Corrupted: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Blacktop Sinners MC) Read online

  “I don’t remember anything since the warehouse.”

  She frowned. “That’s more information than we had. Here, you don’t have to put on your leads, and I’ll see if we can get you some scrubs. We had to cut the leathers off, but if you get cleared by Dr. Malek, you’ll be free to leave with what’s left.”

  He stopped and sucked in a heavy breath. He’d worn his jacket proudly for a decade. It had been his jacket as a probie, and he remembered earning his first patch for taking out a rival Los Lobos gang member by breaking his knee in a bar fight. There were quite a few others now, including the skull, itself, that symbolized his position as the lead enforcer for his crew. It was ten years of scuffs and wear, but it was his ten years of effort thrown into it. To know that it had been cut up by the docs made him want to puke. Hell, it had even survived nine months in the federal penitentiary down by Raleigh, waiting for him to claim it after his stint there.

  Now it was just gone.

  The biggest part of his identity was gone.

  The club could get him another, of course it could, but that wasn’t the one he’d worn in more tough scrapes than he could count, the one he’d worn the day he’d sprung Ron from a trap laid by the feds about five years back. It wasn’t what he’d worked so hard for as a punk out of juvie with no hope and no clues.

  “I don’t understand,” was all he could manage. It was such a small phrase, so insignificant. It was as if a relative had died. Moreso, considering he’d never had a family he could rely on.

  “We cut everything off. We had to prepare any wounds for possible debridement, I mean,” she said blushing. “For pulling any rocks or dirt out of your wounds.”

  Looking down, he ran his hands over his arms and under his scrubs enough to feel his chest. There were a few scrapes on his arm, but nothing deep or angry. He’d had worse road rash a dozen times before. When he looked up, he noticed that Tess seemed to be licking her lips and focusing hard on his torso. Now that was interesting…

  “I have to get out of here. My cre…family is expecting me, and no one knows where I am.”

  “Again, let’s go through the neuro battery. You suffered a concussion and a few broken toes on your left foot. You’re pretty high on the morphine for the pain, and you aren’t feeling it.”

  “That’s nuts,” he said, gesturing down to his left foot, which felt perfectly fine. His eyes went wide at the huge sock covering it. “Huh?”

  “It’s covering the splints underneath, that’s all. The smaller two we couldn’t set, and I’d be careful just trying to walk more on your heel, but we had some we could do on the big and pointer toe. You really just need to sit down,” she said, striding forward and pushing on his shoulder.

  He smirked at that. The nurse was five foot three if she were an inch. There was no way she was going to be able to manhandle him anywhere. Her efforts, though, were adorable. It was like being a Bernese Mountain Dog ordered around by a Yorkie.

  “Look, you can’t get me to sit if I don’t want to.”

  “Well you’re the one putting a lot more weight on your toes than you should currently and walking around with a concussion, so I’m not the one who should be heeding my warnings. Besides, Dwayne the orderly. He’s not 6’5, but he’ll manage, and I’ve seen him wrestle down psychotics.

  Well he’s never dealt with the Enforcer for the Blacktop Sinners.

  He didn’t dare say that out loud. The nurse was sweet, completely All-American, even down to her deep twang that told him she was pure Appalachia mountain folk and had grown up that way. She was not the type he ever dated, not like the sweet butt that hung around the clubhouse or the whores that worked the streets as part of the club’s income and sometimes offered things to the board as fringe benefits for their service.

  She wouldn’t understand what he did, that he’d killed more than once before.

  He’d never been ashamed of being a Blacktop Sinner, and he wasn’t now. They’d been his family when he’d had none, and he’d kill again for his brothers-in-arms. Hell, there was going to be a turf war soon against the Death’s Head crew for the trick they’d played on them. He’d definitely be shedding blood again.

  Still, she was what Ron had once called “an indoor girl.” She wasn’t a wild one for the road, not like the women he’d fucked before. He could be delicate, and, besides, he wanted all his stuff back, including the knife that could tie his president to the murder of Gunner Sampson from the rival club. He couldn’t arouse suspicion that he was anything other than a law-abiding citizen, in case his valuables were taken from him and turned over to the pigs.

  “I need to get out of here.”

  “Sit, mister, or I’ll tell everyone you’re working against medical advice and leave you to Malek and Dwayne. Trust me, you won’t like that.”

  He sighed and shook his head, but he followed her lead and sat back on his bed. Derek wasn’t a fool, nor had he gotten as far as he had without being able to read people and without knowing when to shut up and truly listen.

  Crossing his arms over his chest, he glared down at the blue and white dotted monstrosity he was wearing. “Can I at least get some scrubs? Then you can Nero me all you want.”

  “Neuro.” She corrected him. “As in ‘neurological battery.’ A concussion.” She added quickly. “You already have a gap in your memory from your accident and passed out. You were unconscious when they had you in transit. You might still have headaches, dizziness, and short term memory issues for a while.”

