Page 28 of Making Choices

SLASH

Fret is still sedated when I step into his hospital room. I avert my eyes from his battered face and retrieve the book I stashed in the top drawer when I left this morning. After making myself as comfortable as I can, I kick my feet up on the end of his bed, careful to avoid his suspended leg, and continue where I left off last night.

Poetry isn’t normally my thing.

I prefer fast fiction: thrillers, crime, the occasional romantic suspense.

So does Cherub.

We normally read a book a week together. Of course, how quickly we read depends on how busy we are, but we’re never too busy to message the other whenever something in the story catches our fancy. It’s the same with television shows and movies. We either binge them together on streaming or head out to the cinema to see new releases.

It’s our thing.

Something that no one else does with us.

Which makes my earlier rudeness even worse.

I’ve never cut her blank like that before.

I want to give myself an uppercut for doing it to her.

For all my judgements of Venom, he’d never treat her like that.

He’ll kick my arse if he finds out what I did.

“Well, well, well,” the dickhead doctor from last night glides into Fret’s room. “I didn’t realise peasants could read.”

Returning my feet to the floor, I mark my place, then toss the book onto the table next to the bed. I stand, straightening my spine so I’m at my full height. With a sneer, I look down my nose at Jack, and drawl, “Not only can I read… I can also rearrange faces with the precision of a Hollywood surgeon.”

“You’ve got a big mouth for someone with police breathing down his neck.”

His comment is random. “What would you know about that?”

“It’s simple.” He shrugs. “You’re a biker. The kid laying in the bed has been tortured. The authorities will want to find who did it, so justice is served.”

“Sure,” I mock him. “The cops are all about lockin’ up bad guys. They probably have a fuckin’ taskforce formed to investigate Fret’s assault already.”

“Or maybe they know who did it and they’ll throw them a ticker-tape parade.”

I snort and shake my head. “Seems you have more of an inside glimpse into the cops than I would’ve expected.”

Jack lifts his shoulders a second time. “Maybe I agree with them… what happened to the kid was well-deserved. Fuck the Shamrocks… they’re getting too big for their boots.”

My movements are swift and I have him pinned to the wall next to the door within a second. His face takes on a purple hue when I squeeze my fingers tight around the front of his neck. With a low hiss, I say, “I’m beginnin’ to think there’s more to you than the white coat you wear.”

With a grip that’s firm and unrelenting, I choke him. He gasps and bucks, trying to escape. I refuse to let him go, no matter how hard he struggles, until foam forms at the edge of his mouth and his eyes bulge. When I release him, he slumps forward with his hands braced on his thighs and gasps for breath.

“You’re playin’ with fire. So I’d advise you to run back to whomever yanks your chain and tell them that the Shamrocks aren’t fuckin’ around here. When we find out exactly who was behind what happened to Fret, we’ll be takin’ recompense in blood. Same goes for anyone else they hurt… or have already come for.”

“Fuck. You. Not one thing about your club scares me.”

“Nah.” I grab a handful of his hair and pull him upright to look him right in the eyes. “Fuck. You. We’ll take what we want when we want it. That’s a cast-iron fuckin’ promise.”

Blind, red-hot hatred colours his face. “Stay away from Bebe.”

Although his swift change of subject shocks me, I do my best not to show it. “Why would I do that? She’s obviously ripe for a good fuck… and she sure as shit ain’t interested in your dick.”

“She’s mine.”

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