Page 22 of Steel Trap
“Mr. Trap has an arrangement here. A very well-fundedarrangement.”
“I hope it’s all been worth the price,” Rogue said.
“Millions of dollars’ worth of drugs will never reach the streets. One of the biggest drug pipelines from Mexico is crippled. A cover business blown. Yes, I’d say it was worth the price.” Smith was tired and hurting. He wanted to see Hatchet. He needed to see with his own eyes that the man he lusted after was going to be okay.Hatchet might be big and fierce, but he was only fragile flesh and bone. He wasn’t bulletproof.
Orlando nuzzled Rogue’s knee and got his hair tousled in return. Smith decided that the imminent threat of bodily harm at Rogue’s hands had faded somewhat. None of The Wyverns were meeting his eyes and he didn’t blame them. They had every right to hate his guts. To them, he was Trap’s mouthpiece, andthat meant he had been complicit in using their pasts against them. Trap would tell him to leave and go home. The Wyverns were paid well to take the risks they did and to Trap they were expendable. For Smith, that was no longer the case, so he would hold off making his report for a while yet.
Shelton and Crow left for a few minutes before returning with a tray of coffee from the all-night Starbucksacross the street. Shelton handed Smith an extra-tall foamy creation. “I guessed what you’d like,” he said. Smith stared at the froufrou drink and broke down in a gale of laughter. Once he started, he couldn’t stop and soon all The Wyverns were laughing—whether at him or with him, Smith didn’t care, because at least the icy atmosphere had thawed. When he calmed down enough to take a sip, hefound he liked the creamy vanilla-flavored concoction.
“Thanks, Shelton, it’s really good.” He wiped foam from his lips with the back of his hands.
“No napkin, Smith? Maybe there’s hope for you yet,” Rogue commented before chugging his triple espresso. “Thanks for getting my usual, Crow.”
Orlando caressed his cup as if he were in love. “Sugary froth is always good. How you can drink that dieselyou swallow, I’ll never know.” He lifted his cup for a toast with Smith.
“Hush, brat. Here’s the doc.” Rogue stood. Smith rose from his seat and took a couple of paces toward the woman in the white coat.
“How is he?”
“One of the worst patients I’ve ever had the misfortune to treat,” the doctor said. “Despite that, he’ll be fine. He’s had some blood and intravenous antibiotics. The wound willneed to be redressed regularly and as the bullet went straight through him it’s not going to heal overnight. I assume he has someone who can make sure his stubborn ass stays in bed?”
Smith blinked.Hatchet must have been a major pain in the tush for the doctor to use such language.“That would be me,” he said, daring Rogue with his eyes to contradict him.
Rogue laughed. “You think any of uswant that job? You’re welcome to him. We’ve seen him when he has a cold and it’s not pretty.”
“Can I see him?” Smith asked.
“Two visitors only. Despite what he keeps trying to tell me, he does need to rest,” the doctor replied.
“You and me, then,” Rogue said to Smith, moving Orlando out of his way. Orlando’s lower lip trembled.
“What about me?”
“You can see him next, when you’ve had thechance to buy him a get well gift.” Rogue pulled Orlando into a hug. “I won’t be long. Have a think about what you’d like to get him.”
Orlando brightened. “Grapes, of course, because they’re bald like him. Gummy bears so he can bite their little bald heads off. Shelton, what else?” He scurried across to his friend and soon their heads were bent together as they plotted.
Rogue shook his head.“Let’s go, Smith.”
They followed the doctor down carpeted corridors to room number sixty-nine. Smith was hesitant about going inside but Rogue gave him a nudge.
“Get in there, Smith. He doesn’t have a gun, far as I know.”
Hatchet was propped up on a ridiculous number of well-plumped pillows. He was shirtless, displaying his broad chest and impressive tattoos. Smith’s mouth went dry and allhis blood rushed south.
“You look terrible.” Hatchet scowled.
“I just have a few cuts and bruises,” Smith said. “I’m fine. Tired.”
“The others?”
“All good,” Rogue said. “Now we know you’re gonna make it, we’ll bail. It’s been a long fucking night. Don’t give the doc more grief than she deserves.” He bumped fists with Hatchet. “No limits on how you handle Smith, though.”
Hatchet grinned. “Ihave a few ideas. Might have to put them on the back burner for a few days, but anticipation is part of the fun, isn’t it?”
“Sure is.”
“Hey, I’m right here!” Smith folded his arms. “And I’m your fucking boss!”
