Roarke gasped, immediately tried to suck in a deep breath. Not his best idea. Instead of a lungful of much needed air, he was engulfed with pain—sharp, intense, piercing. He stilled, waited for the waves of agony to pass, but the throbbing only increased, radiating through him with each shallow breath he managed.

Loud noise reverberated inside his head, but it was muffled, as if it came from far away. He frowned, fought to concentrate, but couldn’t lock on to any of the sounds. And why were his hands hot? Burning? He tried to clench them into fists. Couldn’t make his fingers work.

He shook his head at the scent of dirt and oil that swamped him. The familiarity of it tugged at him, but he couldn’t focus, couldn’t pin it down.

He opened his eyes a slit. Blinding light and muted shapes he couldn’t quite zero in on jumped out at him. He heard voices, shouts, a loud ringing. Rough hands grabbed at him. He tried to shove them off, but every move he made had pain lancing through him, the intensity of it enough to make his stomach heave and every nerve ending in his body scream in agony. It felt as if his body was being ripped apart, cell by fucking cell.

Had he taken fire? Been hit?

Adrenaline pumped through him, his heartbeat hammering a roar in his ears. He needed to move, take cover, get to safety. He reached out, tried to get leverage on something, anything, so that he wasn’t a sitting duck, but nothing seemed to work. He couldn’t see, couldn’t fucking hear properly.

And then he remembered. Not an IED. Not an enemy pinpointing his location and trying to blow him the fuck up. Not another sniper getting the jump on him. Not an ambush.

His Goddamn hero complex. He’d dived in front of the car of his own accord. It’d been a calculated move. One where he’d accepted the risk of death, just as he had countless times before.

A bitter taste exploded in his mouth and he felt himself falling, even though he wasn’t moving. He tried to reach out, grab onto something solid, but his hand met air and pain sliced through his body again. A black shimmering wall of drums rolled across him, oppressive, oily and dark, weighing him down, taking him back to that place, that fucking place he hated, dreaded. It was a place of nothingness where he was helpless, alone and vulnerable.

Aw, fuck.

He swore he’d never allow himself to go back to that place again. Not ever again. He’d decided death was preferable to being dragged back into that hole, but if he was going to go, it wasn’t going to be without a fight.

He struggled, with every ounce of strength he had, with everything in him, until he couldn’t. And then blackness again, this time…maybe forever…

* * * * *

“Holy crap, did you see the patient in bed ten?”

Marina glanced up at Sarah as she slipped in next to her at the nurses’ station.

“The hip dislocation?” she asked, turning back to the monitor.

When there was no response, Marina looked up. Sarah waited. Hand on hip, one eyebrow raised.

Marina laughed. “Yeah, I saw him.”

Saw him, was monitoring his vitals and pretty much trying not to gape each time. To say he wasn’t exactly representative of her normal patients was the understatement of the day. Maybe the century.

“The guy is seriously ripped,” Sarah gushed. “You ever see arms like that before? In the flesh?”

She wished. “Nope.”

“Yeah, me either. Do you think he’s a gangbanger?”

Marina rolled her eyes.

“I saw this documentary on TV. It—”

“Maybe he just works out a lot,” Marina cut in.

“And all those tattoos? The scars?”

Yeah, she’d noticed. Everything. A guy with that many scars had probably spent a considerable time in hospitals.

“Sarah—”

“Okay, okay. Fine.”

Marina had already warned her more than once against gossiping about patients.

“Come out with us after work tonight. A bunch of us are going to hit that fancy new place for over-priced martinis.”

Marina sighed. “Can’t. I have to get home.”

“Just for a little while. A couple of cuties are coming from Radiology.”

As if that could sway her. Marina wasn’t interested in the cuties. For one, they all looked as if they were about fifteen. Acted like it too.

“I can’t.”

“Come on, Marina—”

“I really have to get home. Stuart canceled.”

Again.

Leaving your active kid on the weekend with an elderly woman who didn’t like loud noises was more guilt than Marina could stand sometimes. Unfortunately, she couldn’t argue with free babysitting. Or a dead-beat ex-husband.

“What a turd,” Sarah sneered.

Yeah. She’d thought when he’d married again, had another child, he might change, grow some balls, step up as a father. What a joke.

Sarah sighed and leaned into her, dropped her voice. “It’s going to grow over, you know.”

