The Healer (Seven Sins MC 2)

"What?" he asked, pushing off the wall, taking long-legged strides across the room, moving to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with me, bending forward to inspect her feet.

I felt a wave of relief when I realized he hadn't done this. He wouldn't need to inspect his handiwork if he had.

So maybe I wasn't going to end up on a bed covered in my own blood after all.

When the man straightened, I didn't see the shock or horror or disgust I felt myself, just a blankness, a resolve even.

"Do you need anything specific for that?"

"Uhm, not right now. When they heal—if they heal—she might want some glue."

"Glue?"

"To put on the nail beds," I told him. "Your nail beds are sensitive. They feel sore if they are exposed. The glue would protect them and stop the soreness."

"Got it. Anything else?" he asked, not bothering to move out of my way, making me squeeze in front of him to move to the other side of the bed, my whole back brushing against his front.

I tried to inspect the woman's front without pushing her onto her back. "Ice packs," I decided, seeing how swollen her face was, her eyes nothing but little slits above dark black eyes. "Maybe some braces or elastic bandages?" I said, shrugging. "I don't know if anything is broken," I clarified. "I don't want to touch her without cleaning her wounds first. Oh, and gloves. I'll need gloves."

"Alright. I will get all of that," he agreed, turning, making his way back toward the door, closing it with a loud snap, making me jump.

"I don't know if you are in your right mind right now," I said to the woman, feeling a sting of tears at the backs of my eyes as she screamed against her gag. "But I am going to try everything I can to get you out of pain and well again. Whoever did this to you is a monster," I added, sitting down on the very edge of the bed, at a loss for what to do until I had the supplies I needed, so starting to hum because it was the only comfort I could give her.

The door opened a couple of minutes later, making my heart leap up as I looked over my shoulder.

But it wasn't the man from before.

This one was tall as well, but a little rougher-around-the-edges looking with his dark hair, beard, jeans, boots, and a leather vest thing over a black t-shirt.

"Sorry, babe," he said, making his way toward the windows, and it was right then that I noticed the hammer and box of nails in his hand. "Ace said I gotta seal off your exits," he told me.

Ace.

The other man's name was Ace.

"Did you do this to her?" I asked him as he grabbed a nail, held it against the frame of the window.

"Fuck no."

That was it.

Fuck no.

But at least I knew that was two of the people in this house who wouldn't pull out my toenails. It was a small sort of comfort, but I was going to take all that I could get.

The sound of the hammer seemed to ricochet through my skull, making my body jolt with each strike, leaving me feeling jumpy even after he was done.

"Uhm, excuse me, Mr..."

"Drex," he corrected, looking horrified at me calling him mister. "Just Drex."

"Drex," I repeated, finding the name clumsy on my tongue. "Can I have some water?"

To that, he shrugged.

"Guess I can manage that," he agreed, moving off, closing the door behind him.

Maybe I should have been trying to see if I could grab the heads of the nails and rip them out of the window, get myself out of there.

But if I left, this woman was probably going to die. And I wasn't sure I was heartless enough to let that happen. Maybe I'd never taken the Hippocratic Oath, but I'd never been the kind of person who could watch someone hurting and not at least try to help.

I would get her cleaned up and stitched up as best as I could, then I would try to find a way out of this situation.

Because they weren't just going to let me go, right?

I mean, I'd seen their faces.

Sure, as a couple hours passed, the Lenore woman and Drex's faces started to blur in my memory. For some reason, though, Ace's face was tattooed on my mind.

But only because I'd seen him for longer, of course. That was the only rational explanation.

If they let me go, I could absolutely give a police sketch artist enough to go on for Ace.

"Here," Drex said, coming back with a wine glass full of water.

"Thank you," I said, trying to give him a smile even though it felt—and likely looked—fake. "That other guy was a, ah—"

"Dick?" Drex asked, smirking. "Go on, you can say it."

"Well, yeah," I agreed.