Page 3 of Harley's Hex
“Right,” Hex agreed. “Come with me,” he ordered. He didn’t give her time to protest that her shift had already started as he grabbed her hand and pulled her down the back hallway to Savage’s office.
“Hey, I have to work,” she shouted at him.
“This will just take a minute,” he insisted. “I don’t want anyone listening in. I promised to keep Savage’s news as private as possible.” Harley respected that fact, but she did need to get back to the bar before the bikers rebelled and started helping themselves.
“One minute,” she barked, tugging her hand from his and crossing her arms back over her chest. She didn’t miss the way that Hex looked her over, and all she could do was smile back at him. “Not going to happen,” she said.
“What’s not going to happen?” he asked. Hex crossed his arms over his chest, mimicking her stance, and stared back at her.
“I don’t date bikers,” she explained.
“Well, I wasn’t asking you on a date. I don’t date—period,” he said.
“Oh,” she breathed, “I didn’t realize that you don’t like women, I’m sorry.” Hex barked out his laugh again, and she was getting pretty sick of all the men around her laughing every time she opened her mouth.
“Oh, I like women, honey,” he admitted. “I just don’t date them.”
“Then what do you do with them?” she asked. Hex smiled down at her, and Harley knew that she had just asked a loaded question. Jesus, what was wrong with her? “You know what—just forget that I asked. How about you tell me what’s going on with Savage?” she asked.
“Suit yourself,” he breathed as though he was sad that he wasn’t going to be able to tell her what he did with womeninstead of dating them. “Savage had a thrombosis in his coronary artery, and Bowie and I rushed him to the hospital. He’s going to be fine. They are giving him thrombolytics to break up the thrombosis, and he’ll have to have heart surgery when they get rid of the clot. With some rest and spending some time in the hospital, he should be fine. Of course, he’ll have to be on anticoagulants for a while to make sure that this doesn’t happen again.”
Harley stood there staring at him, her mouth probably wide open, trying to figure out what the hell he was talking about. “Um, the only words I recognized out of your whole speech were coronary artery. So, did Savage have a heart attack?” she asked.
“A small one, but it could have been a lot worse if it had gone untreated,” he said.
“Well, thank you, doctor,” she said, turning to leave the office.
“You’re welcome,” he called after her. Harley stopped in the doorway and turned back to him. She wasn’t sure if he was just giving her shit or if he really was a doctor. She didn’t know many doctors in the Royal Bastards, but then again, Savage was a Rocket Scientist.
“Are you being a smart ass or are you really a doctor?” she asked.
“I’m a doctor,” he admitted. “I work on the base in town—Redstone,” he said.
“Yeah, I’m aware of the place,” she said. Everyone in Huntsville knew that place. You couldn’t turn down a street that didn’t lead to the base in some way. “And you promise that Savage is going to be okay?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said, “he’s in good hands. Bowie and I got him to the hospital in time.”
“Well, I guess I should thank you for that,” she said. Harley left the office and walked back behind the bar. Maybe she was abit too mean to Hex, but then again, she really didn’t know him. Maybe he deserved it on some level, but for some reason, finding out that he was a doctor helped curb her anger. If he had helped to save Savage’s life, then he must not have been too bad of a guy—right?
Hex
Hex had taken a week off work at the base, and to say that his superiors were upset was an understatement. They wanted him back on base, pronto, but he promised Bowie and Dallas that he’d help them with Savage when he finally came home. Savage’s condition was a bit worse than Hex originally believed. When the surgeon got into his chest cavity, he found more damage that needed to be fixed, but he was on the mend and was going to make a full recovery. The big guy liked to call his mitral valve complete replacement a “small procedure,” but it wasn’t. He was going to need time and rehab to heal—and he was the most impatient man that Hex had ever met.
While Savage was in the hospital, he had gone in daily to see him, and then headed over to Savage Hell, trying to keep the place up and running while its Prez was in the hospital recovering. Bowie was the club’s Vice Prez, and he had refused to leave Savage’s side unless it was to go home with their wife, Dallas, to help her with all their kids—and they had a houseful.
Hex walked into Savage Hell, and it was quieter than usual. The low hum of conversation couldn’t mask the heaviness thathung in the air. Everyone felt it — the absence of Savage. He was just glad that Bowie was the one to stop by the club to tell everyone about Savage’s surgery. Of course, all the guys asked what they could do to help out, but there was really nothing anyone could do for Savage or his family. He needed to rest and recover now, and that was all that mattered. Their Prez wasn’t just a leader; he was the heartbeat of the place, and right now, that heart was on the mend in some hospital room miles away.
Of course, as the club’s resident doctor, he was the one that the guys went to for answers. He really didn’t have any to give them. Savage’s case was pretty straightforward. His mitral valve had failed, causing him to have chest pains and a small heart attack on the way to the hospital. Thank God that Bowie was as stubborn as Savage was because his insistence that his husband go to the hospital was what saved his life.
Hex stood behind the bar, hands braced on the counter, watching a glass of bourbon sweat rings into the wood. He wasn’t built for this kind of thing — managing and all that shit. He was a doctor by trade, and a part of him was itching to get back to the ER on base, but that was going to take some time. He was a man of motion, better at breaking bones than keeping books. But Savage had asked him to step up, and Hex didn’t say no to his brothers—especially his Prez.
“Hey,” came a sharp voice from the end of the bar. “You planning to do more than stand there and look mean?” Ryder asked, trying to give Hex some shit.
Harley stepped in front of him and stared down the big biker. He hadn’t ever seen Ryder back down from any man, let alone a woman, but he did. “You need something, Ryder?” she asked.
“Just a beer,” Ryder grumbled. Hex learned quickly that Harley was all fire and nerve, with a stare that could melt chrome and a mouth that didn’t know when to quit. She had her long dark hair twisted up in a messy knot, a bar rag slung overone shoulder, and a clipboard in her hand to get the bar’s orders in, as though she ran the damn place. Hex was thankful for her doing all of that stuff, though, because running a bar was the last thing on his list of things that he wanted to do. Basically, he saw himself as her backup—if she needed him, he’d be there to help.
She turned to stare him down next, and Hex wished that he wasn’t standing in her way. He liked it better when she was giving Ryder shit instead of him. “You going to make yourself useful?” she asked.
