Page 64 of Fang

“Everyone check-in with Scalpel, then you can rest,” Vapor barks.

A couple of guys grumble about being hungry.

Babet waves a hand. “Food’ll keep. You boys get X-rayed, then get some rest.” Her sharp eyes assess his condition, maternal concern evident in her furrowed brow. “Need help getting him inside, Mina?”

I tighten my arm around Fang’s waist, careful to avoid pressing against any unseen injuries. “I’ve got him.”

Fang leans into me, more than I expected, suggesting his injuries are worse than he’s letting on. As the others head inside, we follow more slowly, his weight heavy against my side, his breathing carefully controlled.

“Did you get Vasquez?” I ask quietly.

“No,” he murmurs. “But we will. I promise you that.”

His weight grows heavier as we go inside and walk down the hallway toward the medical room inside the clubhouse. Fang told me about it before he left for Houston. Apparently Vapor decided to get a few machines they might need, like an X-ray machine, so he wouldn’t have to send any of the men to a local hospital. Too risky. The doctors and nurses ask too manyquestions, so for something simple like an X-ray, Vapor wanted to have one in-house.

Fang tries to hide his grimace as we navigate past brothers who nod respectfully, giving us space while clearly curious about what went down in Texas. The familiar scent of leather and whiskey that permeates the clubhouse mingles with something more metallic—the faint copper tang of dried blood on Fang’s skin and clothes. When he stumbles slightly, my arm tightens around his waist, careful to avoid putting pressure on his injuries.

“Almost there,” I murmur, guiding him toward the door.

After Scalpel takes a quick X-ray, we find out his ribs are bruised as hell but not broken. Scalpel tells him that rest is the best medicine for him, before sending him out to get the next guy in line outside the door.

We amble back to his bedroom—our bedroom, really, though neither of us has named it that yet. I punch in the code Fang gave me to unlock it.

My free hand fumbles with the knob, pushing it open to reveal the space that’s become my safe haven in recent weeks. The room is exactly as we left it: his bank of computers resting quietly in sleep mode, my laptop closed on the nightstand, our clothes mingled in the half-open dresser drawers.

Fang sinks onto the edge of the bed with a barely suppressed groan, his good arm cradling his ribs. “Not exactly how I planned to come home to you,” he says, attempting a smile that turns into a wince.

“Stay put,” I order, though he clearly has no intention of moving. “Let me get you into some fresh clothes.”

After grabbing a clean T-shirt and boxers, I help him remove his cut. He lifts his arms with a hiss of pain, allowing me to pull his T-shirt over his head.

The sight of his bare chest makes my breath catch. I didn’t see it earlier because Scalpel had me leave the room for a minute while they did the X-ray. Purple bruises bloom across his right side, spreading from sternum to back in a violent watercolor. Cuts of various sizes mark his arms and shoulders, some superficial, others deep. A particularly angry gash runs across his left bicep.

I strip his jeans and boxers before replacing the latter.

“What happened out there?” I ask, glancing at a cut above his eyebrow.

His eyes close briefly. “Vasquez was gone. The whole place was a trap. We made it out just before the main charge detonated, but the blast wave caught us. I got thrown about twenty feet into a drainage ditch. Knocked me out cold. Don’t worry. Scalpel checked to make sure I didn’t have a concussion.”

My heart squeezes as the reality of how close I came to losing him hits me. “And Vasquez, where’s he?”

“Vapor thinks he’s fled to Mexico.” Fang’s eyes open, finding mine.“He can run, but we’ll get him. I know we will.”

“And I’ll help.”

“Of course.”

“How are the others? I saw them get out of the van on their own, but I also know how stubborn you guys can be.”

“Banged up but intact. Ice took some shrapnel to the arm. Tank sprained his ankle. Nothing time won’t heal.” He groans as he tries to lay down.

“Here, let me help.” With careful movements, I prop him against the pillows, arranging them to support his injured side. Only when he’s settled do I sit beside him on the edge of the bed, taking his hand in both of mine.

“I need to get you a sexy nurse outfit. Alice might have an extra.”

“Don’t you dare ask her for one.” I grin. “Also, I doubt Scalpel will want her to share any of her sexy outfits.”

“Did she tell you something about what’s up with them?” he asks.

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