Page 11 of Twisted Secrets (The O’Malleys #3)

C illian knew he was in trouble the second Doc Jones walked through the front door.

She was a big woman who looked like she came from a family of lumberjacks and bench-pressed trees for fun.

Her orange-red hair was liberally streaked with gray, but she could be anywhere from forty to sixty.

All he knew was that she’d been the family medic for as long as he could remember and, aside from the added gray hair that she liked to blame on the O’Malleys, she didn’t seem to have aged a day in the meantime.

She took one look at him and snorted. “Always trouble with you, isn’t it, boy?”

I’m twenty-six. I’m not a goddamn boy anymore.

He bit back the instinctual response. It would only let her know exactly how much she got under his skin.

Not that she needed the verbal confirmation.

Doc Jones was one of the few people who talked shit to every member of his family from his youngest sister all the way up to his father, all without seeing any actual consequences.

Probably because she was excellent at her job—and knew how to keep her mouth shut.

Olivia stood. “It’s not his fault. He was jumped.”

“Who’s this cute little piece of ass?”

She started to bypass Olivia, but Olivia got right in the doctor’s face.

Nothing overtly threatening, but she didn’t back up when the large woman got into her personal space.

“I’m the one who saved his ass. So maybe before you go dismissing me, you’ll ask me—the one without a head wound—for the details. ”

Cillian braced himself to stand and get between the two of them if it became necessary. No one—not even his father—talked to the doctor like that. But Doc Jones just grinned. “I like this one. Try not to fuck it up.”

Right, because that was what he was worried about right now.

The only reason Olivia was giving him the time of day was because she was afraid he’d fall down on the sidewalk and bleed out if she let him out of here unsupervised.

It wasn’t exactly the suave impression he’d wanted to make.

After this, he’d be lucky if she looked at him with anything other than pity.

“He was jumped by two men. He’s probably got a bunch of bruises, but the main issue is that he hit his head on the brick wall when he fell, and has been bleeding ever since.” Olivia glanced at him. “He’s been talking, but seems kind of out of it, so it’s possible that he’s got a concussion.”

“Any vomiting?”

“No.”

“That’s something, at least.” Doc Jones nodded. “You wouldn’t believe the trouble this one gets into.”

Olivia snorted. “Oh, I can imagine.”

Cillian tried not to be too insulted that they were talking about him like he wasn’t in the room. Doc Jones took the towel off the back of his head and batted his hand away. “Don’t move.”

Since she had a history of smacking her unruly patients, he wasn’t inclined to disobey. He’d already had his bell rung tonight—he didn’t need it to happen a second time. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good boy.” She prodded the wound, her touch much less gentle than Olivia’s had been.

“You don’t even need stitches.” She hefted her giant bag onto the table next to him and rifled through it, coming up with a handful of bandages.

A few minutes later, he was wrapped up and feeling like one of those amnesia patients on the soaps his mother swore up and down and sideways that she never watched.

“Good enough.” Another dip into her bag brought up an orange pill bottle.

“These aren’t anything fancy—just extra-strength Tylenol.

You’re a grown-ass man, so you can handle a little pain, and I’m not giving you anything else until we know if you’ve got a concussion. ”

He ignored the bottle. “I don’t need anything.

” Tylenol wouldn’t knock him out like the meds he’d been given after he was shot, but his aversion to pain pills had only gotten stronger as time went on.

He didn’t want to take anything that might make him sleep too deeply—or take away his pain so he’d pass out.

The nightmares were bad enough if he could startle himself awake easily.

Being stuck in them…He wouldn’t take the chance.

Doc Jones’s eyebrows rose. “If you say so. Change the bandage once a day for a week, don’t knock your head into anything in the meantime, and you should be fine. Call me if it starts bleeding excessively again.”

“I will.” He wasn’t thrilled about the head bandage, but it was better than stitches at this point. He fucking hated stitches.

She nodded, and turned to Olivia. “He can’t be left alone tonight. So either take him back to the O’Malley house or take him home with you.” Her dismissive tone said she couldn’t care less which option the other woman chose.

“Wait—what? Aren’t you going to take him?”

