12. Brixton

Chapter 12

Brixton

“ S howtime, guys.” Ben nods toward the door of the truck. “Get out there and do your thing. Security will escort you inside.”

I clench my jaw.

Fucking social media.

I mean, seriously, how many other guys did Mr. Clean beat to shit before karma came back to bite him in his big ass?

And just because I’m somebody, I’ve got to pay that price.

Another Escalade pulls up next to us and two of our security guys hop out. I let out a frustrated breath.

How many more people are gonna be dragged into this? Bad enough I already have a ball and chain shackled to my ankle.

My eyes slide over Sam’s profile and I ball my fingers into a tight fist.

No. Fuck that. I don’t care that he’s the hottest man I’ve ever laid eyes on. He’s practically a priest. Probably never fucked another guy, either.

He’s way too good to get dirty .

He jerks his head toward me, a glimmer of a challenge flickering in his dark eyes. Jesus, it’s as if he read my thoughts. “Ready, sweetheart? ”

I push open the door closest to me and farthest from the mob outside the Emergency Room doors. Our security guys, Mike and Steve, flank me on both sides as my feet hit the pavement. Sam jumps out of the truck after me.

I square my shoulders and walk around the front of the truck when I’m assaulted by bright flashes.

Phones fucking everywhere .

I hate Rex and Ben right now. With a burning passion.

Sweeping my gaze over the crowd, my shoulders relax the slightest bit when I see a few cops among the angry faces. Mike and Steve are more than prepared to handle unruly crowds, and they’ve had their fair share of deranged fans to deal with, but it’s still comforting to know there’s a possibility I won’t be slaughtered by a biker gang tonight.

Even then, I wouldn’t regret what I did…except that it thrust me back to a time and place I’d buried deep in the recesses of my heart and mind.

A strong hand lands on the small of my back. A rush of heat makes my skin tingle. I want to resist, to twist away from him, shake off his hand to show Sam I am more than able to fight my own damn battles.

Instead, I suck in air and let it stay exactly where it is.

Because I need this.

Not only am I about to plunge into my horrific past, but I’m doing it with a target on my back.

I need him .

Goosebumps pebble my skin as his fingers massage the knot lodged at the base of my spine. He can’t possibly know it’s there but fuck me if it doesn’t shrink at his touch almost immediately .

The cops catch sight of us and clear a path for Mike while Steve brings up the rear. A barrage of memories pop between my temples like exploding bullets. I push through the glass revolving door, my nostrils assaulted by the sharp scent of antiseptic cleaner. My eyes drop to the beige tile floor, my toe sliding along a cracked edge, the same edge I stared at for what seemed like hours before I was able to see Davis, two years ago tonight.

A fierce thundering in my chest intensifies as we move toward the group of beefy dudes hunched over in their leather cuts.

Iron Vipers MC.

This is way closer to Sons of Anarchy than I’d like to admit.

My weapon is a microphone.

Theirs?

Let’s just say I’d like to leave here before I can find out.

Another pain zings my left arm when I run my finger over the top of a waiting room chair with a torn seam. I stop, my eyes locked on the olive green pleather trim.

Two years ago, it had just been a tiny nick in the fabric. I remember tugging at it while I waited for news about Davis, and how I left a gaping hole in the covering.

Much like the void left in my soul.

A rush of breath expels from my lungs when I sink into the chair. Blood rushes between my ears, my ears ringing so furiously, I almost miss Sam’s question.

His voice is muffled, like I’m hearing it underwater.

Sam dips his head low, his lips brushing against my ear. A chill slips down my spine. “Are you okay?”

I shake my head, trying to pull in oxygen but my throat is so damn tight.

“They’re coming over here. Get the fuck out of the chair,” he hisses .

“You boys come down here to clear your conscience?” A big guy with a septum piercing and a long, scraggly beard stomps his black booted feet across the floor as he heads toward us. “Or are you just plain fucking stupid with a death wish? Because that’s what you’re gonna get by showing up here. Death. ”

I shoot up from the chair, all the fury over losing Davis crashing over me like a monsoon. The water has cleared and I hear each word, clear as fucking day.

“Your pal is lying back there because he picked on the wrong guy,” I growl, closing the space between us.

Three other guys, equally large and menacing, slowly walk in our direction. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mike and Steve move closer but I wave them away.

I’m not finished with these assholes yet.

“Maybe he’s used to guys who are fucking pussies, but this time, he screwed himself.” Pulling myself to my full height, which is a few inches shorter than Beard, I lean in and hiss, “Because I’m no pussy. And I don’t give a flying fuck what the hell happens to him.”

“Jesus Christ,” Sam mutters behind me.

Shock settles into Beard’s pissed-off expression and then it morphs into pure ire. “I’m gonna end you, son. So say your fucking prayers.”

He reaches for my shirt and I sweep my arm around his, twisting it tight as he lets out a loud groan.

“Where the hell did you guys learn to fight?” I scoff and push him away. Security swoops in, breaking up what was about to erupt. Sam grabs me by the arm and tugs me away.

