Page 21 of The Heart We Guard
“Fine. I get it. They provided.”
Greer lets out a sound akin to a growl. “No. Listen, if we were talking some famed male knight leading troops, you’d be game to discuss their strategic might, their fearlessness, how brave they were. But a woman leader, you’re like, oh, think about all the men who fought.”
“You’re a feisty little thing when you get going.”
“And you’re an asshole.” She glares at me for a second. “Actually, I don’t know you well enough to declare you an asshole just yet. But this conversation is putting you well on the path.”
I start to laugh but have to throttle it and hold a cushion across my abdomen as I do. “Only you could make an apology become a non-apology so quickly.”
“I wasn’t apologizing. I’m sorry if I made you think I was. Oh, and thatwasan apology.”
I chuckle again, and she smirks, a self-satisfied expression that says she somehow just won our conversation. “I like you, Greer. You’re a good sparring partner. A little on the wrong side of the rules, but not enough that you aren’t liked by those who are rule abiding. You make brave calls without thinking of yourself first. I was worried when Smoke dumped me in your car. Wasn’t sure what I was getting myself into. But I like you. Think my club would too.”
In fact, the more I consider it, the more I think about what King and his father built in New Jersey. They’ve evolved what a motorcycle club core staff needs to operate in a changing world. Digital crime is rapidly growing, but also, it’s good having technical skills for shit like finding people, hacking things, intelligence on enemies. Not only did Camelot take on a Black brother, which is almost unheard of in most motorcycle club circles, but King also took on Catalina.
Never thought I’d see the day when I considered a woman as part of the club rather than an appendage to one of the men, or a hole I could fuck.
And yet, now I consider how Greer could be an asset, a doctor who could patch us up, prevent us from choosing between potential jail time or death when we get seriously hurt. There’s already a certain distrust for authority in Greer.
A willingness to dance the dance to create a life you can be proud of.
Greer studies me for a second, probably to make out if I’m joking or not. “I’m not that good at receiving compliments. My natural tendency is to argue that they’re overstated. But I will accept those with gratitude.”
“Good.”
Our eyes drift to the television, where the hero of the movie has just careened off the end of the road and the car is in a herculean rolling flip.
“You know, in real life, he’d never survive that. When a car rolls on its side like that, it creates the potential for tears in the brain between the left and right hemispheres. At that kind of speed and velocity, there is almost no way he isn’t dying. But given this was the first movie in the franchise, and we know he’s in all six of them, he’s going to survive something he shouldn’t.”
I glance over at Greer. “Wow, you’re a bundle of fun to watch movies with. What happened to suspending disbelief?”
Greer grins. “Probably written by a man who thinks he knows medicine, brain dynamics, automotive engineering, physics, and?—”
“Fine. You made your point. No research. And he should be dead. If it makes you feel better, we can just pretend for the rest of the movie that he’s dead and is actually a ghost walking around.”
She glances my way. “Please tell me you don’t believe in ghosts.”
“Jesus, Greer. Stop being so literal. Of course I don’t believe in ghosts.”
“Fine,” she says, raising her hands. “I should get back to work anyway. Being fired has given me some time to think constructively about what I do next.”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t work?” Greer looks offended that I even mentioned not working.
“I’m gonna make some sweeping generalizations, so please, forgive me in advance. But you’re pretty young to be such a successful surgeon.”
“I had a good run through college and med school.”
“Because you’re gifted. Like, real fucking clever.”
Little patches of pink rise on her cheeks. “Something like that.”
“So you must be driven. Passionate about what you do too. And if you’re giving away your money to help people, I’m guessing you’re also giving away your time.”
“I mean, most people call it volunteering, Butcher. And yes, I do it with good intention. Like, why waste a moment you have on this planet doing shit that doesn’t matter?”
“Like watching a movie, with terribly unrealistic medical assessments, just for kicks, on a Monday afternoon?”
