Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

Grace

Pacing back and forth in the staff locker room, I feel my anxiety climbing as each second goes by. Now it makes sense why Wrecker's MC was at my house last night. I wasn't only shocked, but also scared to death. Haven't seen or heard from them since the trial. I had made sure Damien stayed in his bedroom.

I never liked that MC when I was with Wrecker, and even less so now since Wrecker is serving a life sentence without parole. This is excellent news for Damien and me.

Francis seemed like a nice guy. Damien couldn't say enough about him. He was impressed that Francis didn't even seem to notice his deformed, burned arm and hand. After looking at Francis, I knew why. He looked like a modern day frigging Frankenstein monster for Christ's sake. Which immediately gets my curiosity up.

His scars looked exactly like the fictional monster if memory serves me correctly. Who would intentionally want to look like that? But his demeanor seemed to be more like a gentle giant: quiet and not overbearing.

Those qualities made me feel calm in his presence, just like when I'm around Damien. Even when I was stressed and freaking out, Francis seemed calm, and that helped me from losing it further. It was his three buddies who explained what happened when he finally made it to the exam room, because Francis was drifting between conscious and unconscious when they brought him in. So to get what actually happened to him, I had to reach out to those three who brought him in. And to say that they frightened me to death is not exaggerating in the least. Especially the one I think is named Chains.

However, I've got to say, he is something to look at, Francis that is. He is extremely large, probably around six and half feet tall, with shoulders so broad they would block the sun if he were in front of you. His narrow waist tapered to slender hips, ending at his well-defined behind.

Wait, what am I thinking about? Need to get my head out of my own ass, stitch him up, and send him on his way. I need him gone before Wrecker's brothers find out he's here. I don't need any trouble with that insane MC.

My goal is to keep both Damien and myself off their radar.

Checking my other charts, making sure everything is up-to-date, I push the curtains aside and see Francis sitting on the edge of the bed, trying and struggling to put his torn, bloodied T-shirt back on. When his gaze reaches mine, I'm surprised by the emotions in those metallic gray eyes. I move toward him and grab his shirt before throwing it on the empty seat behind us, and then gather the necessary items I need to complete closing up his wound.

Placing the tray on the side of Francis' bed, I poke him with a metal prod. No response, so I assume he is numb. I look at him and see him staring straight ahead. He's not going to make it easy on me apparently.

"Francis, do you feel me poking you? Any sensation at all?"

He just shakes his head. His answer is my go-ahead to proceed with the stitching process. I didn't realize how long and deep the cut is. It's probably going to need thirty to thirty-five stitches; due to the fact I have to first repair the layer of cut muscle, then close the top layer of skin. It shocks me how quiet and still he is.

I try to keep my attention on the task at hand, but seeing his rock-hard torso is making the job a bit difficult, to say the least. He is big in all areas: his height, weight, shoulders, and chest. But his waist narrows down to the most defined hips and V I've ever seen. And his chest has just a scattering of hair, until you see the fine line that directs your attention down his eight-pack—yeah eight—which disappears below his waistband. Running my gaze down farther, I notice the bulge in his jeans; along with the thickest thighs I've ever seen. A perfect specimen of a man, a real man. Just sayin'.

Realizing my thoughts have taken an unprofessional turn, I try to get my head back into what I'm doing, and finally finish. I apply some antibiotic cream and then bandage it up before stepping back. Francis hasn't said a word, just kept his gaze forward with sort of a smirk on his face. Thank God he can't read my frigging mind. That would be beyond embarrassing. Finally done, I pick up the few pieces of garbage and drop them in the correct receptacle.

I grab the release paperwork with instructions on his aftercare and approach Francis, gently touching his shoulder. His gaze immediately follows my hand, and then shoots up to my face.

"You Wrecker's ol' lady, Grace? "

"I'm no one's ol' lady, Francis. I actually despise that title."

"Okay then. How's Damien doing? Could you tell him thanks for the cookies? I guess I owe you thanks for them, too. They were awesome. I haven't ever had anything homemade just for me, so, well...thanks. They tasted like Heaven. Great kid you got there."

As I stare at this man, I feel my eyes get larger by the minute. Yeah, a good guy, even if he is a complex one. What did he mean no one has ever made anything just for him? Is that even possible?

"Damien is fine and I'd like to keep it that way. Please stay far away as I don't want any trouble, Francis. And for some reason, I feel trouble is your middle name."

I look him up and down, my eyes landing on his scars...letting my meaning take effect.

"Grace, my scars have nothing to do with my club. These I got many years ago, when I was younger than Damien. Your boy is a good kid. Made me think about things I haven't thought about in years. Thanks for sewing me up. If we're done, I'll get out of your hair."

As I prepare to hand him the information for his release, he stands up from the bed. Holy cow, he's taller than I even imagined. When I hand him the paperwork, our hands touch and the electrical shock that goes through my body immediately makes my nipples hard and my clit throb with need. I've never had these feelings before. Now I'm tingling because of a biker/fireman. Yeah, karma is a bitch. Looking up to see Francis intently watching my every move, I go to draw my hand back, but he hesitantly grabs it, pulling it toward him gently.

"Grace, I...um...want to thank you for all you have done. I get you're worried, seems like you've had some really bad experiences with Wrecker's MC and brothers. My brothers and I aren't like them, but those are just words you don't have to believe. Tell Damien I said hi and to be a good boy for his momma."

With that, he releases me and walks around the curtain. I stand there, my body feeling things for the first time ever. I can feel my breasts swell, nipples harden, and my clit feels like a heartbeat throbbing down there. God, he is exactly what I have always wanted. A big guy who would make me feel protected and safe, maybe even treasured.

A good guy with a heart, who would care about us. But I can't go back, not to a biker in a club. I promised myself when we got far away from Wrecker, I would never put us in a situation like that again.