Page 10 of Making Choices

UNKNOWN: Level five. Room nine. Check in with the NUM on the desk. I’ve told her to expect you. Security has been posted, but they’ll let you through.

After saving Dr. Du Bois’ number in my phone, I send her a quick thanks and head on up to the fifth floor. The nursing unit manager is a lot more pleasant than the prickly doctor. She greets me with a wide smile and talks me through filling in the visitor’s log. With a quick pat on my forearm, she passes me the swipe card I’ll need to get in and out of the intensive care unit.

“You’re all set,” she offers with a wink. “Of course, you need anything else, don’t be afraid to let me know.”

“I’ll look for you specifically,” I promise in the gruff tone that women with a bad boy fetish seem to expect. Her cheeks redden and she ducks her head to glance at the younger nurse manning the desk with her. “Can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help, pretty lady.”

“Oh, it’s nothing.” The NUM looks one hot flash away from fanning herself as she adds. “Poor Everett’s certainly been through hell… it’s the least I can do.”

At her mention of Fret’s ordeal, my charm offensive slips, and I flinch like she’s hit me. The urge to rain down pain on the fuckers who hurt my club brother floods my veins and rage ripples through my chest. I let out a feral snarl before I can stop myself. Despite her obvious attraction to the reputation that surrounds men like me, the head nurse can’t quite stifle the fear that flares within her as my congenial façade crumbles.

Eyes too wide, mouth ajar, she points at the set of automatic doors that lead into the unit. “Just swipe your pass over the black fob to get in and out.”

I dismiss her with a curt nod, then stalk off.

It doesn’t take long to find Fret’s room. The hospital security guard who’s been posted on the door doesn’t even bother trying to stop me from entering. He simply averts his gaze and sidles a few feet away before I reach him. My plan to lay down the law over who can enter my brother’s room dies when I overhear a man scolding my brother’s doctor in the hospital room next to Fret’s.

“Shouldn’t you be finished already, Bebe? The home fires won’t keep burning if you’re hiding out here instead of tending to them.”

The arrogance in the man’s voice has my stride grinding to a stop before I’ve decided to intervene. Wheeling around in the direction I came, I pause next to the ajar door. My hand flips my cut open and my fingers wrap around the butt of my handgun as I edge close enough to see through the gap.

“Don’t start, Jack,” Bebe snaps at the man currently leering over her. Her back is literally to the wall and she doesn’t seem happy about it. “I’m not in the mood for more of your crap tonight… I don’t know why you always need to be such a prick to me when we’re at work.”

The man Bebe called Jack is wearing scrubs similar to hers, except his are blue where hers are green. He coils a lock of her long, auburn hair around his finger and pulls until she gasps. As he leans closer, almost to the point where their lips are touching, a familiar feeling invades my stomach.

I want to protect this small woman.

Normally this kind of overprotectiveness only flares to life when the club is being threatened or Cherub is in danger. For years, my tendency to jump in the middle of things has been jokingly referred to as my saviour complex. My brothers may jest, but it’s something I take immense pride in upholding.

Except, I’m not sure why I’m feeling like this over a woman I’ve met once.

“We both know there is fuck all you can do about my crap,” Jack tells Bebe with a nasty chuckle. He tugs on her hair again. “I hold the power here, bumblebee. It’s time you remembered—”

“Remembered what?” I ask once I’ve heard enough to know this arsehole is bad news. Without waiting for him to respond, I continue. “’Cause I can guarantee that she ain’t lookin to remember how big your fuckin’ dick is since you wouldn’t be metaphorically wavin’ it in her face if either of you were satisfied with it.” After pushing the door open with one hand while using the other to free my gun from its shoulder holster, I step into the empty hospital room and shove him away from Bebe. “Is this dickhead harassin’ you?”

“Of course not,” Jack says with a scowl.

After finding his balance, he advances on me until he’s straining on his toes to get right in my face. Sometimes being six-foot-eight has its advantages. This is one of those times. My height forces this prick to concede more ground than he wants as he tilts his head back to look up at me. Raising my arm, I press the muzzle to his sternum, but to his credit, he doesn’t back down.

Motherfucker doesn’t even blink at the sight of my weapon.

Strange.

Most civilians shit themselves when they come face to face with a gun.

Rather than retreat, the sandy-haired doctor leans closer. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Bebe is my—”

“Registrar!” the woman in question interjects. “I’m his registrar. Jack is head of surgery… and he was just checking in with me before heading out for the night.” Bebe exhibits zero self-preservation when she pushes between me and her boss. I lower my weapon rather than point it at her head as she continues in a rush, “Slash is a friend of the gunshot victim who came in earlier. Everett Mayberry.”

A flicker of something malicious crosses Jack’s face, then he shuts it down. The mask of professionalism he pulls over his features is obviously fake. It’s confusing. I’ve never laid eyes on the arrogant prick before so there’s nothing for him to hate about me. I mean, sure, I interfered while he was laying the hard word on his employee. That doesn’t fully explain the pure loathing that invaded his expression when he learnt who I am.

“A biker,” he drawls with clear sarcasm. “How positively pedestrian.”

I snort, genuinely amused at his attempted insult. “I don’t know… I’d prefer to be a biker than a lech who can’t take no for an answer.”

“What one man considers lecherous; another man finds justified. Why don’t you ask your little damsel in distress for a few more details as to our relationship before you make a complete fool of yourself.”

Bebe inhales noisily, then she turns so that her back is to me. “Please, Jack… just go home. I’ve got my hands full here… we can continue our discussion later. Alone.”

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