Page 9 of Property of Saint

At last, she stills, an abrupt change from a moment before. Her eyes come open and meet mine.

Immediately, her struggles start again. “Get off me! Who are you?”

While she’s looking straight at me, her vision seems unfocused. I pull away, giving her space, letting her come back into her head, hoping to fuck her brains aren’t even morescrambled than they were last night. She couldn’t remember the accident. Has she now forgotten the aftermath?

She stills after I remove myself from her, and I watch as she blinks, then blinks again. Her brow furrows, then some of the tension leaves her. Her pupils move right, then left until finally she takes a deep breath. “My car rolled,” she gasps as she remembers. Then her eyes narrow as she looks at me intently. “Am I wrong that you were there?”

Thank fuck she seems lucid.“Not wrong,” I say gruffly.

She raises her hands, wincing at the tug on her shoulder, glancing down at the sling that’s caught her attention. Her movement stills, and she breathes out, “It wasn’t an accident.”

While wondering exactly how much she can remember, I respond, “No, it was not.” Noticing the bag of antibiotics is empty, I reach for her hand, and under her bemused gaze, expertly remove the catheter from it, and cover it with a Band-Aid Doc had left.

Then I attempt to get more out of her. “Do you know who tried to kill you?” The answer might offer some clues as to who she is, and whether she’s to be treated as foe or friend to the club.

Her mouth slams shut.

Yeah, well, it probably wasn’t going to be that easy.“You want anything? Water? Coffee?” Belatedly, I remember the tablets Doc had left me. “Painkillers?”

Instead of answering, she asks. “What’s the damage?”

I don’t sugarcoat it. “You’ve got a head injury, probable concussion. The wound on your head had to be stitched. You had a dislocated shoulder that you need to be careful of. Your leg is broken, and Doc did his best setting it, but without X-rays, there’s no way of knowing if it’s going to heal right. On top of that, the wound could get infected.” I pause, then wonder if she’s reconsidering last night’s decision. “I can still take you to a hospital if you want?”

She shudders. “No hospital.” As she speaks, she pushes her hands under the sheet and runs them over her body. “What are these clothes?” Raising the sheet, she peers underneath.

Whatever she’s starting to remember, it’s not in much detail. Sighing, I repeat the excuse we used last night. “We got our on-call medic to look at you. He wanted to see what he was dealing with. You had blood everywhere.” I tap my own forehead. “Head wounds bleed profusely, so your clothes were pretty messed up. Thought you’d be more comfortable to have clean clothes.”

Her face scrunches as her brow furrows, and she nibbles at her lip. As she closes her eyes, I can see her brain working. “There were men… You. Your president.” Suddenly, she sits bolt upright, the too-quick move making her wince as she scrabbles backward up the mattress so she’s leaning against the headboard. “You called him Doc, but he tried to touch me…”

Now it’s me who’s grimacing. “Yeah, sorry about that. He knows what he’s doing medically, but he’s otherwise screwed in the head. That’s why we stayed in here with you.”

“He knocked me out.” It comes out as an accusation.

“Only to set your leg. I swear on my Harley, neither he nor anyone else touched you inappropriately.”

She still looks suspicious and rubs her temples, gingerly touching her stitches. “There was a woman.” At my nod, I see some of the tension leave her. “Was she the one who dressed me?”

Without thinking, I disavow her of that comfort immediately. “Nah, it was me.” There’s no reason not to be honest.

Her pallor whitens even more than it already had from the blood loss. “With witnesses?”

“No,” I rush to reassure her, not admitting the room was full when her clothes had initially come off.

“You, you’ve seen me naked?”

“Well, I couldn’t dress you with my fuckin’ eyes shut.” For some reason, she looks completely devastated, but for the life of me, I don’t know why. Hell yeah, I noticed she’s got great tits, a nice pear-shaped ass, slim waist, and long legs. Oh, and a nice, landscaped pussy, trimmed close, not completely bare. Why would it worry her so much I’d seen her as her maker had intended? It wasn’t like I’d been ogling her.

She’s turned away from me, a spot of red staining the one cheek I’m still able to see. There’s no reason for her to be embarrassed.

“It really worries you I’ve seen you in all your glory?” I query, not for the first time, thinking there’s just no way of fathoming chicks.

“It’s awkward,” she says. “I seem to have ended up in the midst of a load of bikers, and I’m at a disadvantage.”

“It was you who asked me to bring you here. Last night, you thought it was a good idea to come to our clubhouse.”

Her eyes widen, then she sighs as she remembers, and says drily, “As you said, I’d taken a blow to the head. I just didn’t expect you to see me naked.”

I don’t like how uncomfortable she looks. The answer immediately comes to me. “I can sort that.” Hearing my movement, she turns to look in time to see me pulling my tee off, then easing my zipper down. I’ve gone commando, so when I shove my jeans over my hips, there’s nothing preventing my dick from flopping out. Quickly, I rise on my toes and back down again, making it jump. “See?” I grin. “I’ve seen yours, you’ve seen mine, now we’re even.” Swivelling my hips, I play helicopter.

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