Page 4
CONAN
“ I think she’s here,” I tell Finn as headlights roll up behind me, cutting through the darkness. The car stops, but the low, deep purr of the engine—the kind you feel in your ribs—sends a ripple of suspicion down my spine.
That’s not a regular car. That’s muscle. A Shelby, if I had to guess.
My grip tightens around my pistol.
“Finn. What fucking car does she have?”
He chuckles. The smug bastard.
“Oh yeah. She loves her cars, Con. Have fun. Behave and listen to her.”
The line goes dead.
I grunt as I push open the door, trying to haul my ass out while half-slumped in pain. My hand hooks onto the frame, and I drag myself up.
“Fuck me,” I hiss as a sharp jolt tears through my thigh.
A hand, small and warm, lands on my waist.
And I swear to God, I see stars.
Shit. Heart attack? Or something worse?
“Put your weight on your good leg and let me help you,” she says, soft but firm. Sweet as fucking sugar, and just as addictive.
I glance left. Her caramel hair catches the light, those soft curls gleaming like a goddamn halo.
She’s tiny. Barely comes up to my chest. But confident as hell.
“I don’t want to fall and crush you, darlin’.”
“You won’t. We need to get you to a hospital, so chop, chop, Conan.”
She slips her arm around me, guiding me toward her car like she’s done this a thousand times. But then I see it.
Low grumble. Matte deep blue wrap.
Holy fuck.
“Is that the Shelby GT500 Heritage Edition?” I ask, even though I already know.
“Yes. Supercharged. Remapped. The works. Now, get in. Please.”
She flicks her gaze to my leg, blood soaking through my pants.
The interior hits me with the smell of cherries as I collapse into the passenger seat, dragging my leg in with a grunt. As she slides behind the wheel, I finally get a full look.
And damn. I’m fucked.
If I wasn’t bleeding out, my dick would be harder than steel.
She catches me staring.
“What? Never seen a woman drive a powerful car before?” she snaps, eyes on the road.
Feisty.
“No, darlin’. I’m not judging. I’m admiring.”
The way she handles this beast—smooth, precise, fearless—it’s almost erotic. She weaves through traffic like it’s child’s play.
“Yeah?” She flicks her eyes to me, and my heart pounds.
She’s beautiful. Sharp jaw. Soft lips. Hazel eyes that could pin a man in place. Her curls frame her face like she walked off a dream and into a car ad. Then her eyes snap back to the road, and I exhale.
I run my hand over the carbon fiber dash.
“She’s a beautiful beast.”
“She’s my baby.” She taps the wheel, smiling like she means it. Wind lifts her hair, and I forget all about the pain in my leg.
“Where’d you learn to drive like this?”
“My dad. We used to fix up his cars and he’d take me on track days. I’ve tried to keep up the legacy, I guess.”
There’s a hitch in her voice. A flicker of pain she tries to bury.
“Sorry,” I say. “Bet he would be proud of you, though.”
She shrugs and tucks a curl behind her ear.
“I guess.”
I swallow hard. I know that kind of pain. I live with it. Mom’s face in that hospital bed used to haunt me. Still does.
“What’s the fastest you’ve gone in this beast?” I ask, needing the shift.
She side-eyes me at the red light.
“You aren’t a cop, are you?”
A chuckle bursts out of me. If only she knew.
I press a finger to my lips. “Your darkest secrets are safe with me.”
She nods. The light turns green—and fuck me, I’m pinned to the seat as she punches it. The engine roars, the speedometer climbs, and my adrenaline spikes right alongside it.
Jesus.
“She drives like she owns the goddamn world. I would love to race you in this,” I murmur.
“I’d leave you in the dust on the track,” she smirks.
I laugh, my stomach flipping. This woman is trouble.
“Oh, Hallie. You don’t know who you’re playing with here.”
“What, you think you’d win in a smashed Bugatti?” she counters.
Ouch. Low blow.
“I’ll fix it up in no time, trouble.”
She chews her lip as we approach the hospital, eyes scanning for a spot. She drives through quite a few.
“I fucking hate reversing in a space, okay?”
I raise both hands. “No judgment. We won’t race backwards.”
