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Dante

Rachel hadn’t allowed any visitors to the hospital the next day.

The staff informed me she had woken up the night I was researching Alex, and I had turned up the next morning ready to apologise for not being there, but she had refused my company.

I had tried to convince the staff to let me in, but they said the patient’s wishes must always come first, and Rachel wished to be alone to get some sleep.

The nurses said she seemed herself, and her memory seemed fine.

The doctor had visited, and they were satisfied that I was not to blame for her injuries, and so the investigation was dropped before it was reported to the police – which didn’t really matter, as my guy was ready waiting to intercept any report made, anyway. But it was less of a headache this way.

My men had also pulled through on the Alex front. We had the names of his closest contacts and had proof they were close when Alex was alive. We had the name of his club, the new owner, and the new location it had moved to.

It seemed after Alex died; the club fell apart for a while. But Alex’s best friend, Ben, had taken over around six months later, moving the headquarters to a bigger, more popular location and, as far as we could tell, they were all still together and still up to their old tricks.

Shark and Macbeth spent the day there yesterday, working on getting an in with them, and finding out as much information as they could.

It surprised me that Macbeth had been willing to help at all.

Crash held a brief church meeting last night and gave the other members a rundown of what Rachel had gone through – we didn’t go into explicit details, because that was her story to tell, but they knew enough to know that Alex and all concerned had to be dealt with.

Especially as Rachel was the old lady of the VP.

Macbeth had volunteered to help after he heard the story. When I questioned it, he said that Rachel was a decent lass, and she didn’t deserve what had happened to her. Even more so because she was already going to be punished enough for being my old lady for the foreseeable future.

I ignored that part. I had shaken his hand, thanked him, and we set about planning how we were going to approach this.

I had been excited to share all of this with Rachel, but I was refused in the morning, and she didn’t change her mind come afternoon or evening visiting hours either.

I put it down to her memory returning, and that she was still seething over our argument.

Understandable, but I had to hope this would show her I was sorry, and that I was willing to fix things.

If I could just explain to her why I had left for church that night, and why I was so busy right now, she would understand. I was doing this for her.

And I hope she would also realise that by doing this, I was also taking away any threats I could make in the future about informing Alex’s family.

It had been a disgusting thing to hold over her, and this was putting the power in her hands.

I would be as guilty as she was once all this was said and done. She would have all the power.

I would make it okay for her. She would no longer have to fear any of Alex’s gang. I would protect her.

I was waiting outside the hospital, as the nurse had rung me and let me know Rachel said she was ready to leave.

She wanted to leave herself, but it was against hospital policy to allow her to leave alone with a concussion.

She conceded to me meeting her outside in the car park.

She didn’t want me coming up to the ward.

I leant against the wall, my eyes trained on the doors, waiting for her arrival.

She came out half an hour later than planned, a paper bag in her hand from the pharmacy.

Her long blonde hair was pinned into a messy bun atop her head, and her clothes hung off her.

I tried not to smile at the picture she presented, but it was hard not to when she was in my shirt and my mother’s trousers.

Rachel was a curvaceous woman, but this outfit made her look frumpy in all the wrong places.

She saw me leaning against the wall, and her eyes burnt with an emotion I couldn’t quite decipher.

“How are you feeling?” I asked, as she silently shoved the paper bag at me.

“Fine,” she said pleasantly enough, and my stomach dropped. The fire in her eyes went out and the blank expression was back in place.

I knew her well enough now to know the blank expression was her trained default mode. She did it when she was hiding. And that pissed me off even more.

I had always hated that fucking blank look, and now I knew the reason behind it, I positively loathed it.

She didn’t need to hide from me. I wanted her to show me her worst. I wanted her to know I would love her no matter what. Just like I wanted her to love me at my most horrific, cruel, sadistic moments.

It was the main reason I didn’t regret kidnapping her. She needed to know I was not the hero. I was fucked up. I had my own moral compass. But it was best to show her this. She would love every side of me, not just the good guy most men pretended to be.

“How are we getting home?” She asked, her lips curling at the word home.

“My bike is in the carpark.”

“I’m not getting on that thing.”

“Would you rather walk?”

“Funnily enough, Dante, yes, yes, I would. In case it escaped your notice, I have stitches in the back of my head. Six of them, to be precise. I don’t fancy squeezing a fucking helmet over my head and riding on your fucking death trap.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to make a cock joke there, but the stern expression on her face had me clamping my lips shut.

There was a time and a place, and judging by the thunderous look on Rachel’s face, this was not the time.