Page 7 of Rage's Heart

Before I could argue, a transport nurse from upstairs popped her head in. “X-ray’s ready for your patient.“

I bit my lip, nodding, before glancing back at the man. “Sir, we’re going to need to, um... remove those for the x-ray.”

“Oh God.” His eyes went wide with horror. “Can you knock me out for that?”

Tears streaking down my cheeks, I gave him my most reassuring smile. “I promise we’ll do our best to preserve your dignity.”

Megan snorted as she whispered, “I mean. What’s left of it.”

Three hours later, I’d had six patients with the flu, a guy with a broken nose, another who’d failed spectacularly at trying to break up a fight at the bowling alley, and an elderly woman who’d hit me with her purse when I suggested she might have to stay overnight.

It was official. I was never volunteering to help in the ER again.

Chapter Three

Rage

Pulling out of the lot at Saints Ink, I twisted the throttle hard, more than ready to get to the clubhouse.

It’d been another long fucking day at the shop and I was ready to burn off some steam between the thighs of a willing cherry before passing out for at least twelve hours.

All night, Marco and Jade bitched about how I needed to hire more help.

They weren’t wrong.

Business was booming and the three of us couldn’t keep doing it alone. Every one of us was booked solid. Add in the walk-ins we didn’t want to turn away and there wasn’t a second to breathe between clients. Which was good for our wallets, even if it meant dealing with Jade’s smart mouth every time the phone rang. Marco hadn’t been much better.

As I was thinking that I needed to put an ad in the paper for another artist and someone to answer the phone, a dark streak of fur shot out into the road.

Right into my goddamn path.

“Shit!”

Without thinking, I yanked the handlebars, tires skidding against the asphalt as I swerved hard to the right.

“Motherfucker.” My heart was hammering in my chest as I glanced back just in time to see a black dog roll and tumble into the ditch.

Goddammit.

Growling under my breath, I stomped on the kickstand and swung off my bike. It was late. Or early depending on how you looked at it.

The streets were quiet at this hour, allowing me to hear the animal whimpering in pain.

Jogging over, I found the dog curled up at the base of the ditch, ribs rising and falling way too fast. He was a mess, his fur matted with dried dirt, patches missing, paws bleeding and torn up from being knocked across the pavement. Looking closer, I could see the poor thing was skinny as shit, too. I didn’t see a collar, either. He was probably a stray.

“Just fucking great,” I said under my breath as I carefully made my way down the incline. Approaching slowly so as not to spook him, I crouched beside him. “You scared the hell out of me, you know that?”

The dog trembled, lifting his head just enough to stare up at me with big, wary black eyes before he whimpered again.

“Shit.” Swiping a palm down my face, I exhaled hard. I didn’t have the first fucking clue what to do. But leaving him here wasn’t an option, either.

I reached out carefully, testing his reaction. “Easy, boy.”

He lifted his head slightly, sniffing at my fingers.

Before I could touch him, a car door slammed behind me.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” A feminine voice demanded from behind me.

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