Chapter 2

The Crimson Cobras walk away, leaving me with Dr. Stewart, and I'm this close to saying fuck the damn stitches and going after them.

I could see it in that guy's eyes. He wanted to hurt her, wreak some havoc like his entire crew did in the fucking warehouse.

"What are you doing out of bed?"

Snapping my attention down to the gorgeous doctor herself, I just grin.

"Getting them to leave you alone, obviously." I shrug, plastering on a smirk to hide the flare of pain in my side. "Besides, I was just about to be discharged anyway."

She rolls her eyes, and I can't stand how much I love to see her do it. Every part of me is itching to push her buttons—and undo her buttons.

"I'm fine, Mr. Shaw. Come on."

The good doc puts a hand on my arm as she gestures toward the hospital bed, and I chuckle as we make our way over.

Still, I can't stop from checking as the Cobras make their exit. I don't want them around her, and I have a damn good reason to feel that way.

Try to kill my brother and his girl, and now you're going after a surgeon who was just doing her job? Oh, hell no.

When we reach the bed, I just lean on the end, not fully sitting, and cross my arms over my chest. There's a slight pinch from the stab wound again, but nothing I haven't dealt with before.

"You really shouldn't be up walking around, Mr. Shaw. You were just stabbed. Need I remind you?"

I smirk, patting my side gently. "Nah, it's doing a damn good job reminding me on its own. But I'm fine, really. And it's still Luke."

Dr. Stewart, whose first name I need to learn, just shakes her head.

"Got yourself into a lot of trouble with them, didn't you?" She nods toward the exit where the Cobras are doing their best to avoid getting kicked out—and failing.

Security manhandles the last guy out the door, the same one who threatened Dr. Stewart and generously bestowed another injury, soon-to-be scar, on me. We glare at each other before he's out the door.

Returning my attention to her, I easily slide into a nonchalant grin. "They're an international drug organization, so they own the corner on trouble."

Her eyes flare wide. "I'm sorry, what?"

It's hard not to laugh. I know the doc is just surprised. Considering she's not as familiar with them as I am, thanks to this little run-in, I can hardly blame her.

"The Crimson Cobras. My brother was on their shit list, hence the new fashion choice." I nod down to my side. "It's a good thing this place is crowded and offers security."

The doctor's eyes go wide again, her brows reaching for her hairline even as she keeps the fear from her expression.

"Oh, and why's that?"

"Because they're dangerous."

My voice is flat at that. I'm not lying and have no reason to sugarcoat it for her. It's always better to be prepared.

Dr. Stewart offers me a smile, shaking her head slightly. "I'm sure it'll be fine, Mr. Shaw. People get mad when they lose someone they care about. It's normal."

Something in my chest tightens, and I flick my eyes to the door again.

If the warehouse is anything to go by, the Cobras seem like the types to hold a grudge. And I don't like the idea of the doctor being here alone when she finds that out for herself.

"Besides," as she continues, and it pulls my attention back to those green eyes of hers, striking against her olive skin and jet-black hair. "You should be worried about yourself. That injury is serious, and you can't just get up and go like you don't have a hole in your side."

With a light chuckle, I bump her arm with my elbow, smirking down at her likely five-foot-two build.

"Lucky for you, I'm familiar with the recovery, and I know what I can take."

She eyes me, those dark brows up again. "Get in a lot of fights, do you?"

"Not as many as I used to." I pull out the dog tags I still wear. "I'm retired."

Dr. Stewart's lips part slightly, and I can't stop staring at them.

"Oh. Well, then." She regards me for a moment, a flash of confusion coming over her features. "You seem a bit young to be retired."

"Ha!" I can't stop the hearty laugh, appreciating that my roguish good looks are still serving me. "Discharged with honors. You get injured enough, do enough good, and they're more likely to let you out. But I still work. Just not there."

She nods. "That makes more sense. What do you do?"

If anyone else asked, I would've thought it was just an attempt at small talk. Still, the way the good doc's eyes hold mine, her pulse fluttering in her neck, I have a feeling this is a distraction technique.

Too in your head, darlin'?

"I own Diamond PR and Marketing. Little local business here in town."

With a laugh, Dr. Stewart scoffs at me. "Little? I'm a surgical resident, and I've heard of you guys. And you own it? Well, damn. Good for you."

The woman is so goddamn effortlessly charming. It's been a few minutes, and I'm all but ready to go swimming in those teal green eyes—and very interested to see what those scrubs are hiding.

"Dr. Stewart—" a nurse comes up next to us, holding out a clipboard "—Mr. Shaw is ready to be discharged with instructions. Paperwork is here and the prescriptions you ordered."

"Thank you, Denise," my doctor replies.

The woman is about to leave when she spins back around, holding up her hand and gesturing for the doc to join her off to the side.

Even though the nurse speaks quietly, I lean slightly, keeping an ear out for everything she's saying.

Because I'm too damn curious. It has nothing to do with me doing recon on my doctor.

"The authorities want to speak with you about the other patient. They're looking for release of the body and a formal autopsy."

"Of course. Thank you again."

They part ways, and I'm quick to pull myself back toward the bed as my doctor comes back over to me.

"Okay, so you'll want to follow these instructions for care and cleaning. If you see anything concerning, call the hospital or just come in." Dr. Stewart hands me a stack of stapled papers. "You'll also need to go into your primary or come here for a post-suture follow-up. I'd also recommend getting someone to help you with lifting anything for a while. You'd benefit from post-surgical rehabilitation exercises as well."

The instructions are real familiar at this point, but the last suggestion draws my attention, and I cock a brow at her.

"Surgical rehabilitation?"

Dr. Stewart nods, her eyes rolling before she meets my gaze again. "I know, you didn't really have surgery. But the stitches were deep, and getting extra care while you're mending can make a big difference in recovery."

My mind immediately goes to places it probably shouldn't, but I'm a you-only-live-once kind of guy, so what the hell, right?

"Would you be administering this extra care?"

The innuendo in my voice is obvious, and my sweet doctor actually blushes, her mouth falling open slightly.

"Um, no." She shakes her head, playing it off with a smile. "You'd be going to a clinic for that, Mr. Shaw."

I'm about to correct her about my name again when we both snap our attention to the commotion at the front door to the ER.

One of the younger members of the gang has pushed inside and is making a scene, his hand on something tucked into his belt before security pins him to the ground.

It takes them too long to get him down, though. If he was a more experienced member…

Oh, so that's what you were doing. Testing the water. Dammit.

I've seen this type of play before, checking to see what the defenses in the area are like before launching your actual attack.

If Dr. Stewart is here alone with those rent-a-cops as her only security, the Cobras will stand way too good of a chance against her.

I can't have that.

"Jeez, I guess they're pretty upset." Dr. Stewart's voice is even because she doesn't know how right she is.

Stepping in front of her, I put on my most unassuming smile.

"It's still Luke. And—" I hold out the paper, gesturing with my head "—what if I'd be more comfortable with you? Could I arrange for you to help me with the rehab?"

"Me?" She frowns slightly, tilting her head at me.

"I'd be happy to pay you. I'd just like…for you to be the one assisting me."