Trinity (17 page)

I
melt into Sam’s front seat. Exhaustion suddenly hitting me hard.

“Scottie drove your truck back to the station. We can pick it up tonight or grab it in the morning if you’re tired?” Sam suggests as she pulls out of the parking garage. Bed sounds so good right now.

“You don’t mind picking me up in the morning?”

“Nope.” She glances over and smiles.

“Bed sounds awesome.” I make my choice.

“I thought it would.” She chuckles. “It’s been a hectic day.”

“One of the craziest. I can’t believe Dev has a twin brother!” I stretch my legs. “I had no idea! I nearly fell over when I pulled his helmet off.”

“What’s the superstar like?”

I think back to our several short encounters. “He’s a show-off, annoyingly cocky, and has zero personality. He can use a lesson in manners, too.”

“That’s quite an evaluation.”

“He makes quite an impression. I’ll give him that.” I grimace.

“Sort of like his brother?” she prods.

“Sam.” I cut her off right there. Geez, I casually mention I met a hot doctor at work, and she latches on like a pit bull with a death grip.

“I regret ever telling you about Dev and regret even more introducing you to him. We’re friends.”

“Whatever you say, Kayla,” she pacifies me.

“I mean it. You know how I feel about bikers.”

Sam frowns as she pulls into my driveway. “You say that, but it didn’t look like you two were just friends in the hallway.” She eyes me. “And he is a doctor . . .”

“Sam, enough.”

I love my aunt. She’s my best friend and a damn good cop. When my mom decided to follow deadbeat number five to Florida when I was thirteen, Sam stepped in to raise me. Let’s not even get started on my father. He was deadbeat number one.

There was no way in hell I was going with my mother and the man who drank more than a fish and called her wench as a pet name. I would have lived in the street first, and Sam knew it.

As much as I’m thankful for it now, I definitely didn’t make things easy on Sam. I went through a bit of a wild child phase. But she made sure I survived adolescence in one piece. There was a time we both worried I wouldn’t.

“I’m sorry. I just want you to be happy and taken care of.”

“Taken care of? What is this? 1960?” I ask appalled.

“I don’t mean like that. Taken care of emotionally. A woman in any era needs that.”

“And you think a tattooed, playboy doctor is going to do that?”

She shrugs. “I think he just might. I see the way he looks at you.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen it, too. Like I’m just another mile to ride.”

“Sometimes a single mile can turn into a thousand.”

I curl my lip. “We’re still talking about motorcycles, right?”

Sam laughs. It sounds just like mine, a little rough and throaty. “Yes.”

“Good. Because bouncing sexual innuendos back and forth with my aunt wouldn’t be weird or anything.”

“Nah.” She pulls the spare key to my condo from her key ring. My backpack with all my personal belongings, including my keys—is still in my truck. “Call you before I come?” she says as I open the passenger side door.

“Yes, please.” I give her a swift peck on the cheek before I slide out of the unmarked cruiser. “See you in the morning.”

My mattress is virtually calling my name as I drag myself inside and straight to the bathroom. As much as I need sleep, I need a shower first. I’m still covered in Reese’s blood. I pull my scrubs off, trying my hardest not to think of Dev or his identical twin.

God, two of them. That’s just fuckin’ unfair to the entire female population and their lady bits.

After my shower, I climb into bed completely naked, too tired to even bother with clothes. I drift off, trying not to dream of Dev. It’s a futile attempt, because as soon as I fall asleep, his face appears in front of mine. I can practically smell the scent of his skin and feel the touch of his fingers as he silently seduces me. In my dreams, I always succumb, inviting his advances, welcoming his hungry kisses and demanding touch. I let the friction of our bodies ignite and give in to the burning desire. I let him take me, control me, overpower me, because, in my dreams, I can be everything he wants without reservation, and he can be everything I need without risk.

I wake up to an obnoxious ringing sound and wetness coating the inside of my thighs.

I grab for my house phone, nearly knocking it right off the nightstand.

“Hello?” I answer groggily in the dark.

“Kayla, it’s me.”

“Sam?”

“I was called into work. Another OD.”

“Another one? That’s like the third this month.”

“Yes, another one,” she replies grimly. “Scottie is going to pick you up and take you to your car. I would’ve texted you . . .”

“ . . . But my phone is in my truck. Got it.”

“Sorry to wake you. Maybe we can meet for a run later?”

“Sounds good.” I yawn.
And tell me what the hell is going on.
Sam isn’t supposed to share official police business but confiding in me is like talking to a priest. Complete confidentiality.

“Go back to bed,” she instructs. Always authoritative, no matter the circumstance.

“I’m almost afraid,” I mumble, rubbing my sticky thighs together.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, I’m just rambling. Tired.”

Silence. Sam is never going to buy that BS.

“Okay, then,” she replies warily. “I’ll talk to you later . . .”

“Looking forward to it.” I yawn again and hang up the phone.

I close my eyes, attempting to fall back asleep, but the images immediately start to play. Bare chest, strong hands, and an insistent mouth.

If these fantasies keep up, I may not be able to be held accountable for my sleep-deprived actions.

