Page 31 of Tight End

I twist my head. One guy follows us, his dark eyes spitting hatred as he looks between me and Sam. His face twists with disgust.

A threat of what will happen if the asshole doesn’t look away sears the tip of my tongue but before I can spew it, Sam nudges me and I look at the nurses gaping at us. His lips lift into a million-dollar smile and they practically melt into globs of goo even though his arm is wrapped around me.

I guess they’re hoping he could be bi.

Tingles dance over my skin where his arms lies, wrapped around my waist.

“We’re here about the guy who was brought in,” Sam murmurs.

One of the nurses bites down on her lower lip. “We can’t give you any information, Mr. Hartley. HIPAA rules.”

Sam nods, his smile widening. “How about blinking once if he’s going to be okay?”

The nurses exchange a glance between them, and I swallow a laugh.

Jesus, this guy has power if they’re even considering doing what he just asked.

“I’m sorry, sir,” one of them finally says. “We really can’t. But the man over there can. It’s his brother.”

I slant a look at the guy she points to and of course, it’s the one who was trying to kill us with his mind only seconds earlier.

Sam leads me away from the desk and I push him away.

“No fucking way I’m asking him anything,” I hiss, stalking past him back toward the exit. “I came, they denied us an update, and now I’m leaving.”

But before another second passes, the brother yanks me by the shirt. I stumble into him, his hot, stank breath making my gut roil.

“How you gonna get out of this one, rock star? You fucking put my brother in the hospital and now you’re gonna pay.”

A sharp tip pokes into my flesh and I tense.

Motherfucker has a knife.

Mike and Steve run toward us, the cops following behind.

One hard jab and I’m screwed.

“You’re not so tough now, are ya?” he says, twisting the tip into my skin. It stings like a bitch but I don’t say a word.

He mistakenly lets go and grabs my hair with his free hand, the stupid fuck. With a hammer fist punch, I nail him right in the nuts. The guy lets me go and hunches over, the knife still pressed into me.

“You little prick.”

“Goddammit,” I yell as he sticks me with the knife. But before he can really dig it in, Sam shoves me out of the way and drives the heel of his hand into the guy’s nose. He falls backward, hitting his head against the wall before crumpling to the ground.

The cops swoop in to grab the guy and cuff him, and one of the nurses runs over to check out my puncturedflesh.

“It looks superficial,” she says with a smile. “You might need a few stitches.”

I grit my teeth because it hurts like hell. “Thanks.”

She brings us through the double doors while the cops drag the brother out of the waiting room. The camera flashes are blinding, and that’s saying a lot since I pretty much work under glaring spotlights that are way less offensive.

Once I’m settled on a gurney in a curtained-off area, the nurse leaves for a minute to get supplies.

“You really have a serious issue with showing gratitude, you know that?” Sam says, forcing my hand away from the wound. His eyebrows knit together as he studies it. “I just saved your ass back there. Again. And nothing.”

“Give me a break. I’m the one who junk punched him and if you hadn’t gotten in my way, I’d have cracked his fucking skull in half for stabbing me like that.” I narrow my eyes. “Fuck the consequences.”

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