Remy (Golden Glades Henchmen MC 4)

My doctor was a smoking hot lady who couldn’t have been much older than me.

Her keen gray eyes were on me as she moved into the room, closing the door behind her.

“Miss Landry,” she said, giving me a tight smile. “You think you may have dislocated your shoulder?” she asked, moving closer to me.

“Yes.”

“How’d you manage that?” she asked, setting down the metal clipboard thing she had my file attached to.

I couldn’t tell her the truth, could I?

That was why Remy and his biker friends had brought Cato to the clinic instead of the hospital. Because the hospital could report that kind of thing to the police. And the last thing I needed was the cops involved in this now that there were even more bodies piled up.

“Miss Landry, you can tell me if this was done to you,” she said, looking sad. “Your boyfriend out in the waiting room?” she asked.

“What? No. Myles is my best friend. That’s it. The worst thing he’s ever done to me was apply sunblock across my shoulders when I passed out on the beach in the shape of the word ‘Bitch’ so it was like branded on me for weeks until the color disappeared.”

“Got to love asshole friends, right?” she asked, smirking. “Is he… is he involved with Seeley?”

“I don’t think Seeley, you know, goes that way.”

“No. I meant are they biker brothers together.”

“Oh. Oh, no. Not at all.”

“Can I ask why you are with Seeley then?”

“Well, there is this guy…” I started to admit.

“Of course there is,” she said with a sigh. “There always is. Did he do this to you?”

“What? No. He would never,” I insisted, but there was a false note in my voice as my mind flashed back to the savage way Remy had gone at those men in the jewelry store.

Was that truly the same man who put a blanket on me when I fell asleep on the couch? The one who had booped my dog’s nose? The one who snuck a little dollop of whipped cream on the top of the dog food when he thought I wasn’t looking while telling the dogs ‘don’t tell Mom.’

It didn’t seem right.

But I’d seen what I’d seen.

“You don’t need to defend him.”

“I’m not. I mean, I wouldn’t. This isn’t because of him. This was… this was someone else.”

“Someone else connected to him, then, I imagine?” the doctor asked as she carefully touched the front and back of my shoulder, applying a little pressure until I jerked and hissed. “They bring nothing but trouble,” she said.

“Do you know them?” I asked, brows lowering, not understanding the bitterness in her tone.

“I just worked on one of them a little while back. Multiple gunshot wounds.”

Cato.

Poor Cato.

I still didn’t figure out a good care package for him. That had to be high on my list.

Now I had to think of something for Arty as well.

A cleaning lady, perhaps?