Page 75 of Fanatic

“Hey Doc,” Fanatic said weakly.

“Fanatic. I’ve some good news. Your liver is luckily showing no signs of damage. We believe you’ve not had any anti-rejection drugs for at least a week. You’re doing better but need to remain in overnight while we build you back up. Fanatic, your tablets were switched, and the police have been notified. They weren’t the ones you collected from the pharmacy,” Doc Paul explained, and I sat up.

“Somebody tried to kill Fanatic?”

“Willow, I can’t say that, but someone intended harm,” Doc Paul replied.

“The stalker?” Fanatic asked, and I felt guilt hit me. Had I done this to him?

“That’s police work, not mine,” Doc Paul answered. “Fanatic, I’ll be back in an hour to check on you.”

“Thanks, Doc,” I said as he left. I reached out and grasped Fanatic’s hand. “We’re not safe at the house. You gotta move to the clubhouse, Fanatic.”

“Willow, I need to move? Think again because I’m not leaving you and Danny alone there. Disaster seems to follow you lately. If I go, you do too,” Fanatic stated.

“Agreed. Someone has it out for you both. Could be the same person or two different attackers. Or even three after that bitch faked those allegations,” Drake added, entering. He carried a paper bag that smelt amazing, and I sniffed. Drake handed it to me, and I opened it, as my stomach growled. Burger and fries.

“Sorry, son, you get the sensible shit until you’re out of here,” Drake added, handing Fanatic a white bag. Fanatic grimaced as he pulled out two sandwiches.

“Has it even got the good stuff?” Fanatic complained as sniffed it.

Drake rolled his eyes. “Turkey, ham, beef, salad, and I had Harley bring salad cream.”

“Thank fuck!” Fanatic grinned and made grabby hands at Drake.

Drake handed over the bottle of sauce that Fanatic had imported. I preferred mayonnaise but each to their own.

“Don’t think this is fair. Willow gets a burger, and I get this,” Fanatic still complained.

“Be grateful you got that. Your mom’s on a kick, and you’d have had chicken salad or soup,” Drake warned.

Fanatic wrinkled his nose, and I smiled. He did eat those, but if Fanatic had his choice, he’d take what he got in front of him over them.

“So, someone tried to kill me,” Fanatic said conversationally. Drake snarled, and I choked on a fry. “What? Just putting it out there.”

“Don’t be so cavalier. This could have killed you,” Drake snapped, and Fanatic looked a little ashamed.

“Yeah. I’m aware, Dad, but I’m not sure what the etiquette is when dealing with my own attempted murder.”

“Not being a wiseass is a start,” Drake suggested.

“Told you,” I muttered around a mouthful of burger.

Fanatic gazed at me before shaking his head. “Preferred you two at odds.”

“I wasn’t fighting, Willow was. Get your facts right, boy,” Drake retorted as he sat down. “You got about ten minutes before your mother lands. This shit needs dealing with.”

“And Hellfire will handle it,” Fanatic replied.

Drake’s eyebrows almost shot off his face. “Did you just pull club on me?”

“You gotta let Hellfire deal with this. It’s our shit, not Rage's. You’re my father but not my president,” Fanatic said, and I sat back.

This was going to get interesting.

Drake’s face took on a stubborn expression. “You’re my son.”

“Yup. But I’m Hellfire’s prospect. Dad, you wouldn’t like Chance interfering. You need to back off. Support me as my dad, but don’t interfere in Hellfire business,” Fanatic stated firmly.

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