“No, it’s not alright, and you’re not in the condition to handle anything but a bed,” I insist back. I turn back to my brother. “Why are you doing this?”
Ant just shrugs. “Need the room back.”
“You need the room back?” I repeat, spluttering. “What are you? Like a hospital? You’ve got other patients who need the bed?”
“Naw, we ain’t a hospital.” Ant sneers at me. “That’s why we’re kicking him out. He can’t stay here. We don’t know him like that.”
He glances toward the set of row houses the DE Reyes gang calls home, then draws up to his full height.
I glance toward the houses, too, and see a few members of his crew peeking out windows like little old biddies.
Crap! He’s not going to back down in front of his boys in broad daylight in the middle of the territory he controls.
There’s nothing I can do but negotiate. “Okay, fine. If you want your bedroom back so bad, at least take him to a hospital—”
“No hospitals,” all three men say before I can get the rest of my plea out. Ant, O-Blood—even the biker who can barely stand up growls the two words between gritted teeth.
“You can’t just dump him at the state line,” I insist.
“Why not?” Ant slides the van door open, revealing a seatless expanse with dingy carpet. “We’ll give him a burner phone, so he can call his boys to come get him.”
“That’s not enough. He shouldn’t be riding that far in the back of a van without seats. And if he gets an infection from lying on its dirty floor, there’s no guarantee his crew will be able to get to him in time. He could die.”
Ant shrugs. “And?”
“And that’s a bad thing,” I answer, carefully enunciating every word. “He’s a human life who could exacerbate his wound, or worse, catch an infection if we don’t get him re-bandaged and resettled in a bed.”
Ant clasps his hands in front of him. “He pulled a gun on you, sis. As far as I’m concerned, he’s not a human. And I’m willing to let him die for that.”
His words tug at my heart. Of course, Ant would see it that way.
It would have made that conversation with Jonathan way easier if I’d just agreed to renounce my foster brother. If I’d done that, I probably wouldn’t have gotten broken up with by the most promising boyfriend I’ve ever had.
But Ant’s loyalty is why I can’t just let him go. He’s still the sweet little boy who’d do anything to protect me from our abusive foster parents deep down underneath all that.
Still, I have to argue, “I’m the one he pulled a gun on—and I’m telling you, I will not forgive you if you let my patient die for some messed up, petty reason.”
A shadow of consideration flickers across Ant’s eyes…but then he glances back at all the Reyes watching us like a tv show.
My heart sinks when Ant’s face takes on a hard, stubborn cast. Of course, he won’t see reason and reverse his decision.
I’m his big sister, and I know he’d do anything I asked—in private. But in public, he has to front for his crew.
“He’s not staying here,” Ant says, his voice set to a final decision. “So unless you got a better idea….”
A better idea?
No, I didn’t have one of those.
But I did have a single, desperate idea.
And that’s how the MC comes to jerk awake in my bed a few hours later.
He immediately tries to bring his shooting arm toward his body—most likely reaching for his gun again. That seems to be a hard-wired first instinct.
But his wrist jerks to a stop when he discovers he’s not just in my bed but handcuffed to it. Also, I stripped that jacket back off him after he collapsed in my bed, so he’s also shirtless now. And weaponless.
No guns or knives to pull.
That realization appears to freak him out. He turns over sideways and yanks on his handcuffed arm with the crazed look of a wolf willing to chew off his own paw to get out of a trap.
I come off the couch where I’d been watching him before he woke up, trying to decide if I should feed him before my shift or just hope for the best when I got back.
Now the choice has been made for me. He’s awake and angry as a tiger to find himself chained to my bed.
“Please don’t do that. You’ll hurt yourself and make your wound even worse.”
As soon as he sees me standing over him, he stops. Then to my surprise, he lays back and smiles at me. “Mornin’, angel.”
His unexpected smile sparks something weird in my chest. But that’s nothing compared to what happens inside my stomach when he asks, “Why weren’t you there when I woke up? Like I told you to be.”