Page 4 of The Sin Bin

The soft chime of the front door interrupted her thoughts.

"We're closed," she called automatically, not looking up from where she was updating charts. "Emergency services only."

"This is an emergency." A deep voice, resonant and oddly gentle despite its power.

Lauren turned and felt her heart skip a beat—and not in the romantic way. Standing in her clinic doorway was the very man she'd just watched assault someone on television. Jackson Thompson was even more imposing in person, filling the doorframe with his broad shoulders. The overhead lights cast shadows across the planes of his face, highlighting the bruising already forming along his jaw. Dark eyes that seemed to take in everything at once fixed on her with an intensity that made her instinctively step back. The air in the room seemed to contract around his presence, as if even the space itself responded to him.

And he was holding... a bundle of fabric?

"I found this kitten by the arena," he said, those massive hands cradling what she now saw was a T-shirt wrapped around a tiny form. "Something's wrong with it. Maybe hit by a car or..." He trailed off, and for the first time, Lauren noticed the blood on his knuckles, the swelling already setting in.

Her professional instincts kicked in, overriding her personal distaste. "Follow me," she directed, already moving to the exam room. "Did you check for a collar?"

"No collar," he said. "And it's definitely a stray. Too thin, fur matted."

Lauren raised an eyebrow at his assessment but said nothing as she held the door open to the exam room. She stepped aside to let him through, and as he passed, the scent of cold night air, faint sweat, and something distinctly masculine brushed over her. His shoulder nearly grazed hers, and she noted the heat radiating from him even from that slight distance. Her body registered his physical presence before her mind could process it—a primal awareness of a much larger predator in close proximity.

"Put it on the table, please. Gently."

Those enormous hands—hands she'd just watched pummel another human being—delicately unwrapped the shirt to reveal a tiny gray kitten, no more than eight weeks old, its breathing shallow and rapid.

"He was by the dumpster. He wasn't moving much, didn't even try to run when I approached."

Lauren carefully examined the kitten, noting the dehydration, the possible trauma to the hind legs. "How long ago did you find him?"

"Twenty minutes? I came straight here. The other emergency clinic across town was closed."

She nodded, already reaching for an IV catheter kit. "He's severely dehydrated, possibly internal injuries. I'll need to get fluids started and run some tests."

As she worked, she was acutely aware of the man hovering nearby, his size making the small exam room feel like a closet. Up close, she could see the bruising starting along his jawline, the split knuckles, the careful way he held himself that suggested ribs that were probably at least bruised, if not cracked. Every movement she made felt magnified under his watchful gaze, as if he were cataloging her every breath.

"You're staring, Doc." His voice wasn't accusing, merely observant.

"Professional hazard," she replied crisply, focusing back on the kitten. "I assess injuries. You appear to have several."

A short, humorless laugh escaped him. "Hazard of my profession too."

The kitten mewled weakly as she inserted the tiny IV, and Thompson flinched as if he were the one being stuck.

"Thank you for taking the time to bring this little one in." Most people—especially most men like him—would have walked past that dumpster without a second thought.

"He needed help and I was there." He looked down at his battered hands. "Sometimes that's all it comes down to."

Before Lauren could respond, the door to the clinic burst open, and a voice with a thick Russian accent called out, "Jax? Are you are here? Kane told me to find you."

Lauren peeked out of the exam room to see a compact blonde man, his gap-toothed smile faltering as he spotted her.

"Oh! Sorry, miss. I look for friend. Big scary guy, probably scowling." He demonstrated with his own face, pulling his features into an exaggerated frown.

Lauren's lips twitched upward. "This way," she directed. "And please lower your voice. We have patients trying to rest."

"Da, of course. Sorry." The man immediately dropped his volume, though his energy remained undiminished as he bounded toward the room. "Jax! Why you disappear after game? Kane thinks maybe you kill Wilson and hide body, but I say no, Jax too smart to get caught—" He stopped abruptly upon seeing the kitten. "What is this?"

Thompson—Jax, apparently—sighed deeply. "It's a kitten."

"I see that and that it's hurt," Dmitri moved closer to inspect the animal. "But why you are here with it?"

"Found him outside the arena," Jax explained, his patience evident. "Dr. Mackenzie is treating him."

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