Claiming Crusher (Savage Brothers MC #4)(23)

“What the f*ck is going on here?” Crusher asks from the door and I can feel the anger vibrating off of him. He’s staring Beast down and I bite my lip. You can feel the testosterone fill the room.

Beast turns around to face Crusher. I get there is probably hostility between the clubs, because of what happened and with Nicole right now, but I can’t handle any more fighting…not now. I’m on a razor’s edge as it is.

“How’s Nicole?” I ask Crusher, trying to redirect the conversation.

I stand up and wince as a flash of pain enters my bad leg, Beast places his large hand on mine and offers me his support. I push down using his arm almost like a cane. Once I get my balance and shift my weight to my good leg, I look up at Crusher waiting for his answer. His dark eyes are glowing…some anger yes, but something else I can’t really decipher.

“She’s showing signs of coming out of it. They’re monitoring her closely. You can go see her before I take you home if you want,” Crusher says.

I swallow and think about what he says, before I answer.

“I don’t think it would be good for me to go to the club…”

“Why the f*ck not?” Crusher growls and Beast blocks me from his path. It’s sweet, but even without my pills I don’t really fear Crusher…I don’t know why.

“I’m not exactly the most loved person around the Savage Brother’s MC right now. I just think it would be better for everyone if I stay at the house that Nicole and I rent.”

“No. You’re coming to the club, where I can take care of you.”

“It doesn’t appear you’re taking care of her now,” Beast says, folding his huge arms at his chest and making his biceps pop so much, I think they might need their own zip code.

“What would you know about it?”

“I have eyes,” Beast shrugs “You’re more than welcome to come back to the club with me hummingbird, my club will take care of you.”

“You’re the f*ck-ups that got her in this mess to begin with.”

“Funny, I’d say that’d be your president pissing off the wrong people,” Beast responds to Crusher.

Four…three…two…one…please let me hold on to my sanity long enough to get out of here, get to the house, swallow some pills and regroup.

“I can take care of myself. Can you two stop your pissing match over your clubs until I get out of here, please?”

I feel them looking at me, but avoid them. Instead, I choose to busy myself with packing up the hospital toiletries they gave me in a plastic bag the nurse gave me.

“I have your discharge papers, Miss Smith.”

The hospital nurse comes in with her clipboard and papers, oblivious to the tension in the room. Me? I breathe a little easier having her in here with me until she looks at me and I see the disdain there.

“Thank you,” I answer trying to ignore the dull ache of pain that is slowly increasing the longer I remain standing.

As she goes over the care of the bandages and things, I feel Crusher standing close to my back. I look over my shoulder to see he’s standing right behind me, so close I can feel his breath against my skin. Beast is standing by the door watching us.

“Do you mind?” I ask Crusher, annoyed.

“I need to know how to take care of you, Hellcat.”

“I told you I will take care of myself, been doing it for a while now.”

“You need someone to help you until you’re better, and that’s me,” he answers.

“Doesn’t look like you’re doing such a great job right now,” Beast speaks up from across the room.

“Did someone ask what you thought?” Crusher asks.

“No, but she’s standing there in pain and instead of helping her, you’re yelling at me.”

Crusher’s body goes rigid at the rebuke, I know, because suddenly he pulls me back against him and takes my weight. His warm body slowly heats my back and I find myself relaxing against my will.

“Why don’t you f*ck off? No one wants you here.” Crusher responds to Beast and the nurse looks up at me and shakes her head. She’s judging me, but I shake it off. Everyone does. I learned a long time ago that people will think what they want. The key is to pretend you either don’t give a f*ck, or pretend you earned their dislike and enjoy it—for that reason alone I give her my f*ck off smile.

“You’re treating her like your woman,” Beast starts again. This time my heart kicks in with fear and I pull away from Crusher…no.

“Not my woman, but definitely property of the Savage MC, f*cker.”

I ignore the way the distinction makes my heart feel as if it’s being squeezed in a fist. I don’t want to be any man’s property. I don’t even know why his reply should hurt, but it does.

“Will you two…” I begin only to have Beast interrupt me.

“Why doesn’t she have clean clothes then? Are the Savage pussies too busy to make sure their property doesn’t have to go home in clothes they’ve been shot in? Where’s her flowers or balloons, something to show she’s at least a good piece of club *?” Beast asks and I flinch.

The nurse shakes her head and gives me that look. The look I’ve gotten my whole life. The look that broadcasts one word. Whore. I got it when I married Michael with the whispered word gold-digger thrown around. I got it in the emergency rooms the few times Michael allowed me there for treatment. He took great pleasure in telling the doctors how I had a drug problem and he would find me on the streets having been beat up by some john. He loved weaving lies that put him in the best light. I got that look every time I climbed up on the stage to dance and take my clothes off. None of those times hurt as much though as the nurse’s.