Chapter Fourteen

Brick slammed through the double doors of the urgent care and stalked to the desk.

“Tyler Brick here for my brother, Synclair Brick.”

“Your brother is being seen at the moment. You can have a seat.” The receptionist pointed to the waiting room.

Without a word, Brick planted his gloved hands on the counter and stared at her. She blinked. The side door opened and a nurse called for a waiting patient. Brick caught the door with his hand. He brushed past the nurse and headed down the hallway with the receptionist yapping at his heels.

“Sir! You have to wait outside!”

Placing his hand on the doorknob of the closest door, he turned to her. “You can save me some time and a lot of embarrassment if you tell me which room.”

Her mouth had opened to about the size of an orange before she pressed her lips flat with displeasure. Brick twisted the knob.

“Not that one!” she said quickly and pointed to a door three down and across the hall. In seconds, Brick reached it and opened the door. Syn was sitting on a padded table with paper crinkling beneath his ass. A woman stood slightly behind his brother with her hands at his head.

Bishop popped up from a waiting chair in the corner.

“Hey Bro.” Syn gave him a tired smile.

“What happened?” he asked, stepping inside and closing the door in the receptionist’s face. He advanced on Syn and placed gentle fingers beneath his brother’s chin to slightly tip his head up.

“Hit on the back of the head,” the doctor said, her eyes had widened when he’d stepped in the room and her gaze hadn’t left him for one second as he’d advanced. Her hands were poised near Syn’s head, but she’d stopped all movement.

Syn moved his chin from Brick’s grasp and darted the doctor a look. He snorted with a roll of his eyes and then winced from the movement.

“Totally my fault,” Bishop said, and Brick turned on the big man.

He’d once seen Bishop at an event doing a demonstration, so he knew Bishop was not one to fuck with, but it sounded like Bishop had hurt his brother and that was something Brick would never let go of.

Although they were about the same size, and he did have slightly more muscle than Bishop, he wasn’t sure he could win, not with the knife wound still healing. Squaring off, Brick wondered how much damage he could do in a short amount of time. Bishop must have thought the same thing but from a different angle.

“I can’t pay for damages if we duke it out here.” Bishop ran a hand down his face and then the back of his neck.

The guy looked like shit. Tired eyes, creases bracketing his mouth, and a five o’clock shadow that had turned into scruff. His shirt was stained with what seemed to be coffee, and he looked like he had slept in his rumpled clothes.

“Brick,” Syn said softly, gaining all of his attention. He knew how volatile Brick could be where he was concerned. And as much as he hated letting Bishop off the hook, he told the truth. “It’s not all Bishop’s fault.”

“All?” Bishop gaped at him. “I didn’t hit you.”

“You fisted my shirt.” Syn ran his long fingers down his shirt, brushing at the blood stain that wouldn’t be coming out.

At that very moment, someone knocked on the door and quickly opened it.

Wyatt stepped inside, his eyes going right to Syn. Quick steps took him to Syn’s side and the doctor, who still hadn’t looked away from Brick, crowded further back to the wall. Brick found it amusing that she didn’t say a word about the extra testosterone in the room. Not to mention, it was now crowded as all hell.

“How the hell did you end up here if Bishop only fisted your shirt?” Brick asked.

Wyatt’s face turned cold and he slowly turned his eyes on Bishop. If a glance could kill, Bishop would have been gutted.

“I didn’t see it coming?” Syn blinked his pretty blue eyes, smiled, and laid a gentle hand on Wyatt’s arm, bringing the man’s attention away from Bishop, who was suddenly scowling.

Brick glared at his brother. “You know self-defense. I taught you and you’re fucking good at it. Really good. Not to mention, faster than hell. So, you tell me how you got hit.”

Syn glanced at Bishop and saw the man’s eyes narrowing as the truth dawned. Now Bishop knew that he deliberately hadn’t fought back. The guy really should consider it a favor that he hadn’t.

“It was a misunderstanding. Bishop fisted my shirt and while we were…arguing, another man came up and hit me from behind.”

“Who?” Wyatt snapped at Bishop before Brick could.

“It was Mark. He thought Syn was an intruder.”

