Page 8 of The Heart We Guard
“Go do whatever the fuck you have to,” Smoke says.
She looks at Smoke, then me. I don’t know what kind of mental battle she’s having with herself, but she looks utterly torn.
“Fine. Put him in my car while I’m gone.” And then, she hurries off on foot. “I’ll take him somewhere private.”
“This is gonna hurt, Butcher,” Smoke says. And it fucking does when he lifts me and we stumble our way to her car.
“You sure she’s a doctor?” I say, my voice wheezing.
“That’s what the ID on her lanyard says. You sure you don’t want me to take you inside?” Smoke asks as he fusses around to make sure my feet are in and I’m as comfortable as I can be.
I shake my head. “Too obvious. You need to…get the fuck out of here. Quinn’s…waiting.”
“They’re dead,” Smoke says finally. “Zakharov and one of his men, that I know of.”
I reach up and pat Smoke’s cheek. “Good job…brother.”
At that, I close my eyes again. The weight of keeping them open is too much. I can barely figure out how to breathe through the pain.
When she returns, she’s sweating, her face red. But the bag is full.
“Got what you need?” I hear Smoke ask.
The woman nods, but Smoke snatches the lanyard she’s wearing from around her neck. “If you don’t save him, I’ll find you and kill you.”
“If you don’t deliver the money when I’m done, I’ll find you and kill you too. Now get out of my way.” But I can hear the sarcasm in her tone. She’s not in this for the money.
Plus, I like the clipped way she speaks.
Smoke taps the side of my cheek, then hands me my cut, weapon, wallet, and phone back. If I’m not headed into the hospital, I might need them. “Call me. Let me know you’re okay.”
“Lie…low. Few days,” I say.
The woman leans over me and dips her head so Smoke can see her through the passenger window. “He’s going to be out as soon as I get him home. He’ll message when he can but be prepared to wait six to eight hours.”
“Not waiting that long,” Smoke says. “If he can’t, press his finger to his phone to open it, and message me, Smoke. I’m in his contacts. Look at something you shouldn’t, I’ll kill you.”
“Understood.”
With that, she starts the car and drives away with a look of intense concentration on her face.
“Who are you?” I manage to ask.
“Dr. Hansen. Dr. Greer Hansen. You’ve never been in safer hands.”
3
GREER
Ijust blew up my life.
The biker next to me grunts in pain. His eyes are closed. His skin is gray and clammy.
None of this is a good sign.
Neither is the blood rippling over his fingers.
Yet I’m still fixated on the series of events that led to me standing outside the hospital in tears and the way life has a funny way of trying to teach you lessons and giving you opportunities to make better decisions.
