Page 8 of Misery and Ecstasy

“Hey, where the hell are we going?” Wincing, his body tenses in his seat, and he looks around as though he’s not familiar with his surroundings. “The clubhouse is the other way.”

Sighing, I answer him. “Back to my house.”

“Why?” He doesn’t mask the sharp edge in his voice, letting his anger be known.

“I’ll explain everything when we get there.”

I don’t know what I expected from him.

Yelling? Complaining? Attempting to jump out of my car?

Instead, he blows out a frustrated breath, folds his arms, and throws his head back against the seat’s headrest.

I’m not any happier about this than you are, buddy.

I wish I could say it out loud to him, but it goes against everything I believe in when it comes to treating patients, no matter who they are.

Regardless of whether I’m being forced into helping them or not.

* * *

Draven’s head swivels left and right, slowly assessing my house as we enter the foyer.

His face gives nothing away, so I can’t tell what he’s thinking. Not that I care what his opinion of my personal space is. Though I do wonder if he’s comparing it to his own. My house isn’t anything to balk at. Its original features have been kept in pristine condition through the years. But the MC has a gorgeous clubhouse on a ton of land. It boasts high ceilings and was built with beautiful stone and wood. It wasn’t what I expected at all when I was first made aware of the MC. I’d half expected them to live in a dingy, old garage somewhere.

“I’m going to go brew a pot of coffee. Do you want some?” Taking my shoes off, I place them on the floor next to the front door.

“Sure.” I hear his voice behind me.

Turning back to him, I point to the door on the right side of the entryway.

“My office is through there. Make yourself comfortable, and I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”

I don’t wait for his response before walking through my dining room and into my kitchen. Opening the coffee, I'm relieved to get a little space from him. His presence here has my nerves working in overdrive. I add water to the reservoir, and the moment I pressbrew, I hear the floor squeak behind me.

Whipping my body around so quickly I lose my balance and begin to topple over. I grab onto the back of a kitchen chair to catch myself at the same moment that Draven leaps forward, grabbing me by my hips to hold me in place. As unsteady on his feet as he was back at the police station, his lithe movements surprise me just as much as his sudden appearance did.

Tilting my head up, my eyes zero in on his. My heart beats rapidly against my ribcage as my chest heaves from the fright.

It’s fright, right?

We both freeze, gazes locked onto one another for longer than is comfortable before I’m finally able to move again.

“What are you doing in here?” I bark at him, forcing his grip from my body before the heat from his hands seeps deeper into my skin. I ignore every thought and feeling his touch roused in me as my hand lands on my chest. “I told you to wait in my office. You scared the shit out of me.”

His eyebrows shoot into his hairline. He holds his hands steady before him as he takes a careful step away from me.

“I don’t like people waiting on me. I was just coming in to see if you needed any help.”

I swallow, trying to lubricate my dry throat while still breathing heavily as I take in his form. That’s when I notice he isn’t wearing any shoes.

Why isn’t he wearing any shoes?

“What happened to your boots?”

He gapes at me like I’ve lost it, changing subjects so quickly and asking him something so seemingly random. But to me, it’s not random. To me, I’m wondering if my fear of this being a setup has come true. If he’s removed his shoes in an effort to reduce the amount of evidence in my home.

“Uh…I saw you take your shoes off at the door, so I followed your lead out of respect for your space. Jesus, sorry. It won’t happen again.” He rolls his eyes, his tone brash and defensive.

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