Damn you, Devlin Dane.

M
y life as I know it is over.

I fall into a depression on the most uncomfortable mattress I’ve ever laid on. And that’s saying a lot, because I’ve stayed in some pretty slummy motels where the cockroaches had better sleeping arrangements.

I’ve crashed on a motorcycle umpteen times at over one hundred eighty-five miles per hour, slid across asphalt into padded walls and stacked tyres, and walked away with nothing more than a few bumps and bruises. But take a fucking Sunday drive down a nearly desolate interstate road, and I get fucking rear-ended by the only drunk douchebag in a hundred-mile radius. I slam my fist down like a hammer on the crappy bed. I’m twenty-nine-years-old, past my prime with only a few good competitive years left, and this shit happens during one of my best seasons ever. If I ever meet that driver face-to-face, he better be prepared. Fucking good-for-nothing piece of trash.

I barely ever come home, and this is just a reminder why. This fucking area is the pits. A wasteland I escaped from a long time ago. I’ll never understand why Dev moved back. He’s a glutton for punishment, I’m convinced. He had it all—big city doctor living the life, then he gets a job offer here and jumps at it. Why?

A quick visit and I’m condemned right along with him. I may live like a nomad abroad, but at least I’m living and away from this friggin’ depressing place. Or, at least, I was.

I’ve been in this hospital for twenty-four hours, and I already feel like a caged animal. I need out. I adjust myself on the bed. My leg is imprisoned in a cast, and my fucking shoulder is killing me. It’s like a constant throb the morphine just laughs at. I hit the button furiously if only to relieve some frustration. This sucks. Worse than sucks.

The only sliver of a silver lining is Dev was able to get me moved to a private room in his wing of the hospital. It’s much nicer and much quieter. Makes it easier to brood when no one is ogling you.

“And how is the patient doing this morning?” The nurse Dev was practically salivating over last night sings brightly.
What was her name again?

I scowl. I’m in no mood for cheerful. I want miserable.

“Wonderful.” The sarcasm in my tone could vibrate a city street.

She looks at me almost condescendingly, like she has an opinion, yet, somehow, masks it with her sweet demeanor.

“Try and look at the bright side.”

“Which is?” I question callously.

“You’re not roadkill.” She smiles condescendingly.

I glare up at her as she fiddles with all the crap hooked up to me. “You’ll ride another day. I’ve seen more senseless lives taken than I care to admit,” she rambles as she scribbles on the whiteboard. I don’t really pay attention to what she’s saying, but I do pay attention to her tight ass. It bubbles under her pink scrubs. It makes me wonder what else she’s hiding under the unflattering outfit. I bet she’d look killer in a pair of leather pants. My imagination starts to run wild. I not only picture what she’d look like in them, but I also picture what she’d look like as I peel her out of them.

“Mr. Dane. Mr. Dane?” I hear my name and snap out of my explicit daydream. I was just getting to the good part. Her dropping to her knees.

“Huh?”

“Are you okay? You checked out on me for a second.” She takes my wrist and checks my pulse. I shift uncomfortably from the contact, and the fact I actually like it. I yank my hand away as soon as she’s done.

“I’m fine . . . sorry, what was your name again?”

“Kayla. Kayla Kincade.” The nurse stares down at me with big brown eyes flecked with gold. She’s hot, there’s no denying it, and I decide right here and now that she’ll be my entertainment while I’m sentenced to this hospital bed. A man needs a project. Maybe some kind of payback for that roadkill comment. Smartass.
Fine ass
. I nearly break my neck as she bends over to pick something up off the floor. My suspicions were correct; she has one tight posterior. I just got a bird’s-eye view of a perfect, heart-shaped backside. I might’ve actually gotten an erection if I didn’t have this damn catheter shoved in my dick.

“If you need anything, hit the button.”

“I need to get the fuck out of here,” I reply irritably. “Can you help me with that?”

“Only if I have discharge papers.”

“Can we forge some?”

“Maybe we can just pass you off as Dev and sneak you out.”

Now, this chick is talking.

“Sounds like a plan. What do we need?” I perk up.

Kayla crosses her arms haughtily. “Me, nothing. You, a medical degree and two working legs.”

“Ugh.” I bang my head on the pillow. Fucking cock tease.

“Face it, moto. You’re stuck with me for a while.”

I swipe my eyes up to hers. I like this girl. She’s got spunk.

“I guess there could be worse people to be stuck with. At least you’re easy on the eyes.”

“I do what I can, where I can.” She breathes out sardonically.

“I have a few things you can do,” I blatantly insinuate.

She straightens her stance. “I think I’ve done plenty already, don’t you?” She gets testy, most definitely insinuating she saved my sorry ass.

“I’m an indulgent kind of guy. Enough is never enough.”

“I believe it.” Kayla glances around the room. It looks like a florist threw up in here. Big bright flower arrangements pour over every flat surface. A few from my managers and sponsors, but a majority are from adoring fans.
Female fans.

What can I say; I’m a popular guy, on and off the track. I’ve been blessed with exceptional hand-eye coordination, and I’m intelligent enough to use it in a multitude of ways.