Page 4 of Rogue

This morning, I was being shown around the ER by the Chief Attending when Hunter, the son of Devil’s Nightmare MC president, called that he needed me again. So I grabbed a new suturing kit, some saline, gauze and other things I might need, and hoped no one saw me steal them, while I waited on the sidewalk by the hospital for Hunter to pick me up. I’ll replace it all when I start working here next week. But right then, the men of Devil’s Nightmare MC needed it more.

All the blood, and all the death, and all the futility of what little I could do to save their wounded after the battle came rushing back. Chief among the deathly pale faces of the men I couldn’t save was the bluish face of the man—Edge—who talked me off a ledge and saved my life a long time ago. Along with the memories came the nausea and the shakes, which make an ER doc useless.

After Edge saved me, he brought me with him to the Devil’s Nightmare MC clubhouse where I stayed as one of their club girls. I was just a freshman at university, who had suddenly and irrevocably found herself alone in the world and with nothing left to lose. They took me in treated me like family. Even convinced me to go back to school once my grief subsided. They gave me something to lose all over again. And it’s been happening a lot since they got caught up in a war.

By rights I should be the one patching them up now that I’m a doctor. Now that they’re fighting a war they might not win for a long time. And I tried. I really did. Because I owe them my life. I’ve done nothing but try for the last nine months.

But it’s only gotten harder and harder. Not easier.

There’s a reason doctors shouldn’t treat their close kin. It’s impossible to stay calm and collected enough to do it. They understand. They’ve let me go. Because they know you can’t do what can’t be done.

I can’t watch them die. I can’t even see them get hurt. I proved that beyond any kind of doubt when my hands shook so hard I couldn’t even stitch up a single knife cut by the end of that terrible day. Yesterday. The day I finally irrevocably decided to start a new life. Before yesterday, I was still dithering.

Luckily, Hunter didn’t need me for anything too serious. Just a couple of torn stitches and lots of blood. We were on our way home to Pleasantville, where I still need to pack up my wholelife, when he got a call and brought us here, to this rundown dive bar.

This place must have been a happening place once upon a time, if all the photos of famous people on the walls, which were taken right here, are anything to go by. But that was back when the furniture was still pink and silver, the colors probably chosen to go with the name of the place—Flamingo Saloon. Now my jeans are getting dirty from sitting on the bar stool, and I don’t want to even touch the glass my coke was served in, let alone drink from it.

Hunter is in one of the booths, talking to a tall, dark-haired man with the most interesting green eyes I’ve ever seen. Each time he looks at me they’re a different color. Sometimes they’re dark like the redwood forest back home, sometimes the color of a calm lake on a sunny day, and sometimes they’re blacker than night.

I only know so much about the color of his eyes because he can’t seem to keep them off me. He’s been looking at me since I walked in here. But it’s not a lust and desire type of look… it’s more of a pensive thing. Like there’s something about me he can’t quite figure out, but wants to.

I could get used him looking at me.

But no.

He’s a biker. And judging by the well-fitting leather pants and jacket with a set of angel wings on the back, I’d say he’s deep in that world. His clothes fit him like they were tailor-made just for him and he fills them very nicely.

But I will never be with a biker for two reasons.

The first is simple… I’m leaving behind an MC that treated me like family for the past ten years, and I’m not doing it so I can climb in bed with some biker stranger.

The second is something I don’t like to acknowledge too clearly. I was a club girl for the last ten years. And in the bikerworld, you’re either a club girl or an ol’ lady, no matter how well you’re treated otherwise.

I learned that lesson the hard way once or twice when I fell in love and wanted more. Which I never got. No hard feelings. Just the way it is. I regret none of my life with the Devils. Becoming their club girl back then was the best decision I could’ve made. It saved my life. Just like leaving it all behind is the best decision I can make now.

I can’t hear what the guy and Hunter are talking about, but I hope they’ll be done soon. It’s a full night’s ride to get back home and I long to sleep in my bed tonight.

Their conversation was calm before, but suddenly it gets a lot more animated. They come to some sort of an agreement and get up to leave.

“We’re going to their clubhouse now,” Hunter says as he comes up to me, the green-eyed guy right behind him.

I groan. “Do we have to? I thought we were going home after this.”

Hunter didn’t even hear me because he’s already striding out of the bar, but the other guy stopped beside me. His eyes are still searching mine like he’s trying to pry out all my deepest secrets, but now he’s smiling as he does it. And the smile does things to his face I didn’t expect. Takes years off, for one thing. Years of torment and pain, I’d guess. It also does something to the color of his eyes, which are sparkling like the clearest emeralds now.

“At least the clubhouse is cleaner than this place,” he says as I climb off the barstool.

“Can’t get much dirtier,” I say and smile him.

He laughs, and it’s a much happier sound than I expected to hear from him. Given the pain in his eyes, which is very clear from this close.

“Truth is, I could use some dinner,” I add. “And a bed.”

I can’t believe I’m flirting with him after all the promises I made myself just minutes ago. It’s not even in what I’m saying. More the way I’m saying it and the way I can’t seem to look away from his eyes which right now look just like gems do when sunlight hits them. But flirting is a reflex I’ve developed with bikers. It doesn’t mean anything. And it’s certainly not anything that’s gonna lead anywhere.

He grins. “We got those things too. I’m Rogue, by the way.”

“Melody,” I say and finally manage to peel my gaze away from his eyes.

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