Striker: No Prisoners MC Book 1 (3 page)

The problem was, his visits often proved to be a waste of her time and he tended to drag out each encounter, adding extra concerns to his initial complaint once she was ready to discharge him. It was almost always a Friday or a Saturday night that he came in, and she had the impression the poor man used the hospital as a way to have the attention and social interaction he probably lacked otherwise.

“Yes, Mr. White, I’m working tonight. Looks like you hurt yourself there.” Lila tried to be patient and keep the frustration out of her voice. The evening had been pleasant so far, and she just wasn’t in the mood to deal with what had the potential to be hours of Mr. White. As usual, he’d avoided the receptionist and ignored the other staff in the hospital.

“Oh yes, Dr. Emerson, I did indeed. I was making dinner for my mother—you know how I do that every Friday because her hands aren’t what they used to be—and the knife slipped.” His green eyes welled and his lower lip quivered. “I think it needs stitches, and I’m so worried they’ll hurt, but now that I see you’re here I can relax. You’re the best, and I know you’ll take good care of me. I’ve never been to a doctor as gentle and skilled as you are.”

Lila resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Mr. White was the polar opposite of her previous patient. Gumby hadn’t flinched when she’d injected the anesthetic right into his open wound, and Mr. White was as fearful as a young child. He might even expect a lollipop before he was discharged.

The overblown compliments only served to embarrass her, especially since Striker failed to give them any kind of privacy. She risked a glance in Striker’s direction, and found a wide grin on his handsome face.

“I agree.” His eyes glittered with mirth and he did a poor job of steeling his features. “While I can’t comment on all the doctor’s skills…I can say she’s an excellent physician.”

Okay, time to end this encounter before her face caught fire. Striker’s teasing did not help the situation. Right now she was sure her face could have passed for a tomato, it was so warm. Lila narrowed her eyes at Striker, and shifted her attention over to Mr. White. His pupils were dilated wide, and his body was rigid as he stared at the taller man adjacent to him. Striker hovered, muscular, handsome, and very alpha male. Humble Mr. White probably felt inadequate in his presence.

“Mr. White, why don’t you wait in the first treatment room over there.” She gestured in the direction of the room as she spoke. “I’ll be right in to examine your hand.”

With a last, timid look at Striker, Mr. White thanked her profusely, and made his way down the hall, cradling his injured hand.

Lila turned her attention back to a snickering Striker. “You need to behave yourself,” she admonished, but couldn’t keep her own smile off her face.

“What can I say, Doc? You’re fun to tease. You better go. You wouldn’t want to keep the president of your fan club waiting. I’m gonna go check on my boy. See you around, Doc.” He threw a wink her way as he ambled off.

This was the first time she had really spoken to Striker one on one, and she got the distinct impression he was flirting with her. That could pose a big problem. Despite what her rational side told her about not getting involved with a bad boy with whom there was no future, he’d be nearly impossible to resist if he ever decided to act on those smoldering glances.

Lila stood, and slipped her lab coat back on. Might as well get on with it, the sooner she tended to Mr. White, the quicker he’d be gone, and she could finally conclude this never-ending night. Her shift had been officially over twenty minutes ago. Such was the life of an ER physician.

When she reached the treatment room, Lila raised a fist and placed a soft knock on the door. “Mr. White? It’s Dr. Emerson. May I come in?”

“Oh, of course, Dr. Emerson.”

She entered the room, and found him seated on the plinth, tapping his foot against the leg. The towel, loosely wrapped around his hand, remained stark white, without a trace of blood. As she approached him, Lila indicated the towel. “May I?”

He nodded his consent and gave her a beaming smile. After she pulled on gloves, Lila peeled the towel back from his hand. A clean slice split about a half-inch length of skin across the hairy knuckle of his middle finger. Lila probed around the wound, and asked Mr. White to flex and extend his finger. The joint moved fluidly, all tendons intact. The wound itself was shallow, and there was minimal edema of the knuckle. It was as she expected, the laceration was no longer bleeding, and hadn’t warranted a physician’s attention.