  “So, a bad hangover. When can I ride?”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “Yeah, when can I ride, and where’s my hog?”

  “Unbelievable,” she breathed as she disappeared out the door for a moment.

  He waited until she was back and deferred to her again. He needed her to be on his side, and he needed to be out of here like yesterday. He still had no idea where his president was, and neither of them had seen Ron before fleeing the warehouse. Derek stiffened and forced that thought away. Ron was the toughest man he’d ever known; there was no way those bastards of the Death’s Head had gotten the best of him. Also, he was slick and never could be forced to talk to cops. All this was true, but he needed to be out there, helping his crew. It was part of his duties, damn it.

  Not sitting around here playing doctor, even if he half wanted to ask Tess, hottie that she was, to give him an extra-long “examination.”

  The mint green scrubs she handed him were still an eyesore but not as bad as his current get up. He grinned back at her as he stood up and took off his gown. She narrowed her eyes and turned around quickly but not before he noticed her ears go red at the sight of him.

  Clinical detachment, my ass.

  Chuckling, he shoved on the scrubs, bottoms first, and groaned a little when they were still too short. It looked like he was preparing for a flood, but at least he didn’t feel a stiff breeze blowing up his rear like with the gown. Slipping the top over his arms, he slid back onto the bed. His left foot was starting to ache and cramp up; maybe he’d been stupid to take out the free morphine just a bit too early.

  “So, you accusing me of not listening?” He asked, arching an eyebrow at her.

  Tess rolled her eyes but grabbed the clipboard at the foot of his bed. “You’ve got a damn concussion and broken toes. You shouldn’t be walking or doing things for at least a few more days, just taking it easy. You can’t be serious about wanting to get back on one of those damn death machines.”

  “Look. First of all, pain don’t hurt.”

  “Sure it doesn’t, Swayze,” she huffed.

  Huh, at least we could agree on movies. “Second, it’s not a damn death machine. It’s the best thing God’s ever invented.”

  “No,” she argued, her voice hard. “Some jackass with a massive death wish did and inspired tons of others to do it. If I were nastier, I’d say it was an orthopedist who wanted a steady supply of people to work on. They’re dangerous, and I tell every person who comes
in here because of an accident, ‘You got off lucky. You’re going to live another day,’ but there’s a reason some people around here joke and call them ‘donor bikes.’ You should reconsider.”

  “Should I pick up a helmet, some training wheels, and live in one of those plastic bubbles? Y’know, for my safety.”

  “Well a helmet is state law for everyone.”

  “So, blondie, are you going to turn me in? Call the cops on me for that?”

  “No, but if you won’t give up something so dangerous, then you need to at least compensate.”

  “You talk like you care an awful lot about me right now.”

  “I do,” she said, her voice earnest and gentle.

  For a moment, that dampened the smirk on his face. Outside of Ron and the board, the brothers Derek was closest to, he never heard words like that. He’d never had an old lady that would ever say something like that, not even close. Wasn’t his style. The girls he went after were the same as him: wham, bam, thank-you-ma’am. No cuddling, kissing. Just fuck and dip.

  Tess, though… Now, she was a nurse, and that should mean that she said that to everyone she met. But her sincerity felt real, as did the strong regard in her gorgeous hazel eyes.

  Like she’s not just putting on an act.

  “You can’t save everyone, blondie.”

  “My name is Tess, like I said.”

  “Okay, Tess. You can’t save everyone, and I just need to get out of here.” He stretched out slowly, letting the scrubs tighten around his frame so she could get a good look. “So examine away.”

  “Great, I’ll do the neuro then call in Dr. Malek to agree. Then, we can call you a cab. Your wallet and other belongings are in lock up, and once I get the okay, I’ll do it for you myself.”

  “So you do care.”

  She sighed and, even if her tone was light, the sincerity was still ringing clear in her voice. “Of course I do. You gave us a scare when you couldn’t remember anything, had turn you over to the MRI and everything. That hit you took according to the paramedics…well, you do know the sapling you hit was cracked in half, right? You’re lucky as hell it wasn’t a full grown tree.”

  “Felt like a goddamn full-grown tree.” He muttered and reached out to squeeze her hand. It was a soft gesture, something he didn’t do, but it felt right at the moment. Something about his accident had worried this gorgeous woman deeply, and he might as well throw her a bone.

  In fact…

  “Did you stay all night watching me sleep?”

  Her ears went scarlet. Caught. “I had a double shift, and you were the most high risk patient on my docket. It’s not what you think.”

  He grinned widely back at her, even as she shined that damn pen light into his eyes. Blinking, he held up his hands and shirked away. “Don’t worry, Blon—Tess, I won’t tell if you won’t.”

  “Look, I just wanted to make sure your pupils were still normal. We ran an MRI and also a CAT scan later on last night. We didn’t detect any cerebral hemorrhaging, but better safe than sorry,” she said, holding up one finger. “Now follow this without moving your head, just move your eyes.”

