Page 31 of His Big Bad Stick

“Your arm is cut pretty bad,” I say. “I’m not a doctor but I’ve been around a ton of injuries. You need some stitches.”

Abrielle gasps and looks up at me.

The pure terror in her womanly eyes is intense.

“Please, Clover…” She smiles.

I don’t smile back.

I hate when people mess up my name, joking or not.

I’m about two seconds from throwing her ass into the bed of my truck and driving off.

Then I think about it for a second.

Really think about it…

I show up to a hospital with her all bloody. She needs stitches. Someone recognizes who I am. With a bloody woman. Imagine the rumors, huh? Imagine the social media firestorm. Implications and assumptions that I did this to Abrielle.

The world we live in where someone is judged before the facts are heard…

I’m not the most famous guy in the world. Far from it.

I don’t have a reputation for being a good person either.

But last thing I need is to be cornered by some nurses or doctors - or police - and have them questioning if I’m the kind of guy that would put his hands on a woman and hurt her.

That leaves another option.

Drop her off at a hospital and take off.

Even for me that feels a little fucked up.

“Hey,” Abrielle says. “You called me kitten. I haven’t heard that in forever.”

I grit my teeth. “Get in the fucking truck, Abrielle.”

“No hospital,” she whines.

“I’m taking you inside,” I say.

I guess I have to call in a favor, huh?

I end the call and take a deep breath.

I’m a lucky guy living in an apartment like this.

It’s got the vibe of a dirty, brick flat, but it’s updated and sort of luxurious.

The view of the city is amazing at night too.

I walk to the kitchen and the lights automatically turn on under the cabinets from my movement.

I get two glasses and pour Abrielle and I each a drink.

She’s sitting on the edge of my leather couch, still worried about dripping blood or damaging something.

It’s too late for that.

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