F*CK CLUB_SHAME Page 7

  Through slitted eyes, he stared at her. “I’d rather die than go to a fuckin’ hospital. You know that better ’n anybody.”

  “Actually, no. I don’t,” she said coolly. “It’s not like we’re friends, are we? But fine. I can’t make you go.”

  Not yet anyway.

  But he was going to pass out, if Charli knew anything about shock.

  The problem was, she knew plenty about shock.

  Max, though, seemed determined to defy all things normal, even biology.

  Bit by bit, his eyes cleared. He blinked, focusing on her face and shooting a look from her to Con, standing at her shoulder.

  “Get me some water,” he said, his voice still ragged and raw.

  “You don’t need water,” she said shortly.

  “I need something. I’m thirsty.”

  Behind her, she heard Con grumble under his breath. As her brother moved away, the tension in her spine got even worse. “You’re not thirsty,” she said sourly. “You’re just trying to keep from passing out.”

  “If I pass out, you’ll talk Con into taking me to the hospital.”

  “If you pass out, that will be because you’ve lost too much blood.” She shook her head, unable to believe she was even considering sitting there and working on him instead of calling an ambulance. But because she couldn’t risk him losing any more blood, she opened the pack she’d brought and started pulling out supplies.

  Con returned before she finished.

  “Go ahead and help him drink something,” she said, pointedly ignoring him. “I’m going to need to cut his shirt off and see what I’m looking at. I’ll need your help, Con.”

  Max wasn’t stupid enough to refuse help.

  Once Con pulled the glass away—ginger ale if she had to hazard a guess—Max went to lie back down. “Don’t,” she said. “Not yet. Easier if we get your shirt off now.”

  Max grunted and nodded at Con, trying to move farther away, but that pulled at the wound and made the clotted blood break apart.

  Charli sighed as the dark red stain spread anew on his shirt. “Con, help him.”

  “I don’t need help,” Max snapped.

  “You’re either getting help,” she said quietly, leaning forward to speak into his ear. “Or I’m going to shove this needle into your arm and you’ll pass out in a minute flat. You’ll wake up in the emergency department.”

  Max’s entire body went rigid.

  Then, after a few seconds, he nodded and said, “Fine.”

  Con helped him, and Charli closed her eyes as he bit back a moan of pain. Just as Con went to pull away, Max grabbed his arm. “No fucking hospitals, man. I never ask for nothin’...”

  He stopped talking then.

  Con closed his eyes, squeezed them so tightly shut that the skin around them went white. After a long moment, he looked at Max. “I won’t do anything I don’t absolutely have to, man. You know that. Now just...don’t be an ass. Let Charli do what she has to do.”

  “Fuck. Yeah, she does what she has to, all right.”

  The acid in his words stung her in the worst way, but she blocked it out and focused on his shirt, cutting it away so she could see what she was dealing with.

  “I need more light,” she told Con.

  He dug up an emergency lantern, one that threatened to singe her retinas, but it was definitely powerful enough.

  She pulled on some gloves and started to clean the area, although fresh blood was still streaming from the wound.

  “You need stitches.”

  “Then stitch it up,” Max said.

  Charli tipped her head back, staring at the ceiling.

  She prayed for patience—and for him to just pass out. She didn’t get either. As he remained mercilessly conscious, she snapped, “If I stitch it up here, you’re going to feel it, Max.”

  The reaction was subtle.

  So subtle, she doubted Con had even noticed it from where he’d retreated to the other side of the room.

  But she did.

  A faint shudder went through him, from head to toe, and she heard a soft intake of air. Then he turned his head, not looking at her, just speaking over his shoulder. “Then use whatever drugs you just threatened me with and knock me out already.”

  That he was even telling her she could was something she might have considered monumental a few weeks ago. A few months ago.

  Now?

  Hell, she wished she could knock him out.

  Disgusted, she rose and picked up the scalpel she’d used to poke him with. Professional? No. But it had done the job and gotten him to stop straining and putting pressure on his injury.

  “That is what you felt, dumbass,” she snapped. “I don’t exactly go around with sedatives in my bag. You need a reason to carry those. I don’t have one. I can stitch you up, but if I do, you’ll feel it—every last second.”

  Max’s eyes focused. On her.

  He blinked slowly and she had a feeling it was taking everything he had just to stay focused.

  “You aren’t calling me Shame.”

  “It’s a medical technique,” she said, sniffing. “I’m trying to make sure you know who and where you are.”

  “You haven’t asked me where we are.” His lashes swept down, shielding those impossibly pale, impossibly blue, impossibly beautiful eyes.

  “You’re getting the economy treatment, because I’m trying to make sure you don’t lose any more blood.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she tapped her foot. “Are you sure you don’t want to go to the hospital? It will be easier. Less painful. Con and I can stay with you and you won’t even have to stay for observation. You won’t be put under.”

  She knew that was his fear.

  But Max’s jaw locked tightly.

  “No,” he said in a voice as hard as steel. “Just let me bleed to death if it’s too big of a deal for you to do it here.”

  The words cut her straight to the heart and she turned away, defeated. “Fine. Just...fine.”

