Page 53 of Jacob

Dash blocked his view. “I’m a medic,” his sponsor announced. He’d been one in the army when he served and did work part-time back in Montana—very useful to have in the club. “What’s going on?”

“OD’ed.”

“On what?”

“Everything.”

BEEP.

Jacob jumped out of the way to see Sparrow behind the wheel, gesturing for him to move. She parked the car beside the group, running around to open her rear passenger door. Finally, he had his bearings. Jacob reached for Sparrow’s arm. “What’s going on?” he demanded.

Whirling at him, she screwed her features as though she’d never seen him before and he’d asked her the most absurd thing in the world. “I have to get him to the hospital.”

“Who?”

“Pipes.”

He didn’t put up a fight when she wrenched her arm free. He didn’t have it in him. What unfolded was the one-two punch to his gut. This was worse than seeing her with him in the clubhouse. Watching the prospect’s unconscious body, drool dripping from his mouth, groaning as they stuffed him in her backseat, she paced in front of Jacob, chewing on her nail.

Worried. She was fucking worried about a goddamn tweaker.

The familiar rage balled in his gut, swirling with unparalleled fury. He reached out, his arm shot forward, and took hold of her again. This time he squeezed and dug his fingers hard into her arm.

She’d been so focused on the commotion, on her pathetic excuse for a boyfriend being shoved into her backseat like a rag doll, she must’ve forgotten he’d been there. Well, he’d make sure she’d remember him. She squeaked as he dragged her to him, against him.

The dim light of the parking lot muted her face and he couldn’t see all her freckles as he wanted. He couldn’t see every tint or hue of green in her eyes, but the fear, he could see that. If he were a better man, he’d feel bad about it.

But fuck that.

She needed to know, but the words—they wouldn’t come.

“I have to go,” she implored him, holding his gaze. He loosened his grip.

He’d never hold her against her will. Jacob was a lot of things, but he wasn’t that guy. Stepping back, he ran his fingers through his hair and turned away while she ran around her car, listening to more people shouting orders at her about the hospital and what to say.

Jacob couldn’t watch. She was better than this—she deserved better than taking an asshole junkie to the hospital for his overdose. She didn’t need to hold his hand over his own stupidity. Interlacing his fingers behind his head with his elbows out, he walked away from the clubhouse toward his bike just as her car drove past him.

Harleys roared to life. No doubt someone would meet Sparrow at the hospital, appearing like a supportive friend. Though, truly, he’d be there to make sure Sparrow and Pipes didn’t say the wrong thing and implicate the club.

Sloppy as all fucking hell—just like his feelings for Sparrow—two things he would never understand.

Chapter 31

Sparrow

Thethump thump thumpsound echoed in Sparrow’s mind. She’d glanced in her rearview mirror several times to see Pipes’ body jerking in the backseat, his head smacked against the door so hard, she feared he’d somehow hit the handle and open it. Either that or his foot. She prayed to every deity she could think of that she’d make it to the hospital with all four doors of her car still closed.

At a loss for what else to do when she pulled up to the area where the ambulances went, she jumped out of the car and screamed for help, searching for anyone who looked like they worked there. A security guard got someone in scrubs to help her.

Tears streamed down her face as she stood there, uselessly, watching them unload him from her car onto a stretcher. A woman wearing a stethoscope asked Sparrow his name. “Pipes, I mean—” She blinked, realizing they wanted his real name. “Michael, Mike Barton.”

“What did Mike have?” she asked as she waved Sparrow deeper into the hospital’s emergency unit.

Chewing on her nail, she looked over her shoulder as the automatic doors closed, seeing the Harley arrive. The dread knotting in her gut grew, tightening, reaching up into her throat. There’s no way Jacob would follow her there. Shaking her head, she focused back on who she assumed was a nurse. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “A few shots, and some weed. But he’s been snorting stuff. I don’t know what.”

“Do you know his medical history?”

Sparrow shook her head. “He doesn’t go to the doctor. Where are they taking him?” she asked when they parted ways.

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