Page 37 of Bram

“I…”

“You’re fucking staying right here with me.”

I wanted to protest, or maybe knee him in the balls. I didn’t take orders from men. But Bram was different. He was confident without being arrogant. He was an asshole without being a total dick. And, he was right. I wanted him like I’d never wanted another man.

“For now,” I whimpered.

“Forever,” he growled in my ear.

He pressed his lips against mine and the whiskey he’d been drinking bit my tongue. Our mouths opened, heat building like a furnace between us. His arm slipped around my back, and when he eased me against him, I could feel his cock pressing against my stomach, another log on our fire.

“Break it up, you two,” the medic said.

Bram grunted and stepped aside. I guessed it was one of the few times the man had ever followed an order.

The medic moved in front of me, though I kept my eyes on Bram. I hurt too much to ask the universe what the fuck I was doing with my life. This had not been on my bingo card.

“Nose first,” the medic said. He didn’t ask if I was ready. He just put his fingers around the bridge, braced my head, and yanked. The break reset with a crunch, and I heard the noise in stereo: once in the air, once inside my own skull. I kept my mouth shut, but the pain made my vision pixel out for a second, like the world wanted to switch itself off. I let it.

He pressed tape across the bridge, then checked my eyes for dilation. “Concussion,” he said, matter-of-fact. “Nothing a night’s sleep won’t fix.” He worked down to my ribs, fingers prodding along the edge. “Inhale?” he said.

I did. The pain was a hot wire straight through my chest, but I kept my back straight and let him wrap the compression band. He finished at the arms, pouring alcohol across the rope burns. That made me hiss, the first sound I let out all night.

When he finished, Bram moved his chair closer. His thigh brushed mine, and I felt it through layers of denim and bandage. He didn’t touch my hand. He just waited, like he was making sure I wouldn’t vanish if he blinked.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I said and turned away. I looked back at him, and he was smiling, staring at the tape across my nose. I looked at the tape cross-eyed, and Bram laughed.

“I should punch you in your stitches,” I said.

“You’ve never been so beautiful.”

“And you’ve never been so full of shit.”

I looked around the room, and although most club members were preparing for war, Rusty was not.

He leaned against the door. He hadn’t said a single word since we got here. His arms were folded, his biceps bulging under the cut-off shirt, but there was something weird in his face. Not pity. Something colder. I realized he was watching Emma, not me, and his eyes flicked to her every time she shifted in her seat.

Bram broke the silence. He didn’t look at my injuries. He looked at me, like he could burn through the blood and bruises and see what was left inside.

“Who did it?” he asked. “The guys we killed?”

I took a long breath. The air moved weird in my nose now, half blocked, like the wind had to go around a new bend. “Does it matter?” I said.

He didn’t blink. “Yes.”

I looked down at my forearms, at the fresh white tape and the angry pink underneath. The words lined up on my tongue, and I wanted to swallow them. Instead, I made myself say it: “The Colonel.”

Bram’s mouth twitched at the edge. Nothing else moved.

“He found out,” I said. “About us. About…” I hesitated. I didn’t want to say love. I didn’t want it to matter that much, not with Emma in the room, not with the bruises still warm on my face. “…about you and me,” I finished.

“How?” Bram asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “A Scorpion at the bar, someone following me, maybe a bug in the house. He always knows. Even from prison he kept tabs on me.” I rubbed my thumb along the tape on my wrist. “He didn’t do it because he was mad. He did it because he could. It’s the way he lets you know he has control over you.”

Bram’s jaw set. The vein at his temple popped up, a thick blue cord. His knuckles went white on his knees.

“He said I embarrassed him. That I needed to understand my place. He explained it while he did it, like a fucking instructional video. Like he wanted me to take notes.”