“I heard about your idea to implement a concussion and safety program for the high school sports teams, Dr. Emerson. I think it’s such a wonderful idea. With all that you already do for our community by working here and being the best doctor in town, I can’t believe you have the time for extra selfless projects. When the school board gives you the green light, and I know they will, I’d like to be on the team that works with you to implement the program.”

The idea of Mr. White on her task force was not an appealing one, but she didn’t have a clue how to discourage the notion without insulting the poor man. Thankfully he didn’t seem to notice her predicament and continued speaking. “It’s a bad cut isn’t it? I knew I did the right thing by coming straight here. How many stitches do you think it needs?”

Her head spun at his rapidly fired questions, and Lila did her best to humor him. “It’s a doozy, Mr. White, however I don’t think it will require any stitches. I’ll get it cleaned up and bandaged, and you can be on your way.”

“Oh, okay, Lila, if you’re sure that’s all it needs.” He frowned as though disappointed with the news. “Hey, is everything all right with you tonight?”

Taken aback by the change of subject, and the use of her first name, Lila stopped working and looked at him. “Me? I’m great. Why do you ask?”

His face flushed, and he twisted the towel in his uninjured hand. “Well, I saw who you were talking to. Do you realize who that was?”

“Do you mean Striker?”

“Yes, he’s the vice president of that motorcycle club. He’s not a good man. That gang is a bunch of dangerous criminals. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“It’s nice of you to want to look out for me, but don’t worry. I’m perfectly fine.”

He took a deep breath in, as though gathering courage, and looked directly into her eyes. “Would you like to go to dinner sometime?”

Lila swallowed the groan that threatened to crawl from her throat. The man was all over the place tonight. This was not what she wanted to deal with, but she had been expecting it for a while. He never spoke of any people in his life besides his mother, and she knew she had to tread carefully to avoid hurting his fragile feelings. “Mr. White, it is so sweet of you to ask, but you are my patient, and it would be unethical.” There, that was succinct, clear and professional.

A look of sadness crossed his features, but the conversation couldn’t be continued because shouts from the lobby diverted their attention. Agitated male voices filtered through the door causing Lila to grow concerned. What the hell was going on? Was it a patient hopped up on drugs? She hoped not, those situations were always precarious, and tended to unnerve staff as well as other patients. “Mr. White I need to check on all that noise. Please sit tight for a few minutes, and I’ll be back to get you fixed up so you can return home.”

Lila swung the door open, and marched toward the waiting area, only to come to a dead stop at the scene before her.

~ ~ ~ ~

“Oh shit,” said Jester. “What the fuck are they doing here?”

Striker had the same exact thought as he watched three men dressed similarly to him and his brothers step into the lobby. Christ, he did not want to deal with this tonight. Five more seconds and they’d have been riding back to the clubhouse.

Striker didn’t know the men by name, but he recognized the image of a wolf’s head with a hooded cape centered on the back of their leather cuts. It indicated they were members of the Grimm Brothers, a rival motorcycle club from the next town over. His club had taken a lot of shit from the Grimms in the past few months. They were running drugs through No Prisoners’ territory. It was starting to get ugly, and Striker worried it would lead to an all-out war.

One of the men, the only one who looked like he showered regularly, stood near the doors, blocking the exit. He had short brown hair, no visible tattoos or piercings, and lacked the cold dead eyes most of the Grimms had. The other two spilled into the lobby and waiting area, glaring at their surroundings. The security guard was nowhere to be seen. How much had it cost them to get him to split? Striker made a mental note to deal with him at a later time.

Thankfully, there were only a handful of citizens in the waiting room, and about four staff members standing wide-eyed and unmoving behind the desk. Striker had no idea how this was going to play out. He stood beside Jester and Gumby, and stared down the man closest to him while they waited to see what move the Grimms would make.

A man about Striker’s height with a long black mohawk, and a wicked-looking piercing through the bottom of his nose spoke first. The smile on his face was arrogant and smug, and he addressed the room in general. “Good evening, folks,” he said, his voice loud, tone mocking. “We were just in the neighborhood and wanted to stop by to familiarize ourselves with the place. We’re planning to be in town more, and you never know when one might need some medical attention.”

