Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 111229 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 556(@200wpm)___ 445(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111229 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 556(@200wpm)___ 445(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
My eyes bulged. Brock was taking the overprotective thing way too seriously. “I do not need to go to the hospital for tests, I’m fine!” I protested, feeling pissed at the fact I was lying in a hospital bed sans designer footwear. I needed height to compensate for my lack of tattoos and macho personality.
Brock gave me a sideways glance with a hard jaw. “She also needs a MRI if she thinks she’s fine.”
Hansen gave him a steady look before strolling over to me. In the light of day, without a room full of concerned hot bikers, I got to fully appreciate his hotness. I felt guilty checking out my pseudo doctor while my whatever Brock was in the room. I was pretty sure I had enough on my plate.
Hansen eyed me, not in the way that I liked either. It was cold and clinical.
“She does look a little pale, but that’s to be expected.” He came to my bedside to pick up my wrist. There was silence for a second. “Pulse is remarkably good for someone recovering from serious blood loss.” He gave me a soft look, something a little more human. “Do you mind if I look at your stitches?” he asked quietly, gesturing to the blanket covering me.
“Be my guest. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before,” I said casually, though I wasn’t feeling as blasé as I sounded. The grim reality of what had happened to me was starting to set in, and I wasn’t at all happy about the label of victim that seemed to be the only one that fit me at the moment. It was how everyone was treating me.
Brock stood slightly to the side of my bed, with his arms crossed and standing like your standard staunch alpha male. His breath hissed when Hansen pulled back my bandages to reveal my little collection of cuts.
“How much pain are you in?” Hansen asked, not looking up from his inspection of my legs.
I bit my lip, aware of the tension rolling off Brock. I wish Hansen had told him to leave before we started this. But I could have predicted that would have ended in him still standing here with Hansen potentially sporting a black eye.
“Um, not much. Maybe like just having a constant bikini wax every time I move,” I joked. I wasn’t technically lying, but considering two bikers probably wouldn’t have the experience of the excruciating pain of having hair ripped from the roots, they wouldn’t gather the extent of the discomfort. The silence in the room told me otherwise.
Hansen pressed around the area gently and I couldn’t help my wince.
“I wouldn’t be doing that again if I were you, brother.” Brock’s angry voice was suddenly closer and I glanced up to see him standing right at Hansen’s shoulder, glowering.
To his credit Hansen didn’t return the aggression. “Easy. I just needed to see if the pain was localized and if all of the nerves are working as they should. These are deep lacerations.” Hansen glanced at me. “Although I don’t think you need to go to the hospital for any health related problems, I do think you’re going to want to see a plastic surgeon.” He gestured carefully and covered up my cuts. “These will scar unfortunately.” Needless to say his clinical tone was long gone and an undercurrent of fury rippled through his last statement.
He gave me another once over. “I also want you to go for a checkup in about a week, get your iron levels checked and make sure your body is healing how it’s supposed to.”
“Well, what are we waiting for?” Brock interrupted, “Let’s get to a hospital so a surgeon can look at this shit now.”
Hansen pulled off the gloves he was wearing. “She can’t actually have the scars looked at until the cuts have healed. Then we’ll know the extent of the scarring and what, if anything can be done to reduce them.”
Brock stilled. “You mean she could go through all this pain, almost die and still have to live with the reminder of what happened to her?” he asked quietly.
Hansen put a hand of Brock’s shoulder. I was impressed with his bravery; Brock looked like he was going to go all Hulk on him. “I’m sorry I can’t tell you more, brother. This isn’t exactly my specialty. But we’re just going to have to wait and see.” His voice was grim and he seemed frustrated.
Brock stared at him for a moment then nodded stiffly.
“Okay, now that I’m satisfied you’re going to make a full recovery I can report back to some seriously nervous men,” Hansen joked, eyes back on me. “You gave everyone quite the scare, beautiful. You’re a fighter.” He winked at me.
I rewarded him with a smile.
He turned to Brock, who looked unhappy at our little exchange. “We got church in five, brother.”
Brock didn’t respond; instead he looked at me and if I had been standing up I’m sure I would have toppled over at the amount of concern and emotion in his gaze.
Hansen caught this. “She’ll be good, brother, I’ve got Macy comin’ in any minute with breakfast and a laptop filled with movies and books and shit.”
Brock approached my bedside. “You’ll eat everything on that fuckin plate, and I don’t want you out of this bed.” he ordered.
All the warm and fuzzy feelings I had over his loving gaze disappeared in a puff of smoke. “I’ll eat what I want to eat and you won’t command me to do so ever again, Otto,” I snapped. “And I’ll get out of this bed if I want to get out of this bed. That is my prerogative, since last time I checked I was in charge of my motor skills.”
Brock’s eyes narrowed. “You need to turn off the bitch for five fuckin’ seconds and realize that I’m right. And if you don’t do what I say I’ll come in here and make you eat every last bite.”
“What are you going to do? Knock me unconscious and shove a feeding tube down my throat?” I asked sarcastically.