“Not my job. I made sure the idiot wasn’t going to bleed to death. The rest is up to you.” She grabbed her doctor’s bag and marched out of the pub without a backward glance.

Olivia stared. “That’s some bedside manner.”

“She’s always been like that. Comes in, patches us up, and is gone without any small talk.

” Doc Jones may not have been into the softer feelings, but she liked her money.

So she didn’t mind showing up at odd hours, fixing men who’d obviously been up to something less than legal, no questions asked.

He was pretty sure she had her own clinic, funded in part by O’Malley money.

Since he couldn’t see her answering to anyone but herself, he figured the arrangement worked well for everyone involved.

“Wonderful.”

He carefully moved his head from side to side.

As expected, the bandages were a good fit and not going anywhere.

Cillian looked at Olivia—really looked at her—for the first time since the attack.

She wasn’t exactly dragging ass, but she looked as exhausted as he felt.

If it hadn’t been for him, she already would have been home and safe and probably asleep.

Way to go, asshole. If you hadn’t been wandering the streets, this never would have happened.

He carefully stretched. The aches and pains were more annoying than worrisome. “I can make it home on my own.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. It’s late—or early, depending on your definition. I’ll get you a hotel nearby and stay with you until morning.”

“Sure. Thanks.” Under different circumstances, he would have been happier than hell at this turn of events.

As it was, he didn’t have the strength to make a move even if she was willing.

He was pretty sure pity was her sole motivation for helping him, rather than being so overwhelmed with his sexuality that she couldn’t wait to get him alone.

You are seriously knocking it out of the park with this woman.

***

This was a mistake. An epic mistake. Olivia should have just called him a cab and sent Cillian on his way.

Instead here she was, checking them both into Beacon Hill Hotel while he leaned heavily on the counter next to her.

Its nightly rate wasn’t one she could afford, but it was the only hotel within walking distance.

Even though the night had cooled down to being nearly pleasant, she hadn’t enjoyed one second of that walk.

She kept flinching at every little sound, half-sure that the guys she’d scared off had come back to finish the job.

Or, worse in some ways, that Sergei would melt out of the shadows and demand to know what the hell she was doing with Cillian O’Malley on her arm.

Maybe she should have just called the damn cab and sent Cillian home, but as stupid as it was, she couldn’t help feeling kind of responsible for him.

There was an old legend in a book that she’d read about as a kid that said if you saved another person’s life, you became responsible for it.

She’d found the idea tragically romantic as a little girl.

Now? Now she was starting to think it was a giant pain in the ass. She had enough to worry about. She didn’t need some O’Malley with more charm than sense mucking around in her life.

He offered to leave multiple times and you ignored him.

So what? That doesn’t mean I want this.

It doesn’t mean you don’t.

She cursed under her breath as the front desk agent passed over the hotel keys, very carefully avoiding looking directly at Cillian.

Their room was on the second floor, so she slid under Cillian’s arm to support him—not that he asked for it—to get him into the elevator and up to their door.

He didn’t say anything as she unlocked it and pushed it open.

She stopped short when she caught sight of the single bed. “Damn it. I asked for a double.”

“I’ll call the front desk.” He started to move toward the phone, but she grabbed his arm and steered him toward the bed.

“It’s fine. I wasn’t going to sleep anyway.” Even though she was so tired, she was pretty sure she was weaving on her feet more than he was. Dealing with Sergei yesterday and then Cillian and those thugs and then Doc Jones on top of everything…

It was a lot. A whole hell of a lot.

She sat down next to him. “How are you feeling?”

“Like some asshole took a two-by-four to the side of my head.”

“No, really?” She rolled her eyes. “Are you still dizzy? Nauseous?”

He started unbuttoning his shirt. “Just fucking tired.”

“What are you doing?” She had to fight against the urge to slap his hands away and clutch the shirt together to hide the growing slice of skin on his chest the parting fabric revealed.

He didn’t stop. “I’m covered in blood and feel like absolute shit. I can’t do a damn thing about how I feel, but I can get this shirt off.” He gingerly shrugged out of it, and then cursed when the dried blood made the fabric stick to his skin.