Page 3 of Dr Feel Good
“Yeah, but you are my fucking friend.”
“Let me guess. This biker woman isn’t married to the motorcycle man?”
“Stop fucking focusing on wrong shit,” Ian snapped. “I like her. She’s twenty-one years old and in need of help.”
“I’m not a damn charitable organization. Neither is your practice. We’re for-profit businesses. Yet, in the last twenty minutes, you’ve stood there and pleaded the case of a woman because she has two small kids and another woman who is young, unwed, and pregnant. Neither of which is your problem. Unless you want to fuck her.”
Ian glared at me. He wasn’t one to cross that ethical line. “The girl is my patient. Nothing more. Nothing less. Reese Sinclair opened an expense account for her. I don’t know what he thinks, but he deposited enough to cover three pregnancies.”
Annoyance robbed me of air, and I drew in deep breaths. When I returned, I’d start the search for a new location. I couldn’t remain in a building that allowed the likes of Reese Sinclair and his one-percenter outlaw club. It would be too tempting to alert my brother, Brandon, and bring those lowlifes down.
“Reese Sinclair isn’t a man to be crossed, Felix,” Ian warned, knowing me well. “Whatever is going through your fucking narrow mind, toss it the fuck out.”
What could I say? Ian had already accepted money from criminals. He kept my secrets, so I’d keep his.
For now.
“I’m headed to the hospital to check on her. She was admitted yesterday after an altercation of some sort.”
“And so it begins,” I sneered tightly. “Anything else?”
“Just be careful on the road. Heavy snow is expected overnight.”
Too livid to respond, I snatched my keys from my desk, my overcoat from the rack, and stormed out.
“What’s the old coot doing?”
I followed the direction Fendi, my VP, nodded to where Razor, the president of the Kansas City chapter of the Royal Bastards, stood, chatting up one of their bike hoppers.
Halloween decorations hung around the Devil’s Pit. Fake cobwebs crisscrossed the ceiling with plastic spiders of assorted sizes. Skeletons, witches, and bats hung from the rafters. An animated witch standing in front of a steaming cauldron stood in the pool table area. Crystal balls and bowls of peanuts lined the bar, and orange lightbulbs replaced the clubhouse’s infamous red ones.
Leaning over, I grabbed a handful of peanuts from the bowl on the bar and popped as many as possible into my mouth, then swigged deeply from my beer. “He’s hoping his Viagra doesn’t go to waste.”
We snickered.
“That chick’s twenty, if she’s a day, Athena.” Fendi had a thing about age. Now that she’d soon hit forty, she was even more insecure. Instead of celebrating her hard-earned wisdom, she insisted laugh lines were wrinkles and a shaved pussy was better than one sprinkled with gray hair. “He’d never look twice at me nowadays, although I was once his favorite fuck.”
“It tracks. I just turned thirty, so I’m out too,” I said mildly, gulped more beer, then glanced around. “Besides, you don’t want Razor and never have.”
It had been, and still was, Louisiana. And Warrior. Distaste ran through me, but I shoved it aside. Meanwhile, I almost pitied her obsession with Louisiana, a man so in love with his wife, he forgot other women existed the moment he met Jinx.
As for Warrior…yeah.No.Fuck no!I wasn’t going there, so I stood on the footrails of the stool to see above the press of bikers, hang arounds, wannabees, club property, and bike hoppers, and made a production of looking around.
“I’m trying to scope out Reese and Louisiana in this crowd. Maybe, they’ll know where Jinx has gotten herself off to.”
Fendi smirked, never a fan of Louisiana’s ol’ lady, blaming Jinx for him throwing her over. “Maybe, she’s knocked up again,” she sneered. “That bitch should stop trying at this point. She’s old as well. Thirty-one.”
“Enough,” I warned, tired of Fendi’s cattiness, especially toward Jinx.
If Razor’s summons hadn’t come just as we were returning from a weeks-long run, I would’ve had my entire crew with me. Razor insisted it was so important that we couldn’t go anywhere else before we checked in with him. Personally, I would’ve finagled a postponement of the meeting until tomorrow, but my VP talked sense into me. I could enjoy the reunion with my little sisters and our dog without the meeting hanging over my head. Besides the last thing I needed was cuddle with Bob the Biterand catch up with Lake and Juno only to have Razor send me on another run, so instead of enjoying our annual Halloween party at the Haven, our clubhouse, not too far from the Devil’s Pit, with our club members, we had to wait until Razor arranged his fuck.
Once I became president, I negotiated the separate Halloween parties with Razor. Which hadabsolutely nothingto do with Warrior. I’d die on that fucking hill, too. I couldn’t weasel out of our mixed celebrations for Thanksgiving or our joint Christmas charity runs.
Unfortunately, Razor had outsmarted me, got me to his clubhouse on Halloween,andleft me stuck with Fendi and her bitterness, fueled by her lack of confidence.
“You’ve discussed what a good fuck Louisiana is, but there are other motherfuckers out there who lay good dick,” I continued, hoping she’d get my words through her thick skull.
“I’ve had my fair share,” Fendi confirmed, “but I’m waiting for my man to come back to me.”
