Page 18 of Creature's Vengeance
My heart began to race, and the monitor picked it up.
Both the assholes smiled.
“Mateo asked us to give you a message.”
The second goon, who had long, stringy hair, stepped closer. “You keep your mouth shut. Talk to anyone or squeal to the cops, and we’ll return and finish the job Mateo started.”
“I’m not stupid,” I spat. “I won’t talk to anyone. Tell Mateo.”
“We will. We’ll let him know about your Good Samaritan, too.”
Shit.
They moved toward the door, stowing the gun. I didn’t know how the hell they managed to smuggle it inside the hospital.
“Mateo will be in touch.”
I slumped back against the pillows, fighting tears as they left.
How the hell did I fix this?
A KNOCK RAPPED AGAINSTthe wood of my door a short time later before a head popped around the corner. I recognized the same rough-looking guy I met outside Toxic Tonic. My head was still a little fuzzy. The nurse said it would get better over the next few days, but right now, I couldn’t remember if he brought me straight to the hospital after my injuries.
He wouldn’t have taken advantage of me, right?
A sick feeling pooled in my stomach until our eyes met, and it vanished. This stranger didn’t seem the type. I wasn’t an expert, but I met enough assholes and men who preyed on women to sense the difference.
The stranger’s gaze flitted over my face, and I wondered how I had forgotten the unique color of his eyes. Pale, the lightest green, with an almost other-worldly sheen. They seemed to have more depth than I remembered, defiant yet non-threatening. The sides of his head were shaved close but already growing out with thick, long strands on top. A few had become unruly and draped over his forehead. They faded into a dark blond. A full brown beard covered his jaw and chin with a hint of red.
He had eyes that could stare into your soul and dig up every last secret, and I shivered as he cautiously approached. “Hi. I’m Creature.” He stopped at the end of my bed. “We didn’t get a chance to exchange names before you passed out.”
Right. “Blair Connelly.”
He nodded. “Blair. Pretty. It suits you.”
“Thanks.” I blinked, licking my lips before reaching for the cup on my bedside table, sipping cool water through the straw before placing it back down. “Why Creature?”
He moved to my left and dragged a chair closer to the bed. “My road name. I did have it long before that, though. The fuckers, uh, guys that I grew close to gave me the moniker, and it stuck.”
“It’s a bit odd,” I admitted. Creature wore a black leather vest over his clothes. Patches on the front read his road name and Enforcer. I gasped. “You’re in a biker gang!”
He laughed. “This isn’t Sons of Anarchy. My club, and most of them out there, aren’t a television show. We’re a brotherhood, not a gang. We share an interest in Harleys and freedom. That’s about it.”
Somehow, I doubted it was that simple. “I see.”
He didn’t reply to that. “How are you feeling, Blair?”
“A lot better than yesterday.” My side was tender, and I had so many bruises I couldn’t count them all. The swelling in my eye had reduced, but it was bloodshot. I could see out of it, and it felt like a victory. When I smiled, my lip stung, but it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle. My ribs hurt, and taking a deep breath was painful.
“Would you get pissed if I asked who hurt you and why?”
Curious, I asked a question of my own first. “Why did you help me?
“That’s who I am, Blair—a guy who doesn’t like bullies or men preying on women. I’m a Marine. I’ve fought for my country, and I don’t take it well when the ones I swore to protect are fucked with.”
“Telling you who hurt me won’t solve anything.”
“Why do you feel that way?”