“What is?”

“You know.” She motioned to Marina’s crotch area.

“Jeez, Sarah.” She looked around to make sure no one could hear them.

“Well, it will, although I’m sure the new Doc could help you with that.”

“Dr. Howard?” Marina frowned.

“Yeah, he was just checking out your ass. Big time.”

Marina glanced around, but he was nowhere to be seen. “When?”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “You’re so clueless. When I came over. He was taking a real good look.”

“Right,” she scoffed. As if her ass was anything to look at, especially in the loose scrubs.

The last thing she wanted was to get involved with another doctor. Not to date, to sleep with, not to do anything with. No way, no how. Stuart had cured her of that. That’s if she were looking. Which she wasn’t. She was officially off dating and intended to stay that way. For good.

“He asked you out again, didn’t he?”

And it’d been just as awkward as the first time.

“What are you? His personal matchmaker?”

“Hello! He’s cute. Young. I heard he’s packing and has stamina with a capital ‘S’. I wouldn’t pass up a guy who’s built and can go at it for hours. Just sayin’. I think you’re crazy, but whatev.”

Sarah gave her a wave, moved off to check on her own patients and Marina let out a long sigh. She’d heard the new doctor was making his way through the single nurses. No thanks. Although…built and can go at it for hours? Damn.

Marina glanced at the clock and made her way across the hall. She had her own patients to check, starting with the guy in ten.

He was still out to it, his big body dwarfing the hospital bed. It’d taken four orderlies just to transfer him onto it when they’d brought him out of the OR. Even prone and covered, he radiated an almost violent, barely leashed power.

His chest, shoulders and upper arms were thick with muscle and covered in swirling, dark tattoos. Even sedated, he had deep grooves beside his mouth and a slight sneer to his upper lip.

She’d always thought a beard kind of scruffy, but his wasn’t very long. His dark stubble was clipped short and low along his jaw and across his upper lip.

She’d noticed the scars the first time she’d taken his vitals. Cuts or stab wounds, each a couple inches long—along with several surgical scars—were scattered across his chest and abdomen. Some were raised and puckered, some flat and faded. He had others as well. On his side, his arms, shoulders.

He looked big and bad, mean and…dark somehow, the only softness a very full lower lip.

“So, Roarke Daniels,” she murmured as she began checking his blood pressure. “What’s your story, huh?”

She jumped and her heartbeat exploded in her chest when his eyes shot wide open, no hesitation, no gradual awareness. One second he was out, the next fully alert.

“Easy,” she gasped.

He went to sit up, sucking in a breath and grabbing his side. He groaned, flung out an arm, hit the rails at the side of the bed and clipped the mobile vitals cart. Marina caught it before it went flying across the room.

“Careful,” she warned. “It’s okay. Just lie back.”

He ignored her, tried to sit up again. His movements yanked at the IV tubing and she steadied the stand before the whole thing got dislodged.

A tough guy like him called for tough measures.

“Roarke,” she commanded.

He stilled and his dark gaze snapped to hers. She leaned down and looked him in the face, eye to eye, so close she could see every single one of his thick, dark lashes. “Lie. The fuck. Back. Down.”

His eyes went wide. Yeah, that got his attention. And they were blue. His eyes. They’d looked almost black at first, but were actually a deep, dark blue.

He looked at her for several seconds and then relaxed back against the bed, if you could call it that. The motion had been slow and deliberate, every muscle in his body strained, taut, as if he was anticipating having to move any minute. Or fight.

She placed her hand over the back of his. Even though she kept her touch light, he flinched at the contact. “You’re safe here. Okay?”

Who knew what a guy who looked like him could be afraid of? It’d have to be pretty scary.

“I’m Marina. I’ll be your nurse.”

His gaze met hers again. Wild and unfettered. Strength tinged with desperation and a piercing intensity she wasn’t used to in patients coming out of sedation.

Marina automatically began checking the IV connections to make sure nothing had come loose. One hand still cradled his side, his mouth drawn in tight lines, his breathing shallow.

“I can give you something for the pain,” she offered.

“No,” he ground out, his voice deep, hoarse.

She frowned. Most people were more than happy to take painkillers when they were in pain.

“What happened?” he bit out.

“I heard you tried to stop a car with your body.”

His glance took in the room and the equipment in an instant and he eased further back against the pillows.

