregnant wife, Grace, asked with concern in her voice. She’d once been married to Vander’s brother, and I still didn’t understand why they’d gone against societal conventions and married a year after his death.

When I’d asked, Grace told me that sometimes being happy was more important than what people thought. I didn’t know what people thought. I never could figure it out. But I knew what was appropriate, and I tried to mask. Attempt to fit in. I often failed at that, too.

“Protection.” Grace’s brow furrowed at his answer. Vander pulled her to him, hugging her like it was easy. Like he needed to have her close. Never had I felt that way for anyone.

But the Songbird’s touch hadn’t bothered me. She’d sewed me up, and I’d barely felt a thing. It wasn’t just the numbing agent, because not even that could eliminate the itchy restlessness I experienced when touched.

Internally, there was a physical reaction. It caused anger to fill me, and the violence I’d been raised would peek its head out. Most often, I could get the person away before I had to resort to that.

But when she’d pressed on my wound, all I’d felt was warmth. Her soft hands had been like a sedative of their own, calming the constant chatter in my head. Just like her voice.

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