Malcolm (Henchmen MC Next Generation 2)

"That would be great."

While she slowly made her way back toward the pharmacy counter, I walked around the store, gathering shit I knew from experience she would need if she was going to function with a bunch of injuries.

"Did some shopping?" she asked, trying to be upbeat as we made our way back to the truck, but it was clear the events of the night were weighing on her.

"This is for you actually," I told her, putting the bag on her lap when she was settled.

"What? You didn't..."

"I have a bit more experience patching myself up than you do," I assured her. "If you are going to be able to even attempt to work tomorrow, you are going to need these elastic bandages to limit your range of motion of your ribs. There's triple antibiotic, bandages, over-the-counter pain meds, an eye patch if you want to use one, some ice packs—both the kind you put in the freezer and the ones you can crack and use immediately. Oh, and some makeup."

"You bought me makeup?" she asked, studying my profile as I backed out of my parking spot.

"If you want it. It's the shit that will cover up tattoos, so it should handle the bruises. I'm sure this is going to get around, maybe even be on the news, so people who come to the diner will likely know what happened, but if you just want to go out and do errands or something, and you don't want the looks, it will cover."

"This was really nice of you. I don't know how to—"

"Don't. You don't need to. Just being a decent human being, Holly."

"Still. I really appreciate it," she said, offering me a small smile as I pulled into the diner parking lot.

Everything was dark since they'd obviously needed to close down for the night.

Beside me, Holly stiffened.

"I'm right here," I reminded her. "I'm not going anywhere until you are on your way," I assured her. "Here," I said, going into the center console, pulling out a pad and pen, jotting down my number. "Take this," I demanded, putting it into her bag. "I want you to call me if you need anything. I mean it. Anything."

"Thank you," she said, and her eye was starting to get glassy.

"While we're at it, take these," I told her, going back in the console, pulling out a bottle of pepper spray and an eye-gouger. "Keep these with you. I'm sure the danger has passed, but having these on you will make you feel better."

To that, she took a long, deep breath as she slipped her fingers into the holes of the eye-gouger. "You're a really good man, Malcolm," she said a second before opening her door, and moving outside.

I watched as she hobbled her way over to her car with tense shoulders. As she struggled to get her seatbelt on without making her ribs scream. As she turned over her car and tried to look over her shoulder to back out, her face twisting in pain while she did so.

I had no idea how she thought she was going to be able to work the next night.

But I was going to find out for myself.

Because until I was sure that whoever had done this was caught, I figured I was going to be spending a lot of time eating diner food.

Chapter Four

Holly

I knew the police were frustrated with me. They tried not to show it, of course. It would be pretty awful to let a woman who'd just been beaten know that you were annoyed with her for not having a better grasp on how she came to be unconscious behind a dumpster.

But I knew it.

It was in their deep breaths that came out like sighs and their increasingly tight voices as they fished for more information.

I just didn't have it for them.

I'd been trying to lift the bag full of old, wet coffee grounds—a bag that I'd swear weighed more than I did—up over my head into the dumpster.

And the first blow had come from behind.

I had vivid memories of falling forward on my hands and knees, of the pain from the pavement scratching my palms.

But everything after that was a blur.

I didn't see anyone's face.

They didn't say anything to me.

All I knew was the feel of their fists and feet on me for what felt like forever until, finally, unconsciousness claimed me.

Waking up had been startling.

Because every square inch of my body seemed to be crying out in pain. Because it took me a couple seconds to realize where I was, and what had happened. And because, and I hate even thinking this in retrospect, when I saw Malcolm beside me, I had a couple seconds of terror that he was the one who'd hurt me.

I figured that maybe once I got to the hospital, once I knew what was wrong with me, and once I had some pain medicine to ease the aches, I might be able to remember some more details to give the police.