Stone (Knights Corruption MC Series Book 2) (15 page)

Everything after that was a blur, a flutter of activity surrounding me, but for the life of me I couldn’t figure out why.

At some point, my helmet had either been removed or had flown off after I’d hit the pavement. I couldn’t quite remember. When I’d gotten my senses back, I looked down at myself and realized I was lying on the opposite side of the road I’d been traveling on, sections of my jeans and shirt ripped open. Bright red blood covered my skin, but of course I couldn’t feel any pain. Judging by the look on the people’s faces, they were shocked.

At what, I wasn’t sure, until an older woman spoke up. Squatting down next to me, I could see the concern etched on her face as she looked me over. Red hair pulled back into a severe bun sharpened her cheekbones, but it didn’t take away from her sincerity. Her warm touch was comforting, and I relaxed a little while looking into her greyish eyes. I thought she was feeling for broken bones, but if she was looking for a reaction of pain, she would surely be disappointed.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” she asked, leaning back on her haunches, continuing to eye me carefully.

Even though I couldn’t feel if there was any damage, I did a quick assessment of my situation, moving my hands and feet and wiggling my toes. Nope. I wasn’t paralyzed. Good sign.

I’d been lying on my back and when I went to sit up, the woman warned me otherwise. “I don’t think you should move, sir. An ambulance is on its way. I think it’s wise to wait for them.” In the span of thirty seconds, this stranger referred to me as ‘sweetheart’ and ‘sir.’

If she only knew.

“I’m fine. No need for help,” I assured, slowly rising to my feet. I was a little light-headed, but otherwise intact.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” a male voice said from behind me. Turning my head, I saw a young, dark-haired kid dressed in an oversized hoodie, ripped jeans, and shit-kickin’ boots. He appeared to be in his late teens, but I couldn’t tell for sure. His eyes raked over me and he looked . . . scared.

“Do I look that bad?” I tried to joke, but they didn’t find it too funny. Looking past the woman and kid, I tried to locate my bike. Doing a quick visual search, I finally saw it lying down the road a bit, mangled to all hell. Fuck! I loved that bike. “Do you have a phone I can use?” I asked no one in particular.

“Yeah, man,” the kid announced, shoving his huge cell into my hand. The model we used were the old-fashioned flip phones. Basic. Easy to use. What he handed me was foreign. I made a face and he caught on to the reason pretty quick. Judging by the way I was dressed, and looked, it was safe to say he understood I probably wasn’t into all that technical stuff.

Swiping his hand across the screen and tapping another button, a number pad screen popped up. “What number do you wanna call?” he asked, ready and waiting to help.

I gave him Marek’s number. He didn’t answer, as I assumed he wouldn’t since it was a number he didn’t recognize. But I left a message, telling him where I was and that I needed him to pick me up immediately. Never saying good-bye, I handed the phone back to the young kid and walked to the curb. Taking a seat, I prayed my friend was quick.

I could have assured his speedy arrival if I’d remembered to tell him I’d just got run the fuck over.

Adelaide

My shift was flying by and I couldn’t have been more pleased. Keeping busy was certainly the best thing because it allowed me to forget about certain painful aspects of my life. Stone in particular. I was a damn mess whenever he was around, confusing me and twisting me all up inside so much I could barely think straight.

“Bed four,” Carol yelled to my back as I walked down the short hallway with a clipboard grasped in my hands, distracting me enough to push all thoughts of the infuriating man aside. For a brief moment, at least.

With my head down and my eyes gliding over the chicken scratch of one of the nurses, I came to an abrupt halt outside bed four. A rough rumbling voice pierced the air, stopping me in my tracks immediately. My heart fluttered uncontrollably, and then my stomach suddenly dropped. I stepped closer, tipping my head to the side as I strained to hear what was being said, but it was futile; his voice was too muffled, the words coming out in short grunts. The only thing I was sure of was that there was more than one person hidden behind the curtain, a thin green material which provided the illusion of privacy.

Closing my eyes and taking a deep breath, I gripped the side of the curtain. When the air finally escaped my lungs, I pulled it open.

Fast and harsh.

My eyes quickly scoured the scene in front of me. Screams would have bubbled up from my throat had I not been at work, trying to remain professional. Stone was sitting upright on the hospital bed . . . covered in blood. Marek lounged in a seat off to the left and acted as if it were a normal occurrence to be sitting in a hospital with his best friend all banged up. Then again, maybe it was. What the hell did I know? Stone never told me anything about club business, and if he’d gotten into a fight he’d never gone into details.

He’d had black eyes and cuts before. The man even had scars from being stabbed and shot, and still he remained close-lipped. But never before had he come to the hospital. Not that I was aware of, anyway. In recent times, I was the one who had taken care of the men whenever they required medical attention, and for all I knew he could have been under the impression that I wouldn’t come to the clubhouse.

So he came to me.

Closing the drape for privacy, I stepped closer to better assess his situation. Red stains soaked his clothes, his jeans and shirt shredded, revealing gashes on his skin. His hair was pushed back, blood coating his hairline as well as his cheeks, but it looked like it was more from him running his hands over his face and through his hair rather than whatever had happened to his body.

“Addy,” Stone finally spoke. “You okay?” he asked, worry laced in his voice for me. Which was so odd because he was the one who was hurt.