“Do you remember what happened?”

“Yeah. Damage?” he bit out.

She assumed he meant him. She glanced up at the clock on the wall after being sure all the connections were still in place. “The doctor will be in—”

“No.” When she turned back to him, those dark eyes bore directly into hers. “You. Tell me now or I’ll get up and find out for myself.”

She’d already seen him move each hand, arm, his legs and feet under the covers, taking his own inventory. Cautioning him about moving was going to fall on deaf ears, so she kept silent.

Marina rolled the computer back over so that she could update his history. “You were very lucky. You—”

“Lucky?” he forced out. “Why do you fucking people always say that?”

You people?

“If you mean medical professionals, perhaps it’s because we get to see so many who aren’t. You know, who don’t make it, that is.”

He didn’t say anything else, just kept looking at her, one dark eyebrow raised.

Underneath the arrogant assumption she’d do what he asked without question, Marina could see the uncertainty, maybe even a touch of fear. If not for that, she would’ve insisted he wait for the doctor.

“You sustained a dislocated left hip and were sedated at the scene for transport. A reduction has already been performed.”

He frowned. “A what?”

“It was put back in. There didn’t appear to be any loose tissue or bone fragments. No complications are anticipated. Alignment looks normal. It was a straight forward procedure. You need to be non-weight-bearing for a week at least. You also have several fractured ribs, also along the left side, some scrapes and bruises and you may experience concussive symptoms, such as headache or nausea. You turned somehow so that the car didn’t impact your lower body, which is what usually happens in accidents of this nature.”

“It wasn’t exactly an accident,” he rasped.

Right. Witness reports said he’d come out of nowhere, snatching the boy up and out of the way of the car before taking the full force of the impact.

“You didn’t ask about the child,” she murmured, when he didn’t say anything else.

He closed his eyes. “No.”

“Would you like to know that he’s—”

“No. I know he’s fine.”

As far as Marina knew, he’d been disorientated at the scene and in tremendous pain. They’d sedated him as soon as they’d assessed the probable hip dislocation.

She frowned. “How do you know that?”

His gaze met hers again. Dark and focused and piercing, despite the pain he must be in. “Because I made damn sure of it.”

 

 

Aw, fuck.

Roarke took several shallow breaths through his mouth, tried to even his breathing to lessen the impact to his side. He couldn’t take a deep breath and he swallowed back the frustration. His side was on fire, his head was pounding, his leg throbbed and if he was honest, he fucking hurt pretty much all over.

He’d leaped and turned his body so that he’d take the full brunt of the hit if he’d calculated wrong. At least, that’d been the plan. He’d taken a risk, made in a split second, something he’d been used to doing every day once upon a time. A risk he’d figured he could end up dead from. The pain told him he’d had no such luck.

Every hospital he’d ever been in smelled exactly the same and it was a smell he’d come to loathe. It burned in his nostrils, the back of his throat, his eyes.

He’d known there was a good chance he’d end up here, maybe it’d been a given the moment he’d started to move.

He’d caught a whiff of her when she’d been close, the nurse, Marina—fresh, sweet—but it hadn’t been enough to wipe out the scent of antiseptic that seemed to have seeped into his skin, his bones.

Pain shot up his leg when he tried to move it. His hip was iced, his leg sitting at a weird angle. He’d keep it there. For now.

He rubbed his hand down over his jaw, noticed the scrape on his palm. God, he didn’t have time for this shit.

“I need to get out of here,” he bit out.

He was already two weeks behind on his flip thanks to unexpected plumbing and electrical issues. The city had taken their sweet ass time with their inspections and approvals and he’d finally been given the go-ahead. Now this.

“You’ve been admitted. The doctor wanted you to stay overnight for observation.”

Fucking great. He played around with the idea of just getting up and walking out, although the walking thing could be an issue.

Dammit.

“That’s it?”

“Baring no complications.”

Christ, he wasn’t in his twenties anymore. He might keep himself in shape, but his body wasn’t honed to be the living weapon it once was. Of course, that was a lifetime so far away it could have happened to someone else. And most of the time he wished it had.

Yeah, he was way too old for the shit he’d pulled. He hadn’t moved quite fast enough, hadn’t leaped high enough, hadn’t twisted his body at the exact moment he’d needed, not at the right angle to avoid the impact to his side.