“You’re making this worse for everyone.”

I shake off his hand. “Are you worried about yourself, Sammy? Huh? What people will say about you being with someone who doesn’t give a damn about consequences? What they’ll think about you dating someone who’s as unhinged and deranged as I am?”

My sharp laugh swallows the muffled voices around us.

I turn to glare at the bikers, who’ve now multiplied.

“Don’t do it,” Sam hisses. “And keep your damn mouth shut. Let’s just go to the nurses’ station, make it look like you care about more than getting your ass kicked.”

My lips pull together in a tight line. Sam gives me a little shove forward and he moves to my other side, blocking me from the pissed-off bikers. Holding me tight against him, he moves me away from the guys and toward the desk.

I twist my head. One guy follows us, his dark eyes spitting hatred as he looks between me and Sam. His face twists with disgust.

A threat of what will happen if the asshole doesn’t look away sears the tip of my tongue but before I can spew it, Sam nudges me and I look at the nurses gaping at us. His lips lift into a million-dollar smile and they practically melt into globs of goo even though his arm is wrapped around me.

I guess they’re hoping he could be bi.

Tingles dance over my skin where his arms lies, wrapped around my waist.

“We’re here about the guy who was brought in,” Sam murmurs.

One of the nurses bites down on her lower lip. “We can’t give you any information, Mr. Hartley. HIPAA rules.”

Sam nods, his smile widening. “How about blinking once if he’s going to be okay?”

The nurses exchange a glance between them, and I swallow a laugh.

Jesus, this guy has power if they’re even considering doing what he just asked .

“I’m sorry, sir,” one of them finally says. “We really can’t. But the man over there can. It’s his brother.”

I slant a look at the guy she points to and of course, it’s the one who was trying to kill us with his mind only seconds earlier.

Sam leads me away from the desk and I push him away.

“No fucking way I’m asking him anything,” I hiss, stalking past him back toward the exit. “I came, they denied us an update, and now I’m leaving.”

But before another second passes, the brother yanks me by the shirt. I stumble into him, his hot, stank breath making my gut roil.

“How you gonna get out of this one, rock star? You fucking put my brother in the hospital and now you’re gonna pay.”

A sharp tip pokes into my flesh and I tense.

Motherfucker has a knife.

Mike and Steve run toward us, the cops following behind.

One hard jab and I’m screwed.

“You’re not so tough now, are ya?” he says, twisting the tip into my skin. It stings like a bitch but I don’t say a word.

He mistakenly lets go and grabs my hair with his free hand, the stupid fuck. With a hammer fist punch, I nail him right in the nuts. The guy lets me go and hunches over, the knife still pressed into me.

“You little prick.”

“Goddammit,” I yell as he sticks me with the knife. But before he can really dig it in, Sam shoves me out of the way and drives the heel of his hand into the guy’s nose. He falls backward, hitting his head against the wall before crumpling to the ground.

The cops swoop in to grab the guy and cuff him, and one of the nurses runs over to check out my punctured flesh.

“It looks superficial,” she says with a smile. “You might need a few stitches.”

I grit my teeth because it hurts like hell. “Thanks.”

She brings us through the double doors while the cops drag the brother out of the waiting room. The camera flashes are blinding, and that’s saying a lot since I pretty much work under glaring spotlights that are way less offensive.

Once I’m settled on a gurney in a curtained-off area, the nurse leaves for a minute to get supplies.

“You really have a serious issue with showing gratitude, you know that?” Sam says, forcing my hand away from the wound. His eyebrows knit together as he studies it. “I just saved your ass back there. Again. And nothing.”

“Give me a break. I’m the one who junk punched him and if you hadn’t gotten in my way, I’d have cracked his fucking skull in half for stabbing me like that.” I narrow my eyes. “Fuck the consequences.”

Sam rolls his eyes to the ceiling. “How can you say shit like ‘fuck the consequences’? You came here to show remorse and you end up getting into another fight. And you don’t care? Do you realize how much you have to lose, what other people would do to have your success?”

I grip the sides of the bed, my pulse pumping against my throat. “And my pain? My guilt? My regret?” I shake my head. “No, they wouldn’t want what I have to live with. No amount of success is worth that kind of hell.”

The stress knot in my back flares, shooting down my legs. “I should have told him to stay home that night, to take care of his fiancée and baby. I didn’t. I wanted him there. I needed him there. So now, no matter how much money I make, how many fans I have, how many top ten hits we release…none of it matters. And fuck you for judging me. You don’t know how I feel. You won and I lost. So yeah, fuck the consequences. Be cause nothing matters when you fail the only person who ever really gave a shit about you.” My chest heaves. “And don’t pretend for a second you care about me beyond what kind of havoc I can wreak on your precious career.”

I tear my eyes away from him because I can’t bear to see my accusation confirmed. Which it most definitely will be because Sam Hartley can’t be that good…no matter how much I may want…or need…him to be.