  He rolled them first but focused on her once she started. It wasn’t difficult, but all the lights and commotion as well as the lack of meds was turning the pounding into a team of Clydesdales stomping through his brain. “Is that good?”

  “Yup, you really are incredibly lucky, Derek. You could have been killed.” She stilled then and reached under her scrub top. He frowned at the medal she pulled out. He’d never been religious, so he didn’t know what faith it was from. He assumed based on the area probably Catholic, but he didn’t know it. “What?”

  “The medal? What is it for?”

  “I…it’s a St. Christopher. He’s the patron saint of travelers among other things. Are you Catholic?”

  “I’m not much of anything,” he replied, honestly. “Seen too much ugly in the world to believe in anything either. I couldn’t see anyone or anything letting it go like that.”

  “Some days, well, I almost believe that too, but I keep fighting to think there’s someone watching over all of us. I don’t bring this out on the floor, I apologize. It’s just a nervous habit.”

  “It’s fine. I’m not offended. Honestly, I think it’s sweet,” he said, smiling back at her. “So what else is St. Christopher for?”

  “Well general transportation, sailing, and, well, you’ll probably like this one---bachelors.”

  He snickered at that. Was this flirting? He hadn’t done this in years, not like that. Again, the hookers were a freebie, and the sweet butt at the club was looking to jockey for position. He didn’t have to try, and a lot of them weren’t as quick as Tess was. This was different, what other guys experienced, wasn’t it?

  “I might have an old lady, um, a wife.”

  “No ring, no one had to cut it off you, and even if you were the cheating type, there are no obvious tan lines, but it’s a nice bluff there, Romeo.” She smiled and pushed the medal back under her shirt. “So what date is it?”

  “June 12, 2015.”

  “And,” she said, holding up the peace sign for him. “How many fingers.”

  “Two.”

  “Who’s president?”

  “Not who I voted for,” he huffed.

  “I’m serious.”

  “Barack Obama, and he still has a few years to go. His wife is named Michelle and they have a dog name Bo. I heard it’s hypoallergenic. Is that good enough to prove my brain’s not scrambled?”

  “It proves you’re about to overdose on sarcasm for what it’s worth,” she finished. “Remember these numbers: 3, 8, 12, 2, 5.”

  “Can do.”

  “Now which fruit is usually red: an apple or an orange?”

  “Orange.”

  “Spell ‘loose.’”

  “L-O-O-S-E. Good thing you didn’t ask for accommodate. I lost on the second round of the fifth grade spelling bee on that one. We all had to do it, but never liked that damn word.”

  She chuckled. “Okay give me the numbers.”

  “3, 8, 12, 2, 5.”

  “And can you do it backwards?”

  “Of course.”

  She snorted. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “It was what you asked,” he replied, smirking back at her. If he had to go through such stupid tests, then she had to suffer too, damn it.

  “Repeat them.”

  “Fine, it’s 5, 2, 12, 8, 3.”

  “Perfect. I’ll go tell Dr. Malek that you’re ready for everything, and she’ll double check your mental faculties as well.”

  Derek nodded and smiled to himself as she sashayed around. She sure was cute, and her ass wasn’t a bad view either. If he didn’t have a president to check in with, a bike to find, and a best friend to worry over, he’d almost be happy that he found her.

  Even if she was a bit of an uptight, by the book type.

  Maybe that was what he needed.

  Chapter Six

  “Thank you,” he said, as she handed him his bag of possessions. “I really appreciate you getting Dr. Malek in here within an hour. I just need to check up on the friends I was riding with. We got split up in the woods, and I’m scared they’re hurt too, you know?”

  “I do, and here’s a post-it with the impound lot’s address. We called you a cab already, since you won’t be able to get there any other way.”

  “Thanks,” he said, opening up the bag and spilling out the contents onto the bag. To his relief his switch blade and boots were still there as was his cut, the jacket he’d worn for a decade. It was sliced into two halves. Mournfully, he picked up both and sighed. “I loved this jacket.”

  She frowned at the flaming rose pattern that was hard to make out on the back of the ripped halves. “That’s a distinct jacket. Did you decorate it yourself?”

  He shoved it quickly into its bag, not wanting to deal with too many questions. “It’s more a sentimental feeling,” he said, trying to ignore
her questions as he scooped his other things up and shoved his wallet in a pocket of the scrub pants. He was reaching for the shredded denim that had once been his jeans when she squeezed his wrist.

  Turning, he frowned down at her. She was such a spit fire and so bossy that it was hard to realize, all things aside, she was a tiny little thing. “What?”

  “I…just take care of yourself out there, Derek. I have a feeling you’re in more trouble than you’re telling me. I won’t press because it’s not my place, but I’d hate to have you back in here again.”

  “I promise that you won’t see me here again,” he finished. “But I’d like to see you off the clock.”