“Why did he think that?” A muscle ticked in Wyatt’s jaw, his gaze locked on Bishop.

Both of Syn’s hands were now curled around Wyatt’s arm.

“I don’t know.” Syn pulled and Wyatt’s attention came back to him. “I was talking to Fighter and telling him about the upgrade when the asshole there grabbed my shirt.” Syn’s chin tipped when Bishop’s scowl deepened. “So, I didn’t see the other guy coming at me.”

Brick very much doubted Wyatt could take on Bishop and win. And while he wanted to see Bishop get punched in the mouth, he didn’t want to see Wyatt get annihilated.

“Wyatt, stand down.” Brick jerked his head toward the door and after a brief squeeze from Syn’s hand, Wyatt reluctantly left the room. The door slammed and the doctor jumped.

“Go ahead, doc,” Brick told the woman, making his voice as soft and calm as possible. She gave a brisk nod and continued with her examination.

“What did he use to hit him with?” the doctor murmured, glancing up from her hands on Syn’s head.

Bishop’s eyes briefly closed and popped open. “The butt of a nine-millimeter.”

Brick leaned against the door, preventing anyone further from entering or leaving, and he waited until the doctor was done with Syn.

“How do you feel?” she asked Syn, turning to a set of X-rays on a board before turning back to Syn.

“Just a headache, but it’s more toward where the knot on my head is.”

“That’s to be expected. The skin wasn’t broken, but it’s going to take a while before the lump subsides.”

The doctor glanced at Brick.

“Don’t let him sleep for long periods of time tonight. If symptoms of nausea, headaches, or dizziness increase, take him to the emergency room immediately,” she said, snapping off her gloves and sending Brick a quick smile.

“Let’s go.” Brick held the door open.

On the way out, they passed a man holding a bloody rag against his arm and another one reporting that it had been a drive-by shooting. Denver PD were inside the lobby, with a few standing outside. The parking lot was full when they paid the bill and walked toward the door. The place was located in a vastly populated part of the city and with the crime rate what it was, it was the perfect spot for a medical building. He wondered how many times it got broken into for drugs, but then he noticed the sign said open twenty-four hours with a security guard at the door.

Where the hell had that guy been when he’d gone charging down the hall searching for Syn? Probably on a fucking smoke break.

Outside, they were met with gray skies and falling snow.

“We can pay for the bill,” Bishop muttered, tucking his bare hands into his armpits.

“How? Going to sell your van?” Syn snorted and Bishop’s gaze turned empty.

Something filled with embarrassment swept through Bishop’s eyes and Brick felt really fucking uncomfortable for the guy.

Syn sucked in a breath. “I didn’t mean…”

“Save it, Houston. I’ll always be scum beneath your boot,” Bishop growled at Syn and then turned to Brick. “Add it to my payment plan?”

Brick gave a brisk nod because no way in fucking hell was he going to make Bishop feel any more like shit than he already did.

“Bishop…” Syn called, but the big man was already walking away.

When Bishop’s van started with a backfire, Syn jumped and winced. Brick wrapped his brother up and hugged him. Ignoring the tears running down Syn’s face, he held him tight.

“I didn’t mean…”

“I know. It’s okay,” Brick whispered as the whole fucking thing reminded him of how he’d treated Fighter. Brick quickly buckled Syn into the jeep and jumped behind the wheel.

“He hates me,” Syn whispered.

“And he calls you Houston?” Brick said with a little amusement. Houston was the town they’d been born in. Not that either of them had much of an accent because they’d moved when they’d been in grade school.

“Yeah, Wyatt told him I was born in Houston.”

“Speaking of Wyatt,” Brick murmured when the man in question walked up.

Brick rolled down the passenger window at Wyatt’s approach.

“Hey, let Wyatt drive you home.” Brick brushed the tears from Syn’s cheeks with his gloved hands. “I need to make a stop and then I’ll be there.”

Without a word, Syn nodded and slid from the jeep. Wyatt slipped his arm around Syn’s shoulders and guided him to a dark SUV.

Brick pulled out of the parking lot.

He had a bone to pick with Fighter Suwan.