Page 5 of Up in a Blaze
When the doors opened, Saint strode in and walked over to me. “Henri, what’s happenin’?” He was another brother to the Diamond MC, and I was closer to him and his lover, Gun. They were born with different names, but only their significant other was allowed to use it.
Not like my Blaze. His parents gave him his cool name when he was born.
The memory of the first time I met him and heard his name flashed through my mind.
Walking out of the nightclub, I turned left to go down the alleyway to get to my car when I stumbled across a big, scary-looking man sitting with his back to the wall and bleeding from a wound on his stomach.
When I stopped, he glared up at me.
“You’re bleeding,” I pointed out.
Of course, he said nothing, just stared.
Any other man would have run from just his look, but I was still a little drunk and a lot stupid since I also thought he was the handsomest man I had seen in a long time.
Even with blood coating his fitted gray tee.
Reaching for my phone in my back pocket, I told him, “I’ll call for help.”
“No.”
Even his sharp, rough tone should have put me on edge. Instead, I slapped my hands to my hips and glared. “Non? You are bleeding. You need assistance.”
“Don’t call anyone,” he warned. “Just fuckin’ leave.”
In French, I spewed, “I am no saint, but I will not leave a good-looking, scary idiot to die in a dirty alleyway. Even when they are acting like a growling beast.”
To my utter shock, he replied in French, “You think I’m good-looking?”
I harrumphed. “And a beast. Let me call for help.”
“No. You do it and I’ll make your life hell.”
“You won’t be alive to treat me to this hell, idiot.” When he said nothing, I sighed and looked up to the sky for guidance. Of course there was none, and I could not leave the fool to bleed out. “Fine. You probably know more about these wounds. You come home with me, and I’ll stitch you up.”
His gaze flared. “You’d have me in your home?”
Glowering, I told him, “It is either that or let you die, and I refuse to allow that to happen.”
“You don’t know me.”
“Non, but if you try anything, I will shout out to my cop friend next door. He will come running.”
He shifted and winced but then nodded.
Reaching down, I tried my best to help him to his feet. He wobbled and groaned and did most of the work because the man was built like an ox.
“I am parked on the street.” I glanced at the blood. “Maybe you should stay here, and I will bring the car to pick you up.”
“You just helped me stand. I’ll be fine.”
I doubted it. He was very pale, and if anyone saw him, they would think I had done something. But I wasn’t wasting time arguing. I had a feeling, from the doctor shows I watched, that this man needed to be stitched up as soon as possible.
“Come then,” I ordered, looping his arm around my shoulders while I placed one of mine around his waist.
The injured man stared down at me for a beat but then shuffled forward, and together we made it to the street and car without an incident. It was lucky I had driven that night and been able to park so close to the club.
As soon as I had him strapped in the passenger seat, I rushed around to the driver side and got in.
