Page 4 of Doc
“Bats was our brother.”The President spoke in a measured voice, choosing each word with care.“That carries weight.But what you’re asking involves the club in what appears to be a personal vendetta against powerful people, based on circumstantial evidence.”
My heart sank.“It’s not just --”
He held up a hand, cutting me off.“I didn’t say we wouldn’t help.I said you’re asking a lot.”
Hope flickered back to life in my chest.
“We’ll hear you out,” he continued.“Review what you’ve brought us.But I can’t promise involvement beyond that.Understand?”
I nodded quickly.“Yes.Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet.”His expression remained stern.“This isn’t a democracy.I make decisions based on what’s best for the club, not for outsiders -- even ones with Bats’ blood.”
He gestured to a man standing slightly behind him.“This is Doc.Dr.Winston Thorvald.Despite the leather cut, he’s an actual medical doctor.”
I blinked at the name -- Winston -- before focusing on the man himself.Unlike most of the members, with their beards and weathered faces, Doc was younger, maybe thirty, with dark hair and a clean-shaven face that made him look oddly out of place despite the cut he wore.His build was athletic rather than bulky, suggesting speed over raw power.
“Doc transferred in about eight months ago,” the President continued.“He’ll be keeping an eye on you during your stay.”
Doc stepped forward, his movements precise and controlled.There was something clinical in the way his gaze assessed me, as if I were a patient rather than a person.
“Miss Treemont,” he said formally, extending his hand.
I stood, meeting his gaze directly as I took his hand.His grip was firm but careful, as if concerned about crushing my smaller fingers.“Dr.Thorvald.”
Something flickered across his face -- surprise, perhaps, at my formal address -- before his professional mask returned.“You can call me Doc.Everyone does.”
“And you can call me Nova.”The tension between us was immediate and unexpected.He clearly saw me as an unwelcome responsibility, while I resented needing a babysitter at all.
“Doc will show you where you’ll be staying,” the President said.“We have some apartments near the clubhouse for guests and Prospects.”
“And to be clear,” Doc added, his tone making the words sound like they came from a medical textbook rather than a man in a motorcycle club, “you’ll need to stay on club property while we look into your claims.For security purposes.”
“You mean so I don’t run to the cops,” I translated, raising an eyebrow.
A muscle in his jaw twitched.“I mean exactly what I said, Miss Treemont.Your safety is now the club’s responsibility.If what you believe is true, you’ve made yourself an even bigger target by coming here.Keeping you close is as much for your protection as ours.”
I hadn’t expected that.My mother’s research had made me paranoid, jumping at shadows for weeks.The thought of being somewhere secure, with people who could actually protect me, was more appealing than I wanted to admit.
“I understand,” I said, softer now.
Doc nodded curtly.“Good.Bring your bag.You did pack one, right?I’ll show you to your room.”
“My notes --” I began.
“Will be returned to you,” the President assured me.“After we’ve had a chance to review them thoroughly.”
“We’ll make copies,” Doc said, seeming to understand my concern.“You’ll get the originals back.”
That would have to do.I nodded and followed Doc to the door.His posture stiff, and I could feel the eyes of every member on us as we crossed the main room, their gazes a physical weight between my shoulder blades.
“They don’t trust me,” I murmured as we reached the door.
“They don’t know you,” Doc corrected without looking back.“Trust is earned here, not given.”
“And how am I supposed to earn it when I’m confined to the club grounds under your supervision?”
That made him pause halfway out the door, turning to look down at me.For a moment, I thought I saw the corner of his mouth twitch toward a smile, though it disappeared so quickly I might have imagined it.