  As she moved to gather everything she needed, Con edged closer to Max. “Shame, quit being a dick. It’s your own fault you’re in this shape. Don’t take it out on her—”

  “Let it go, Connor,” Charli said, shooting him a look as she settled down on the chair behind Max. He couldn’t see her from here, which was perfect in her opinion. Leveling her gaze on her brother, she gave him what her parents would have called her five-star-general look. “Just let it go.”

  Con looked like he wanted to argue, but something he saw in her expression had him blowing out a sigh, then he just nodded. As he came closer, he asked, “What do I need to do?”

  She glanced around Riley’s office. “If Ry has anything seriously strong in here that might make him pass out, that would be beneficial.”

  Con cocked a brow. “You mean as in drunk?”

  “At the moment, for all I care, you could slip him some illegal morphine. Just don’t tell me about it.”

  “And how in the hell would I know where to get illegal morphine?” Con grumbled. Sighing, he moved over to a case that had been left on Riley’s desk. “We ain’t ever going to be able to sell this shit in here. Too strong. Kentucky Flame, we’re told it’s called—one hundred thirty-five proof.”

  Under normal circumstances, Charli would have laughed.

  Now she just nodded. “Fine. Load him up.” She knew Max’s tolerance for alcohol was far higher than it should be and right now, that was ideal.

  “Do I get a say in this?” Max asked.

  “No.” Con and Charli spoke in unison.

  While Con filled up the glass that had once held ginger ale, Charli retreated to the private bathroom in Riley’s office and focused on scrubbing up the best she could.

  “No,” she said under her breath. “I’m not doing something that could cost me my career—future career.”

  In the mirror over the sink, as she scrubbed and scrubbed, she stared into her tired eyes and acknowledged the truth.

  She sure as h
ell was.

  She shouldn’t be doing this.

  And if it was anybody but Max, she wouldn’t.

  Okay, maybe Con or Riley, but those two, she’d guilt trip into going to the hospital. And even with Max, if she let him know she could lose her job, get in trouble with the medical board, all of that, he’d probably go to the hospital. She knew how to work him.

  But could she do that to him, knowing how deep his fear went? The thought of being completely and totally under somebody else’s control? And that was how he’d view it if he was in a hospital.

  Her hands shook a little as she finished washing.

  Leaving the water running, she stepped out, hands held up.

  Eying her brother, she jerked her head toward the bathroom. “You’re playing my nurse tonight. I need you to turn off the water.”

  He scowled, then glanced at her hands. “I guess this is one of the doctor things.”

  Ignoring him, she went over to the tray she’d already set up on the desk, the nearest surface to the couch where Max lay with his back up, the wound now easily accessible.

  “Last chance, Max.”

  “Jus’ do it,” he mumbled.

  He passed out after the third stitch.

  She didn’t know if it was pain or alcohol, or both.

  He’d flinched when she’d had Con grab him, and for a minute, she’d thought he’d hit her brother.

  “Be still, Max, or go to the hospital,” she commanded in the firmest voice she could muster.

  His eyes had gone wide and wild.

  A moment later, he’d gone limp.

  She hated herself a little for it.

  But she’d been able to go quicker and get it done when she knew he wasn’t feeling everything she did.

  “Keep a hold on him,” she told Con. “I’m going to get this done fast.”

  Chapter Ten

  Shame

  HE HURT.

  Like...all over hurt and it wasn’t because he’d gone and gotten crazy, had himself some dirty fun, either.

  No, he was hurt in a way he hadn’t hurt in a long, long time.

  All those aches were enough to make him panic as he started to surface from the fog of sleep and he struggled without even thinking.

  And that made the pain worse.

  “Hush.”

  A soft voice murmured in his ears, hands grabbing one arm.

  He kept jerking, trying to sit up, but he was too sore—

  “Max Schaeffer, either you be still or I’m calling an ambulance, do you hear me?”

  Finally, the voice penetrated the fog in his head and he managed to crack one eye open. “Charli?”

  The other eye stayed stubbornly shut and he had a feeling as to why.

  Shame had taken more than a couple of beatings in his life and now that he was no longer completely out of his head and half asleep, he could differentiate the pain he felt now from...other times. He’d gotten into a fight. A bad one.

  But it was just a fight.

  “Who else would it be? The tooth fairy?” she said, her face lost in the darkness.

  “Did I lose any?”

  There was a faint pause before she asked, “Any what?”

  “Teeth.”

  “No. You lost some blood, you’re bruised and battered, and you scared ten years off Con’s life, but that’s it.” She stroked his arm up and down, but something made him think she wasn’t even aware she was doing it.

  Turning his head, he tried to see her better.

  The lights were too low, though.

  “We... Where are we?”

  “My house.” She got up and moved away. He could barely make out her shadow until she hit a light switch. It was out in the hall, but even that was enough to have him cringing. Light shone in, highlighting her petite form and casting a nimbus around her hair. “I had Con load you up in my car before you woke, then he hauled you in here. He only left about ten minutes ago.”

  “No reason, f’ that.” Sighing, he shifted on the bed. Immediately, that set a familiar scent to drifting around him and damn his horny ass, his cock started to stir.