“What the hell happened?” I frantically questioned, rushing forward to inspect his damage up close. Flinging the clipboard on the counter next to me, my fingers grazed over his body before I even realized I was touching him. First his right thigh, then over his chest.

“He got into a fight with a truck. And the truck won.” Marek chuckled from the corner of the room, leaning forward and watching his friend in amusement. Stone laughed at his buddy’s comment, but when his eyes found mine again, that laughter quickly died.

“What. Happened?” I reiterated. They might think danger was funny, but I didn’t, and if there were any confusion, my anger and worry was written all over my damn face.

“Some asshole crashed into my bike and I skidded across the road. Thank fuck my helmet stayed on or you’d be lookin’ at a completely different person. My pretty face would have been all mangled.” His smile returned full force. He reached for my hand to pull me close, but I dodged him, stepping aside to grab a hospital gown for him to change into.

“What happened to the driver?”

“He took off,” he answered, as if it was no big deal that the person thought nothing of leaving another human being lying in the middle of the road, possibly dying. A shudder tore through me but I refused to give it life, my anxiety already kicking into overdrive picturing what could have happened to Stone had he not been so lucky.

“Here,” I said, shoving the gown at him. “I can’t do anything with your clothes on.”

“Well, I like the sound of that,” he teased. Hopping off the bed, he started to undress in front of me and Marek. No hesitation whatsoever.

“Let me know when you’re done.” I turned my back and stepped toward the front of the room, ready to leave and give him some privacy when his voice stopped me.

“It’s not like you haven’t seen me naked before, sweetheart.” His tone was playful but also suggestive. I tried, I really did, but images of Stone in all his splendid nakedness infiltrated my brain.

Glancing over at Marek, my eyes practically bugged out of my head, shocked Stone had revealed something so private, a detail which was supposed to be secret.

“I knew about you two, even before this asshole said anything. It was so fuckin’ obvious,” Marek assured, rising from his seat and walking toward me.

“Where ya goin’?” Stone asked.

“I love ya, brother, but I’m not lookin’ at your bare ass if I don’t have to. I’ll be in the waiting room if you need me.” He disappeared without another word.

Once we were alone, I chose to keep my back to him, not sure if I should step out of the room or not. But, as usual, he made the choice for me.

“Addy,” he called, the sensual rasp in his voice stroking my simmering lust.

“Yeah?”

“I need you to help me take my clothes off.” I knew damn well he didn’t need my assistance. He was simply trying to bring me close enough to work his magic.

I decided right then it was easier just to go along. That way, I could fix him up quickly and send him on his way. Yeah, I was doing this more for my benefit than his.

Keep telling yourself that.

“Fine.” I gave in, turned to face him, and stepped forward. Marek had already removed Stone’s cut because I saw it slung over the chair tucked in the corner of the room. “Let’s get your shirt off first.” I tried to keep enough distance between us so he couldn’t touch me, but it was pointless because he wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me closer, catching me when I stumbled forward.

“That’s better,” he said, a smirk lifting the corners of his full lips. Releasing his hold, he raised his arms in the air. I was careful when I gripped the hem of his tattered shirt and pulled it up his body. Instantly, I noticed he had two deep gashes on his right side. Blood continued to trickle down his chest with no hopes of stopping until I stitched him up. His array of intricate tattoos was blurred underneath his own life source, and it was extremely upsetting.

Tossing the blood-soaked material on the floor, I moved back so he had enough room to remove the rest of his clothes.

“Do you need my help taking off your pants?”

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear you say that, baby,” he joked, although the look in his eyes told me he wasn’t kidding around. Damn, the man could reduce me to a bumbling fool with a simple glance. Steeling my nerves, I arched a brow and not-so-patiently waited for him to be serious. Thankfully, it didn’t take him long. “You’re no fun,” he grumbled.

“This isn’t time for fun. You’re injured—pretty badly, I might add. You’re gonna need at least twenty stitches for each gash on your chest, and God only knows what you have going on underneath your jeans.”

“You don’t remember? Then maybe I need to give you a reminder.” His eyes lit up with lust and I knew I was in for it. There was no quick patching him up then sending him away. He was well on his way to disarming me. My fear at seeing him so banged up played havoc with my anger toward our situation. Warring back and forth, I wanted him to wrap himself around me, to pull me close and take me with a passion only he could evoke from me. But at the same time, I wanted him to disappear.

To leave me alone to try and figure out my crazy emotions.

Something told me he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, though.

Finally, his fingers quickly went to work on the button of his jeans. Pulling down the zipper, he kicked off his boots at the same time. Amazingly enough, his balance remained intact, but I wondered for how long. He might not be feeling any pain from his injuries but surely he was going to feel a touch of dizziness soon, especially with his body continuing to leak blood.

Once the fly of his jeans was completely open, he leaned back and rested his hands on the edge of the bed, thrusting himself forward and waiting for me to help him.

“What? You can’t take them the rest of the way off?”

“I may not be a doctor, but in my condition I don’t think you want me bending over. Do you?”

Smug bastard.

Without responding, I grabbed his jeans and slid them down his muscular thighs, lifting each foot to completely discard the tattered material. His legs weren’t as bad as his chest, although there was quite the nasty road rash on his right thigh. I had no idea how hard he hit the pavement, or even how fast he’d been going when he was thrown from his bike, but the majority of the damage was on his right side. Which told me that was the side that hit the ground first . . . and hard.