He’d known it. In the split second he’d committed to his actions he’d known—it was probably all going to go to hell.

He opened his eyes again. She was still here, looking at him in that calm way that pissed him off for some reason. He’d felt something when their eyes met. Shock, heat and something else he couldn’t name. He wasn’t used to having a reaction like that to anyone, wasn’t used to having any kind of reaction. Maybe it was the f-bomb she’d dropped.

Man, his throat felt like sandpaper. They’d pumped him full of some crap to put him out and it was an effort to keep the rage under control. And his fucking eyes open. He’d sworn they wouldn’t do that to him again.

“Water?” he croaked instead, tried to use his arms to sit up further, cursing to himself when they shook at the effort.

“Hey, big guy, take it easy.”

Roarke froze at the soft, warm hand she’d placed against his chest. The contact was light and fleeting, yet his skin burned at the contact.

He wasn’t used to being touched, couldn’t remember the last time someone had placed their hand on him. And a woman? Not unless she had a gold plated invitation and they were going to fuck. Even then there were limits.

“How do you feel?” she murmured.

He choked back a snort. How fucking ironic was that, because he didn’t feel, not anymore.

He took a few sips of the cool water she handed him. “Clothes?”

“They were cut off when you came in as a trauma. I was just about to get you a gown.”

Damn, they’d been his favorite work pants. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe through the throbbing in his side. Whatever they’d pumped into him was still making him tired.

“How’s your pain level?”

God, how many times had he been asked that question? Weeks of it, over and over, until he was sick of it.

“On a scale of one to ten? Yeah, a fucking fifteen.”

“The ribs are probably giving you the most pain. There’s not a great deal we can do other than—”

“Yeah,” he bit out. “I know the drill.”

Wouldn’t be the first time he’d had busted ribs, although he hoped it was the last. He’d forgotten they hurt like a mother fucker. It was going to make riding his…

Aw, shit.

His bike. No doubt it was still parked where he’d left it before he’d decided to be a fucking hero.

“My phone?” he choked out. “I need to call someone.”

She passed him a bag out from under the bed. “These are what you came in with. I’ll be right back.”

Roarke watched her walk out, ponytail swinging, and couldn’t drag his eyes away. She had a nice body, more than nice, even under the loose scrubs. He might be banged up, but he could still appreciate the sway of her hips, the curves of her ass. And her voice—soft, a little husky, even when she’d sworn at him—appealed to him on some level he had no clue about.

He jerked open the bag. Wallet. Keys. Watch. And phone with a busted screen. This day just kept getting better and better.

He ground his back teeth together. The twins were out of town and he didn’t want to bother his crew on the weekend. That left one option, one less than ideal option. He’d just have to man up. He hit dial.

“What’s up?”

“Evans.” Even the voice through the phone was smug. He could count on one hand the number of times he’d called Jake. “I need a favor.”

Roarke cursed at the silence. “Evans?”

“Just wondering what the fuck must be up for you to ask me for a favor.”

“Yeah, not my first choice, but I need someone to go get my bike.”

“Your bike?”

“Yeah, it’s outside Marcella’s. The sandwich place.”

“I know it. Why don’t you get it?”

“I’m kind of…tied up right now.”

“Cut the bullshit.”

He sighed. “I’m in the fucking hospital, okay?”

“Hospital? What happened?”

Roarke closed his eyes. “I just need you to get my bike.”

“No chance. Not until you tell me what the fuck happened.”

Yeah, Roarke had known exactly how this was going to go down and it was just as painful as he imagined. “I got hit by a car. Superficial injuries.”

Jake cursed. “Such as?”

“Some busted ribs.”

“And?”

“Evans—”

“And?”

“A dislocated hip.”

“Jesus, Roarke. What else?”

He glanced down at his arm, noticed the bandage for the first time. “They’re the highlights.”

Jake was silent for a second, two. “You should know I’m here with Raine, man.”

Roarke cursed under his breath. “She doesn’t need to know,” he muttered.

Jake choked out a laugh. “You never learn do you?”

“So I’ve been told. Mostly by you. Tell her I’m fine. I’m great. I’ll be home tomorrow. Just…get my bike for me. There’s a spare set of keys at Raine’s.”

He hung up before Jake could say anything else and hoped like hell that was the end of it. He leaned his head back and let his eyes drift closed. Just for a minute.