Branded

I’m out of my element here. I’ve never had sex without a condom before and I’ve never had sex that actually meant something. He’s right; a part of me is trying to freak him out for some stupid reason. It’s like my mind won’t even let me be happy.

“I just…you know, if you have any regrets, I totally understand.”

Lies, lies, lies!

DJ pushes himself up from the bed and walks around to the foot of it, where I’m still digging around in my bag trying not to meet his eyes. His hands grab mine to still my movements and he bends his knees and lowers his head to get me to look at him. When I finally do, I see nothing but happiness and love shining in his eyes.

“No regrets. NEVER any regrets with you,” he whispers.

I let out the breath I’ve been holding and lean forward to kiss him. When I pull back, I can’t help but remind him of all the reasons why he should be regretting falling in love with me.

“He’s still out there. I don’t want anything to happen to you because of me,” I tell him softly.

He shakes his head at me, bringing his hands up to cup my face.

“Haven’t you learned anything from living with me these last few weeks? I am a bad ass motherfucker and you have nothing to worry about.”

I glare at him, but he just smiles in return.

“I’m going to carry my gun on me at all times from now on and Dax has added another one of his guys to help Jackson on guard duty. The fact that you think I couldn’t take some old fucker who’s been in prison for fifteen years is insulting.”

He lowers his lips into a pout and I try my hardest not to laugh at him.

“Stop making jokes. This is serious,” I scold.

“Yes, it’s SERIOUSLY insulting. Have you checked out my guns lately?”

He lets go of my face to flex his arms and this time I do laugh. He lowers his arms after a few seconds and finally gives me a somber look.

“I’m more worried about you. I don’t like the idea of you going in to work today when I can’t go with you.”

Since it’s cold and flu season, the phlebotomy department is extremely short staffed. I got an urgent call from my supervisor this morning telling me she hated to cut my time off short, but it’s all hands on deck. DJ wanted to go with me, but the page he received notified him of a huge car accident on one of the main highways. As much as he doesn’t want to go to work, he needs to be there for Brad’s first big emergency or the poor guy will probably puke all over the side of the road.

There’s a knock on the front door and DJ leaves me to finish getting dressed for work while he answers it. A few minutes later, when I’ve donned my scrubs and pulled my hair into a messy bun on top of my head, DJ sticks his head in the bedroom doorway.

“Jackson is here to drive you to work. His partner is outside waiting to follow me to the accident. See? Everything is going to be fine,” he tells me with a reassuring smile.

I meet him in the doorway and he grabs my hand to pull me down the hall and into the living room where Jackson is waiting by the front door.

“All set?” he asks as I grab my purse and coat from the couch.

I nod at him before turning to DJ, wrapping my arms around his waist and pulling him into me for a tight hug.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” he whispers, kissing the top of my head. “I already told him he is to stick to your ass like glue. I’m sure the guy waiting for me outside is chomping at the bit to do the same and piss me off all day.”

I pull my head back and stare up into his handsome face. “Your guns are pretty impressive, but don’t do anything stupid, do you hear me?”

DJ nods and I paste on a smile so he doesn’t see the worry written all over my face. I don’t like the idea of us going separate ways today. It’s not even me I’m worried about. My father has made it perfectly clear that the man holding onto me right now is fair game in his quest for revenge. If anything happens to him, I will never forgive myself.

“I’ll be fine, Fireball. The same goes for you, too. That asshole is not worth your life. You let the cops do their jobs. He’s going to make a mistake one of these days, and they’re going to nail his ass to the wall.”

I let DJ’s reassuring words flow through me and erase all of my doubt and negativity. As we part ways with one last kiss in the driveway, I watch his truck disappear down the street with an unmarked cop car right on his ass the entire way as I get into the passenger side of Jackson’s cruiser.

We make small talk the entire way to the hospital and I rest my head on the back of the seat, thinking about how much my life has changed in the last few months and how happy I am for the first time since I was a teenager.

Parking my truck as close to the scene of the accident as I can off to the side of the road, I quickly jump out with my ALS trauma bag in my hand and weave in between the line of cars that are stopped until the accident can be cleared so they can get around it and head to wherever it was they were going.

I pick up the pace, jogging until I reach the first vehicle, where a few of my men are pulling the driver out of the mangled car.

“What do we got, boys?” I ask as I pull a pair of latex gloves out of my back pocket and quickly slide them on.

“Male, mid-fifties, responsive and steady pulse,” Brad replies as he helps move the man to the gurney they’ve set up on the road next to the car. “We stabilized him inside the vehicle with a neck and back brace. Contusions to the head, most likely from the airbag, and superficial cuts and scrapes to the face and arms from glass.”