  He was in Charli’s bed.

  Granted, it was the only bed on the bottom floor, but Con should have dumped his ass on the couch.

  He was in her bed and he could smell her on the sheets...and he’d smell her skin on his when he got up. It had taken too long to wash off that scent last time, and now here he was, practically bathing in it. As tired as he was, as sore as he was, the scent of her and the thought of lying in the same bed where she slept, of being covered by the same sheets that covered her, was enough to have his cock standing up to say hello.

  As Charli sat back down in the armchair near the bed, he grimaced and managed to bring his knee up. It was a weak-ass effort to hide the fact that she’d already given him a hard-on, but he’d rather not make a display of it after the way he’d left things between them.

  But Charli looked only at his face.

  Holding up two fingers, she asked, “How many?”

  “Shit. I don’t need this,” he muttered.

  “You scared my brother to death. I had to haul myself out of bed to deal with you. You’re now lying in my bed when I’d very much like to be there myself. You can answer a couple of fucking questions, Shame.”

  The hostility in her voice caught him off guard. He was used to a lot of things from her—that seductive sensuality she’d been displaying more and more, a caustic sense of humor, sly wit...even sadness. But this...this was anger and he hadn’t expected it.

  Maybe he should have.

  “Two. I don’t have a concussion, Charlotte.”

  “Don’t call me that,” she said, voice cool. “Mom and Dad called me that. I don’t want to hear it from you.”

  “Fuck, is there anything I can do that won’t piss you off right now?”

  She flicked a look at him and then pursed her lips, tapping them. “I’m thinking... No.”

  After that, she moved over to the edge of the bed and held up her finger, twirled it—the one she’d just tapped against her lips. “I need you to half-turn. I need to check your wound.”

  “Do it tomorrow.”

  “It is tomorrow. It’s five a.m. I need to look at it. Are you going to let me, or are you going to continue being an ass?”

  Wordlessly, he brought his left knee up—good news was that his cock had deflated. Nothing like Charli letting him know she had finally figured out the truth to knock the want right out of him. She was treating him as if he had the plague. Basically, as she should have treated him all along.

  He didn’t know why it hurt.

  It was what he wanted.

  But it did hurt.

  He had to grip one of the wooden slats of the headboard to stay up on his hip and a cold sweat had broken out across him by the time she pressed her fingers to his shoulder. “Okay, you can lie back.”

  Black dots danced in and out of his vision as he settled down and stared up at the ceiling, waiting for it to clear.

  “You’ve got eighteen stitches. They need to stay in for two weeks. Once that time is up, I’ll take them out.”

  “You don’t need to. I’ll see Doc Rodriguez for it.”

  “That won’t work.” She rose and stared down at him, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “Why not?”

  She hesitated a moment, then shrugged. “He’ll want to know what doctor treated you. You can’t say it was me, and if you don’t give him answers, it might cause problems. That’s most definitely an injury from a knife. He might feel obligated to notify the police.”

  “Why can’t I say it was you?”

  “Can’t you just go to sleep?” she demanded, shoving her hair back from her face. Her cheeks were hollower than they should be, he realized. She’d lost weight.

  “Why, Charli?”

  “Because, you dumbass. I shouldn’t have taken care of you at all. I’m still a resident, remember? If words gets back that I did this, I could lose
my license.” She turned on her heel and headed for the door. “Get some rest.”

  WHEN HE WOKE AGAIN, it was to the soft patter of rain.

  He went to shift in the bed, grimacing at the pain, his mouth dry as cotton and head pounding.

  When he turned, he bumped into something.

  No.

  Somebody.

  And he immediately knew who it was, even though it was too dim to see and his head was a fucking mess.

  The scent wrapped around him, but even that wasn’t what clued him in.

  There was no way somebody could be in the bed with him and not wake him...unless it was Charli.

  Although, as he craned his head and looked, he couldn’t really say she was in bed with him.

  She was sitting with her back to the headboard, head slumped, breath coming in a slow, steady rhythm.

  She’d fallen asleep.

  Slowly, ignoring the misery it caused, he reached out and took one ankle, guiding her leg down. Then the other. By the time he’d worked her down so that she was lying in the bed and not sitting up, he’d broken out in a cold sweat, but it was worth it.

  Now, he had to get his ass up, move over to the chair...

  He rolled to his other side.

  Those annoying black dots danced in front of his vision again.

  And when he pushed up, they just got worse.

  A hand brushed his hip while he was working up the energy to try one more time.

  But before he could, Charli snuggled in closer, her fingers tugging insistently at his hip.

  He told himself it was because he was so fucking tired, drained.

  Weak was more like it—and he was weak, weak when it came to her.

  That was why he went to his back.

  When she burrowed in closer, still asleep, he lifted his arm to make room. As she sighed, a sound that was soft and content, he closed his eyes and turned his face into her hair.

  Charli...

  He lay there like that, holding her.

  Bit by bit, he grew aware that he was sweating. Freezing, too. Skin felt too tight and hot, but that didn’t matter.

  Charli was curled up against him, her cheek on his chest, her hand lying over his heart.

  She’d wake up and be pissed. He couldn’t blame her.