Page 8 of Property of Saint

And that makes it better? Four strange men seeing me naked as the day I was born?

“Ouch!” I scream, Doc’s action making me realise maybe there are worse things to worry about.

Immediately, he raises his hands. “I can’t do fuck all with her feeling everything. I’ve got to knock her out before I manipulate her leg back into place.”

“No way!” I open my eyes as wide as they can go. I’m still worried about where his hands had been before I regainedconsciousness. It was bad enough when I could tell what he was doing.

But I’m not in control of the situation. “Way,” the Prez contradicts me. “Just knock her out, Doc.” His eyes come to mine, and he stares intently. “I promise you won’t be left alone with him.”

Doc moves away from me. I try to keep my eyes on him, but he’s now behind me. I press my case. “I’ll be still,” I promise. “I can take pain.” I swallow. I’m pretty sure I can.

The prez jerks his head toward the two men I don’t yet know the names of. My arm is grabbed, one man’s weight over me, so I can’t move, and a second later, I feel a sting in my arm.

Bastards.

I fight to remain conscious, but wooziness sweeps over me.

CHAPTER FOUR

SAINT

We all stay to ensure Doc does exactly what he was supposed to do and nothing more. I’m ready to put my fist in his face if his little finger so much as strays an inch in the direction of, who we now know as Jane’s pussy. Or that’s the name she’s given us. I’d put good money on it being fake.

Freak taps his fingers against the leather of his vest, making an annoying sound. It catches Doc’s attention. When he swings around, the enforcer casually says, “Thought you were supposed to stop a concussed person from going to sleep. Yet you’ve just put her out.”

“Teaching me to do my fucking job, are you?” Doc rounds on him and throws up his hands. “In an ideal world, she’d be in a hospital, having an MRI for her brain and X-rays on her leg. But you want me to treat her, and when I start manipulating her broken bone, that’s going to hurt.” He waves his hand down at her. “She could already be bleeding to death from injuries I can’t see.”

“Alright, Doc.” Bullseye moves forward and puts his hand on his shoulder. “You’ve already made that point. You’re doing yourbest. We can see that.” He, too, gestures toward the unconscious woman. “Truth is, we don’t know whether she deserves to live or die, so any mistakes won’t matter tonight.”

Freak nods as though accepting that point, while Doc raises his eyes to the heavens, and shakes his head, before returning to his task. After touching her leg for a moment, he glances up. “Bron, come and give me a hand.”

Dutifully, his daughter comes to his aid. I watch as they stretch Jane’s leg out. Even I can see he’s doing his best to get the break aligned, and appreciate that without specialty equipment, his skills might not be enough. She might never be able to walk properly again, but hell, if it wasn’t for me, she wouldn’t be alive. Small price to pay if she comes through the night. That’s if we find no reason to complete what the men in the SUV had started.

It’s boring watching him work. Freak slips out, Bullseye too, then it’s only me and Short. I stifle a yawn, look at the clock, and see that almost an hour has passed. Now a cast is covering her leg from knee to ankle, stitches applied to the wound on her face, and the sheet’s fully covering her again, though I know underneath her right shoulder is supported by a sling. He’s also set up an IV, which is feeding strong antibiotics into her.

Doc takes two bottles of tablets out of his bag and hands them to me. “These are powerful painkillers. She’ll need them when she wakes up. And these are to help prevent an infection, if it’s not already too late.” After I take them, he raises his chin. “Take out the IV when the bag is empty. I expect that’s within your level of expertise.” Suppressing my instinct to roll my eyes, I just give a sharp nod. Predictably, he ends with, “I’ll expect the normal payment.”

“Of course.” Though rather than money, I’d prefer to reward him with a bullet, directly into his head.

Sparing just one last glance toward his patient, he gestures to Bron to pick up the heavy bag while he collects his lighter case. “Call me if you need to.”

Short growls, steps forward, and relieves Bron of her burden, then leads them back down the stairs.

As the door closes, I loosen my hair from the bun, letting it fall loose, then brush it behind my ears as I stare at the interloper who’s taken up good real estate in my bed. I may not have much of a heart, but even I don’t think I should move her. Her concussion could be worse than Doc thought, or was able to diagnose with no equipment, or she could have internal injuries and die during the night.

For now, her facial muscles are relaxed in a drug-induced slumber, and her chest rises and lowers with monotonous regularity.

What do I do?I could call a prospect to come watch over her, take a bunny into a crash room and have a well-deserved fuck and then some equally earned rest. Suddenly, the memory of that explosion, me thinking I’d lost my cut forever, comes back into my head, coupled with the vision of her as far away from the wreck as she could, hanging onto my leather.She understood the importance of it.Anyone else would have saved themselves and left what to citizens is an innocuous piece of clothing to burn.

She either knew or guessed how much it took to earn my patches, how that vest has been on my back for so long, I feel naked without it.I owe her.

My bed is super king-sized. A man deserves his comforts after all. She’s taking up less than half of it, more than enough room for me to lie beside her. The night’s warm. I don’t need to get under the covers. When I have to suppress a yawn, I decide on my course of action. I’ll sleep in my own fucking bed. It’s me who chases women out of it, not the other way around.

Kicking off my boots, placing my cut neatly over the back of the chair, I realise it might be best to try to make her comfortable before I go to sleep, knowing she won’t be happy waking up naked. That’s in the event that she wakes up at all. Taking a clean tee and a pair of boxers out of my chest of drawers, I gently slide them on her. I’m grateful she’s still out for the count, and trying not to feel a voyeur as I can’t help but notice her firm and decent-sized breasts, nor do I miss the curves of her ass as I pull up the pants. Then, feeling as slimy as the doc who’d treated her, I force my eyes and hands away from the smooth skin. Leaving my jeans and shirt on, I lie next to her. A glance at my phone shows it’s more morning than night, and the rhythmic, gentle breathing coming from beside me is almost hypnotic. Though I thought my brain wouldn’t stop racing, it’s only moments before I follow her into sleep.

Seemingly only moments later, I abruptly wake as screaming interrupts the pleasant dream I’d been having. One moment, I’m riding my bike with the sun setting over the mountains around me, and the next, I’m almost being kicked out of bed.

“Jane,” I snarl, trying to still her movement before her thrashing does more damage to her head or her leg, or, from the way her arms are flailing, dislocates her shoulder again or dislodges the catheter in the back of her hand. “Jane,” I snap more forcefully when she doesn’t awake. After flicking on the bedside light, I pin her down by carefully placing my body over hers. “Jane!”

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