Valen (Henchmen MC Next Generation 6)

“Hey, baby, I am going to need you to clue me in here, okay?” I said, reaching for her face with both hands, fighting against her when she tried to yank away. “Are you… shit,” I said, exhaling hard when I saw the tears streaking her face.

Louana, in my experience, was not a girl who cried. She had always been a tough nut to crack. And while there was a softer side under that hard shell, she just hadn’t ever been emotive that way.

So seeing the tears on her face, yeah, it was almost startling.

“Okay. It’s okay,” I said, pulling her to my chest, keeping my hand to the back of her neck to keep her against me as her tears started to soak through my shirt.

It was a few minutes later, as I still stood there, holding her, let her work through it, that there was a familiar knock on the door. But, true to form, Voss didn’t wait for a response before opening the door.

His gaze moved down, assessing her wound with a sort of dismissive interest that you might find from your average doctor.

“Gauze and tape,” he said, showing me a bag full of sealed items. “Got a heavy dose of antibiotic in there too,” he said. “Get that shit going. Pain meds are back at the clubhouse.”

With that, he put the bag down on the counter, moved out, and closed the door.

“Suture.”

“What?” I asked, not able to understand her with her face buried in my chest.

“Sutures,” she repeated, pulling back, and this time, I let her. But only a couple inches.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Gotta let this possibly drain. We’ll keep it clean and hope for no infection. If things seem bad, we will take you to the Grassi doctor,” I told her.

“Okay,” she said, tone numb, and it was such a foreign sound for her that I considered insisting we take her to the hospital after all.

But then I noticed she was just trying to wipe the tears off her cheeks, hide them, pretend like they’d never existed, like they hadn’t soaked my shirt.

This was Lulu, though.

She had a lot of pride.

She’d never forgive me for bruising it.

For a second time.

So I said nothing as I untangled from her and went for the bag Voss had left.

I washed my hands, then applied the gauze and tape to her skin.

“You can’t put those pants back on,” I told her. “I’ll go borrow something,” I added, watching her give me a tight nod. “Take that antibiotic while I’m gone,” I demanded.

I moved out of the bathroom, and damn near collapsed back into the wall beside the door, drawing the attention from the others in the room.

“She okay?” Fallon asked, inspecting the bullet that he’d likely fished out of his little brother’s shoulder, judging by the bandage I saw there.

“Through and through,” I told them. “Time will tell.”

“Okay,” Fallon said, exhaling hard. “Get her back to the clubhouse and resting.”

“I’m going to need a car,” I said. “It’s… in her… hip. And thigh.”

“And by hip, you mean ass,” Fallon concluded. “Yeah, can’t imagine riding on that on a bike would feel great. I’ll text Danny to come get her and Finn. I want you and Voss at the clubhouse, keeping an eye on the patients while we figure out what the fuck is going on.”

“Got it,” I agreed. I probably should have been arguing to be a part of the action, but if he was going to give me a chance to look after Louana, I was going to take it.

“Keep your phone by you,” he demanded, moving off to call Danny.

I grabbed a pair of pajama pants from Cary’s girl then made my way back into the bathroom, finding Louana standing at the sink, staring at her own reflection.

“Hey, got you some pants,” I told her, waving them so she could see them in the mirror.

To that, she gave me a tight nod.

“Ten minutes,” I told her, moving up behind her. “Ten minutes and we can get you some pain meds.”

I got another nod to that.

“Alright. Let me help you get these on,” I said, moving down to a squat before she could object, and waiting for her to slide her feet in.

I was more than a little worried about her complete silence as we moved slowly through the apartment, then painstakingly down the steps toward the SUV that Danny had driven over.

“Bring your bike back,” Danny insisted, pushing me away from the door when I’d attempted to get in as well. “Give her a minute,” she added, giving me a knowing look. “The way I hear it, you were a massive fuckwad to her back in the day. And now you were the one to take care of her today. She’s processing. Give her a minute.”