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Smatters of red cover his face, his chocolate brown hair, and every visible piece of skin. My stomach sinks. Because if I can feel connected to a woman I’ve never spoken to and I’m the most rational of the four of us, Kovu can become obsessed with one glance. And I’ve seen what he does with the objects of his obsession. I just hope whoever this woman is, she’s strong enough to survive him and his…proclivities.
CHAPTER THREE
KOVU
Even after killing ten of De Marco’s men with nothing more than my hands and my favorite knife, my thirst for blood remains as strong as ever. It’s a constant craving, an obsession I have no desire to squash.
Kaos forced me to come see Rogers about the cut in my arm. Apparently, it’s too deep and will get infected if I don’t get it stitched. What he doesn’t say is that he knows I’ll pick at it if it’s not bandaged, and I’ll make it ten times worse. But it’s just another scar to add to my collection. That’s how I chose my new name, after all. My name from birth is dead to me, along with the people who gave me life, and I chose a name fitting for the body they left me with.
Kovu means scar in Swahili, making it the most fitting name for my ruined body.
But I wasn’t expecting to see anyone else in the medical suite, and I certainly wasn’t expecting to find Bishop fawning over a woman who looks like she’s seen better days. His body blocks most of hers, but even from here, I can tell she’s beautiful, even more so because she’s so broken.
“I found her out in the alley, she’s hurt pretty bad,” he answers after long seconds in stunned silence.
“I’ll say.” I smirk and push off the doorway toward the table in the middle of the room. I spend enough time in here that I’m wondering if I should hire my own fucking doctor so I don’t have to wait to be seen.
The closer I come to the woman on the table, the more my cock twitches in my stained jeans. Her dark brown hair splays beneath her head, her eyes are pressed closed peacefully despite her extensive injuries. Blood seeps from her open wounds, and bruises of all colors cover her skin. She’s like my wet dream come to life.
Rogers is focused on her left arm, which seems more swollen than the rest of her. He looks between the x-ray machine and the affected limb. “It’s broken all right, but I can set it while she’s knocked out without the need for surgery.”
Bishop nods before his attention falls back onto the girl. His green eyes move over her bruised body, and I don’t miss the flash of emotion that’s gone almost as quickly as it appeared. He’s as taken by her as I am, and that’s rather peculiar. He doesn’t tend to get attached to anyone. To be fair, none of the others do, not since her, but this is different. Out of the four of us, Bishop cared the least for the woman who almost tore our family apart, always keeping her at arm’s length. But this is different, and I have a feeling Daddy Crew isn’t going to like it one bit.
“So, she’s going to be okay?” he asks, running a hand through his messy blonde hair.
Rogers nods. “Good as new in four to six weeks.” He looks up, his eyes moving between us. “What’s your plan here? She’s going to need someone to look after her for at least a week, probably closer to two. She’s got three broken ribs, her arm and wrist are both broken, and I doubt she’s going to be walking anywhere anytime soon. Before I start treating her, do you want to dump her at an ER and they can be the ones to sort it out?”
Bishop and I growl at the same time and then immediately look up with wide eyes. He’s spent more time with her than I have, but we’re both being pulled into her orbit, powerless to fight it.
“Absolutely not,” I snap. “We can take care of her right here. Right, Bish?” I elbow him in the ribs.
“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?” he snaps back, which only makes my smile grow wider. “But yes, we’ll take care of her until she’s back on her feet.” His jaw is set tight, and it has nothing to do with the nickname he hates so much and everything to do with the fact he has to tell his father we’re going to have a houseguest. I don’t envy him for that job, but he’s the one who found her and brought her in here, therefore, he’s the one who can do the dirty work.
Rogers looks between us one last time before he starts wiping the drying blood from her skin. If I had it my way, she’d keep bleeding, but apparently normal people don’t like that.
“I need one of you to hold her shoulders, and the other to make sure she doesn’t move if she wakes up,” Rogers says as he picks up her arm.
“Should you give her some kind of painkiller in case she wakes up?” Bishop asks. I’m not normally on his side, he’s entirely too rational for my liking, but even I think she may need it. I’ve had my fair share of broken bones set by Rogers and the other doctors that work for us, and not even I, the man who loves pain, can handle it without being drugged up to my eyeballs.
A flash of annoyance in his hazel eyes tells me he’s not happy about this situation any more than the other members of the Legion will be when they find out, but at the end of the day, we pay Rogers handsomely for his services, not his opinion about the decisions we make.
He makes his way to the medicine cabinet and returns with a vial of what I can only assume is morphine.
No fair. She gets the good shit.
“I’ll take a look at your arm once I’ve done this,” he tells me as he measures out the liquid and taps the needle.
I look down at my arm and find the gaping wound still seeping with blood. Oh yeah, I forgot about that. “Thanks.”
I watch with keen interest as he slides the tip of the needle into her skin and barely bite back the groan that rises up my throat. Most people, including all those who live in this complex, think I’m fucking insane, and perhaps they’re right, but there’s something about blood that makes my cock harder than anything else can.
“This is probably going to prolong her waking up, which should make it easier for you to care for her and give her body some time to heal.” Rogers drops the syringe into a metal tray and picks her arm back up. “I need you both to hold on to her.”
We do as we’re told without argument, and as soon as we’re in place, he grips her arm and twists it, causing her bones to crack back into place. The sound is like music to my ears, and by the way Bishop is glaring at me, he knows exactly what’s going on in my mind.
“Does Daddy Crew know we have a houseguest?” I ask.
“No.”
