Making the Cut (Sons of Templar MC #1)(88)
Cade got back into the car, getting us back on the road home. I looked over at him, he had one hand on the wheel, the other lay on my bare thigh.
“Honey I know the concern you have for me comes from a place of love, but cant we maybe skip the hospital visit? It’s just a couple of bruises, nothing that IB profen and a bottle of wine can’t fix.” I attempted to sound breezy, but my voice was shaky. I wasn’t going to deny that I was hanging on by a thread, I had been kidnapped and beaten by murderers for Christ’s sake, that was kind of scary. But I also knew I wanted to steer clear of hospitals, not only due to the fact I f*cking hated those places, but I was scared at the memories those sterile walls might uncover.
“A couple of bruises?” Cade replied quietly, his knuckles were white on the steering wheel. “Look in the f*cking mirror Gwen. Half of your face is swollen and bruised, your lip is busted. Best case scenario is your ribs are badly bruised, but they’re more likely cracked so you’re going to the hospital. And you’re staying there until someone can assure me beyond a shadow of a f*cking doubt you will make a full recovery, in addition to prescribing painkillers that numb everything down to a broken f*ckin fingernail.” His tone brokered no argument.
“Okay I get your need to protect me, and your alpha male blood is probably boiling right now but I hate hospitals. Not just because they are full of germs and death, or because the bed sheets are as scratchy as a fleabag motels, don’t even get me started on the gowns. I could get over all of that to give you piece of mind, but I just can’t go into another hospital, not after spending weeks in one a year ago, I don’t think I can stand being the victim again. Please Cade.” I knew my tone might have bordered on pathetic but I would rather wear crocs for a month than be back in a hospital bed.
Cade glanced at me, I knew he was battling internally, and I’m sure my puppy dog eyes didn’t help his struggle, but they helped mine.
“I’m getting a doctor to meet us at your place, he can check you over there, but if he even thinks you might need a hospital visit that’s where you’re going.” He sighed, as if he was dealing with a child who didn’t want to have a nap.
“Thanks Cade.” I replied quietly, placing my hand atop his.
The hand at my thigh squeezed. “Sure baby. We can’t have my precious princess in scratchy sheets.” A hint of teasing was in his voice.
Now that that was settled, my mind wandered to some important points. “Okay, Um Cade?’ I asked hesitantly.
“Yeah babe?” He answered, eyes back on the road.
I fiddled my hands together, trying to ignore the throbbing in my face.
“Some pretty heavy shit happened back there, I was kind of kidnapped, and you and the boys killed those men.” My voice was quiet, almost trembling.
Cade didn’t say anything, his hand was still tight on my thigh, fury seemed to pulse through the cabin of the truck.
“Aren’t we going to call the police?” I asked, “I mean, I don’t think you guys will get in trouble for shooting those men, it was self defense and all.” I added quickly, but I knew the chances of the club letting law enforcement know they had killed three rival gang member’s was slim to none. I didn’t know how to get right with that, even though these men were evil, I was struggling. Because at the same time, a small part of me was glad they were dead after what they did to Laurie, and most likely other women.
“Already called them.” Cade replied and I blinked.
“Really?”
“Yeah babe, really. Called Crawford the second I found out you were gone. Wanted every available man looking for you.” He glanced at me, “You’re the most precious thing in my world, I love the club, but there’s no competition. Your safety is everything to me. After today, boys will be questioning the way we do business. We aren’t losing another woman.” His tone was determined.
I squeezed his hand. “You haven’t lost me. I’m right here.”
He brought our intertwined hands together and kissed mine.
“What do I tell the police though?” I asked.
I was very conflicted about lying to the police. Those men were evil, there was no doubt about that but I couldn’t get right with the fact they were dead. Things were spiraling, I really hoped this wouldn’t be my life, lying to the police, covering up murders. And I was a terrible liar, I could never tell a lie, my family would always see right through it. So would the police for that matter. When I was 15 I got caught by the cops drinking by the river. When they had asked my name and age I had replied, “Jane Miller, 20 years old.” I had also managed to blather on about how I was here on holiday from Australia, all the time talking in a terrible accent. They didn’t buy it, maybe because my accent sucked, or maybe because one of the cops was my Dads friend and had known me since I was five. I had been a little too tipsy to realize that. I brought myself a months grounding with that lie. I feared the consequences could be much worse if I was to lie badly this time around.
“Fuck baby. I would never ask this of you unless I had to, I hate dragging you into this shit. I promise I will fix everything. This isn’t going to be your life, I’ll make sure of it.” His eyes were blazing on mine, silently apologetic.
“Okay, just tell me what I need to say. I’ll try my best not to put on an accent.” I mumbled.