WAYLON (Ruthless MC 1)

“That’s an old Kindle,” I tell him, finishing up the stitches. “I haven’t read most of the books on that one in years. My app has mostly non-fiction, self-improvement, and a lot of biographies.”

“That’s interesting. Whatcha highlighting in those books? Because I noticed a lot of the sex scenes are highlighted in the ones I’ve been reading—like almost all of them.”

My face burns, but there’s no way I’m going to tell him why I used to be so obsessed with highlighting sex scenes.

I ignore him and deal with putting all of my supplies back in my medical bag.

But he refuses to take the hint and keeps going.

“So, you didn’t highlight the scene where the alpha fucks her in front of his whole pack,” he says, his voice casual like we’re talking about the weather. “But you did highlight the scene where he takes her ass. Is there a reason you liked one over the other?”

I nearly choke on my own spit—then promptly try to act as if I’m not affected at all.

“No reason,” I answer, keeping my voice just as casual as his. “And don’t you, a known criminal, have anything better to do than harass me about what I choose to read?”

He lowers the Kindle. “What makes you think I’m a known criminal?”

“Are you not a criminal?” I ask the man who’s been lying handcuffed to my bed for the last five days.

Why does my heart speed up at the prospect of the answer to that question being no?

If you were mine, I’d take care of you—whether you wanted me to or not.

I’ve been ignoring his innuendos for days. But at the slightest hint that he might be legitimate, my heart starts doing a happy dance.

“Not a known criminal, no,” he answers. “I’m more like one of those shadow criminals you never see coming—unless I want you to see me coming.”

My heart sinks mid-flutter. Oh.

I don’t know why I’m so weirdly disappointed.

I mentally add, “Of course, this scary-looking MC who drew a gun on you is a criminal” to the list of “Should’ve Knowns” I started earlier in the month.

“So how close am I to road-ready?” he asks. “I got people probably wondering where I am since you won’t let me use your phone to call anybody.”

Guilt twists my stomach, although I can understand why Ant insisted on it being this way.

“I think you’re probably a few more days away from being up for a long road trip back to Iowa—and I definitely want someone to drive you to wherever you’re going, not the other way around.”

He nods.

“If you want to give me a number or email, I can reach out anonymously to whoever you need to get in contact with and let them know you’re safe. Maybe arrange a place for pick up.”

“I want a lot of things,” he answers, pinning me with that blue gaze. “But ending this before I’m ready isn’t one of them.

I pause….then make a firm decision that he’s talking about his physical rehabilitation—not whatever this thing is that shouldn’t be crackling between us.

“Yes, like I said, it’s better for you to fully recuperate before going anywhere."

“But I’m clear for other things, right?”

“Other things like what?” I ask.

He gives me a significant look—one that leaves no doubt in my mind that he’s talking about what I think he’s talking about.

“Oh, um…” I clear my throat a couple of times before answering, “I wouldn’t suggest anything that involves you using your core in that way—at least not for another few days.”

“So whoever I did other things with would have to be on top.” He nods in total agreement with the advice he’s twisted. “Got it.”

I don’t even try to answer this time. I don’t think I can handle any more innuendo tonight.

The quiet tactic works. He doesn’t bring up the subject again.

But then two nights later, just as I’m finishing up washing the dishes from dinner, he calls out from the bed, “So why did you and the doctor douchebag break up?”

I nearly drop the last plate I’m supposed to be placing on the drying rack.

“He’s not a douchebag,” I say, turning around to face him from across the room. “And why do you think we broke up?”

“You only leave for your shifts and come right back home to me afterward. And I never hear you talking on the phone with him.”

“That doesn’t mean we broke up. Doctors are very busy people—”

“Not this many days’ worth of busy. Not if they got a woman like you. Either he’s a douche for breaking up with you, or he’s a douche for neglecting you. So, which one is it?”

I hesitate. Then I decide to say, “We didn’t break—”

The MC leans forward before I can finish. “You really going to try to make me believe you’re not still going out with this guy? Just to deny this thing simmering between us?”