“Good. Also, we’d have to make it fair. Two Shelbys or two Bugattis. To see who’s actually got skills.”
Fair enough. I could find a Shelby. If I weren’t about to get stitched up in a place I’d rather set on fire than walk into.
Hospitals fuck me up. The last memory I have of Mom was in a place just like this. Cold walls. Machines beeping. Her pale face. Gone.
It’s the memory that flashes when I lose it in the cage. When James didn’t get back up. When my hands wouldn’t stop.
Hallie cuts the engine, dragging me back.
“That was way more fun than an ambulance trip,” I tell her, leaving off the beautiful owner bit.
“Glad it distracted you,” she says, brushing her fingers across the wheel. That glimmer in her eye? Fuck me—it does things.
“You think you can walk, or should I grab you a wheelchair?”
I scoff. “I’ll limp. It’s just glass.”
She pouts and then nods. “To be honest, if it hit something important, you’d have bled to death by now.”
Jesus Christ.
My throat tightens. Definitely not funny.
But she laughs, like it’s just nurse banter. Finn does that too, makes jokes about me dying while holding a scalpel.
Her hand rests on my good thigh. My pulse goes off the rails.
“I was joking. A few stitches and you’ll be good to fight.”
I raise a brow. “How much do you know about me exactly?”
And why the fuck don’t I know anything about her? Finn’s kept her hidden like a goddamn secret.
“I know you’re funny, hot-headed, and an incredibly skilled cage fighter.”
I nod. “Carry on. I’m enjoying the praise.”
She giggles. I grin.
“Maybe sit through the needle first, then I’ll tell you the rest.”
Once I’m in Finn’s office, she returns, and I nearly fall off the damn chair.
White coat. Black-rimmed glasses. Hair in a messy bun.
Holy hell.
I shift uncomfortably, sucking in a breath. All I can imagine is her on her knees, looking up at me. Professional Hallie is a problem.
She rolls over a cart of supplies, snapping on gloves.
“I’m going to get the glass out first. Then I’ll need you to take your pants off so I can clean it up and see how many stitches you’ll need. Sound good?”
I nod. “There are much better ways to get me to strip.”
She smiles, not missing a beat.
“I don’t want germs from your clothes getting into the wound.”
“Right. Not a time for jokes.”
She’s focused. Steady. Sexy as hell.
“Deep breath. This might hurt.”
I brace. The metal tool glints under the light, and then searing, white-hot pain rockets through my thigh.
I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to wreck the room.
I can’t scare her.
The glass clinks into the metal bowl. She presses a cloth to the wound.
“Pants off, please.”
I fumble with my belt, stripping them off and tossing them aside. Boxers. Thank God.
She clears her throat as I lean back, one arm behind my head.
“Relax for me.”
Her voice is soothing, yet commanding, it gets me to exhale. She dabs the wound with antiseptic and…
“Good boy.”
My eyes snap open. Blood rushes south.
“Am I?” I smirk. “Do I get a reward, Nurse Hallie?”
Her cheeks flush.
“I might have some stickers somewhere.”
“Hmmm.” I nod, pretending to consider it.
“You’ll need a few stitches. Are you good with needles?”
Her eyes lock on my heavily tatted forearm and hand. I think she’s just realized her answer.
“No. Petrified. Can you hold my hand?”
She giggles, tapping my thigh.
“I need two hands to stitch you up. I can call in another nurse?”
I run my tongue along my teeth. “No. I’ll be brave for you.”
She heads to the shelf for supplies. I let myself breathe.
This woman. Cool as hell. Sharp. Sassy. A fuckin’ dream in a white coat.
“Wow,” I mutter under my breath.
She glances back. “Wow?”
Shit.
I didn’t know I had a nurse fantasy. But I’m sure I do now. I’m now not sure if I missed the part where she drugged me with something.
Why the hell did ‘wow’ just leave my mouth?
“Umm…” I chew my lip, scrambling. Finn told me to behave. She works for him. She’s holding a needle.
She rolls back to me, stitches prepped.
I grin, cocky again.
“Do I get another good boy when you’re done?”
I hope she says yes.
Table of Contents
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