The third Grimm Brother clapped his hands together once and rubbed them back and forth, like he knew an evil secret the rest of the room wasn’t privy to. He was scruffy, with shaggy blond hair and an equally scraggly beard. Holes in his jeans and a stain on the shirt under his cut topped off the slob presentation.

It was bullshit plain and simple. There was no way three Grimm Brothers just happened to waltz into the hospital on the same night some No Prisoners were there. This trio had followed them. Their presence was a show of force, a smack at the No Prisoners, telling them the Grimms were moving in on their territory. The taunting would have to be dealt with soon, but for now he wanted this altercation over without any escalation. Starting a brawl to see whose dicks were bigger would only scare the patients and staff at the hospital, and it wouldn’t get the clubs any closer to solving their problems. Plus, he did not want Lila anywhere near a situation that could get her injured.

“Fuck off,” countered Jester, his voice hard. He stepped toward Mohawk, and placed his hands on his hips, an impenetrable wall of muscle. “This little show supposed to intimidate us?”

The last thing they needed was for someone to call the cops. Striker was about to step in and diffuse the potentially volatile situation when he heard a soft gasp behind him. Without moving his body, he turned his head a fraction, shifted his eyes, and caught sight of Lila in his periphery. Shit, he’d hoped she wouldn’t hear anything, but Jester’s voice carried like a foghorn and he should have anticipated her coming to check on the noise.

“Well, well,” chanted Mohawk. He fixed his attention on Lila, and licked his lips while adjusting his cock. “Looks like this hospital hired themselves one gorgeous doctor. Come closer and introduce yourself, lady doctor.”

“Did you seriously just do that? Get out of here before someone calls the police. Where the hell is security?” Lila’s voice reflected how pissed off she was, but Striker picked up on a small tremor of fear beneath her outrage. What the hell was she doing antagonizing these guys?

Striker took a step backward and to the side, taking Lila out of Mohawk’s line of sight. He placed one hand on her soft hip, and felt her fingers curl into the waistband of his jeans in what was probably an effort to keep him from moving away.

Mohawk snickered. “There a reason you don’t want me to meet the doctor, Striker? Got some kind of claim on her?”

Striker ignored the question. His impulsive move to protect Lila no doubt looked personal. Mohawk would take that information back to his club and use it to their advantage. The thought of this Mohawk character getting anywhere close to Lila infuriated him for reasons he didn’t have time to delve into. “You guys want to sit down and discuss our business, fine. Name the time and place. This is not it.”

Mohawk smiled. “You’re probably right. Let’s go boys.” He motioned for the two men to leave, then looked right at Striker. “You’ll be seeing us.” He turned, and strode out after the other two. “Sorry to interrupt your work, pretty doctor,” he called out over his shoulder as he left.

Striker clenched his jaw against the anger brewing inside him. Lila released a shaky breath that blew against his neck, and her hand was still latched onto his pants. “Go outside. I’ll be there in two minutes.” He nodded toward Jester and Gumby.

“Got it, VP,” replied Jester. “Fucking Grimms,” he muttered under his breath as he stomped after Gumby.

Striker turned abruptly, gripped Lila by the arm, and half-dragged her into the hallway where the treatment rooms were. “What the fuck did you think you were doing, Lila?”

~ ~ ~ ~

Lila was so stunned by what had just transpired, she didn’t think to protest Striker towing her down the hall. She blinked at him without answering his question and her insides quaked from the lecherous and calculating look the man with the mohawk had had in his eyes.

“I asked you what the fuck you were doing?” Striker kept his volume low, but his tone was hard and demanding. It matched the frown on his face.

“Excuse me?” she asked as anger began to chase away the fear. Who did he think he was, questioning her like she was a naughty child? “I heard arguing and came to make sure everything was okay in my place of business.”

“Well, little lamb, you walked right into the lion’s den, didn’t you?” Striker was in her face now, and he was practically snarling while his hand was still wrapped around her arm in a vice grip that, while he wasn’t hurting her, didn’t allow her to step away, either.

Lila twisted her arm in an attempt to break free. “Can you please let me go?”

A startled look crossed his face, as if he didn’t realize he was still holding her. “Sorry.” He released her immediately. “Did I hurt you?”