Page 6 of Hot as Hell (Royal Bastards MC, Montreal, Canada #2)

“Don’t apologize,” Hemlock replied with a quiet smile. “We’re here to figure out how badly you’re hurt.”

The door opened before Charlie could say anything else. She recognized the guy stepping into the room. He’d witnessed her humiliation when she tried to kill Hemlock.

“Durand, what do we have?” Razor looked at the girl and smiled. “Hello, cinnamon girl.”

Charlie sighed wanting to cry. She couldn’t catch a break.

“We’ve had a lot of fun at Hemlock’s expense since you kissed him.”

“Well, I’m glad I could humor you.”

Razor recognized someone in pain and went into professional mode. “Tell me what’s going on with the patient.”

“Miss Cote was punched in the face by another female. I think we should do an x-ray on her cheek. It might be fractured. She’s suffering with pain, swelling, skin discoloration, and a nosebleed.” Hemlock pointed to the balled up bloody tissue in Charlie’s hand.

Razor repeated the eye exam, touched her cheek, and witnessed Charlie’s intense reaction to the slightest touch. “I think you’re right. Let’s get an X-ray of the cheek and go from there.”

Charlie sat quietly as the two men discussed the X-ray of her cheek.

Exhaustion had long since set in, leaving her with the desire to leave.

It didn’t matter what they said. She couldn’t afford to go anywhere else for medical attention.

She knew by Hemlock’s reaction to the X-ray that her cheek was indeed fractured.

But she already knew that by the way her nose bled after being punched.

It wasn’t her first rodeo with a facial fracture.

Rubbing a hand across her forehead, Charlie decided she was done. She stood and pulled her purse straps over her shoulder before thanking Hemlock and Razor. Her hand was barely on the doorknob when they both asked where she was going.

Charlie paused, fingers still hovering over the doorknob.

She wasn’t sure how to explain. She hadn’t even fully processed the fact she’d been x-rayed for a fractured cheek.

It wasn’t the first time, and with the situation unfolding in her life, it probably wouldn’t be the last. She turned, giving them both a half-smile, though it felt more like a grimace.

“Home. Or what passes for a home,” her voice was low and laced with annoyance.

Hemlock heard the undertone in her words and wanted to help her. “Charlie?—”

“I know. My face is fractured. I’d hoped it wasn’t. But it is.” She was done being looked at like she was pathetic and tired of being ignored. She was more than an

X-ray.

“We weren’t ignoring you. We want to be one hundred percent sure there aren’t any underlying issues to be worried about,” Razor responded.

“Is there?” Charlie asked as her hand hovered over the doorknob.

“Not that we can see.”

“Charlie,” Hemlock’s voice was calm, but insistent. He’d always had that way about him. Serious but compassionate. “It’s not something you can just walk away from. It could get worse.”

“It’s fine. I’ve had worse,” she muttered, turning the knob and pulling the door open. She needed out of there. Out of the sterile smell of antiseptic and the weight of their concern.

Charlie walked out and didn’t stop until she got to the bus stop. If she were lucky, she wouldn’t get mugged before she got home.

Her boots clicked against the pavement as she made her way toward the bus stop.

The weight of her bruised, fractured cheek and damaged pride left a dull throb in the back of her mind.

She could still hear Hemlock’s voice, soft but insistent, echoing behind her, but it didn’t matter anymore. There was nothing more to say.

At least the X-ray had confirmed what she already knew: no hidden fractures in her skull, no internal bleeding, just the fracture of her cheekbone.

But the ache in her face was enough of a reminder that she’d been on the receiving end of a punch she hadn’t seen coming.

Not that it was anything new. She’d been punched, kicked, and worse over the years, but tonight had been…

different. Maybe it was the way the lights had flickered in the hallway, the way the air had been thick with tension before it all exploded.

She stepped onto the bus, the doors hissing closed behind her.

She didn’t bother looking around for a seat.

The bus was half-empty, the usual collection of drunks and the occasional insomniac heading home from a late shift.

Charlie settled into the nearest spot by the window, staring out at the dark streets.

Her face throbbed, but the rhythmic hum of the engine and the soft jolt of the bus seemed to settle her, just a little.

Her place wasn’t really home—not anymore, not for a long time. It wasn’t even a cramped apartment with peeling paint and windows that wouldn’t close all the way. It was a cheap suite at an even cheaper hotel. But it was hers. Just like this life was hers, messy and fractured as it was.

As the bus rolled on, Charlie’s mind drifted to the fight.

The way her opponent had looked at her just before it all went down, that split second where everything had gone cold.

If she was being honest with herself, it had been her mistake.

She had let her guard down, maybe not physically, but emotionally.

She hadn’t expected the sucker punch. She had been too busy sizing up the mood, looking for any hint of trouble.

Not that it matters now , she thought, rubbing her hand across her cheek absently, the cool pressure almost soothing.

The bus hit a pothole, jarring her out of her thoughts, and Charlie sat up straighter.

She was close now. Another few blocks and she’d be there.The city outside was a blur of lights and shadows, but inside, the hum of the bus was oddly comforting.

Even if she had little, she had this, her own way of getting through, no matter what life threw her way.

And if she was really unlucky? She’d deal with that, too.