“I’ll be fine.” I grab the clothing and use my own two feet to enter the second stall, it’s the larger of the two. More than large enough to change clothes in.
“I’m going to wait right outside the door. If you’re not out there in a few minutes, I’m coming back in to check on you.” With his warning, the door squeaks as it opens and then clicks closed.
I lean up against the wall of the bathroom stall taking a moment to gather my wits before I change. In doing so my eyes fall to my lower half where bright red stains cover both my knees, the placement exactly where the two large red patches had been on my apron. Oh.
Bennett’s insistence on getting me scrubs finally kicks in. With a little more work, I tug my firm, blood soaked jeans off my legs and replace them with the blue scrub pants. There’s dried blood on the skin of my knees, but I don’t have the ability to wash it off now. Not unless I plan to prance around the men’s bathroom pantless… which I do not.
The door opens as I walk out. Bennett takes the pair of jeans I’d folded up nicely from my hands and deposits them in the large trash can by the bathroom door. “Won’t someone want those as evidence?”
“This her?” a man I’ve never seen before asks before Bennett can answer my question. The newcomer is dressed similarly to Mad Dog, and the various patches on his vest steal my attention as he strides toward me.
Bennett wraps his arm around my shoulders and stands with his feet apart. “Yup.”
“Okay, let’s talk.” The tall, dark brown-haired biker with two sleeves of tattoos walks into the waiting room.
Bennett follows and so by proxy I tag along beside him. The outer wall of the waiting room is lined with chairs. The biker, obviously here for Mad Dog, selects a chair on the far side of the room and then Bennett pushes me down in one closer to the door. There’s a huge carpeted open space between us. The newcomer jerks on the edges of his vest and flashes Bennett a look. One I’m not quite sure of. Annoyance more than likely. It’s like the biker equivalent of an eye roll. My body clenches, worried he’s taken offense to our position, but another second passes and he laughs, shaking his head when Bennett tightens his grip around my shoulders.
“This the way it’s gonna be, huh?”
Bennett doesn’t miss a beat in their man-only conversation. “Yup.”
“Have you heard any news on Dog?” the stranger asks.
“Not yet, but it doesn’t look good.” Bennett and the biker make matching faces of sorrow. “Why did you and your boys get involved, Dom?”
Dom? He’s not a Spike or Bone Crusher? “Dom? It’s so normal.” I accidentally blurt out in the middle of their conversation. It’s been a long day.
Dom raises an eyebrow in my direction and Bennett squeezes my shoulder again. “It’s Dominic, the Impaler.”
Ohhh. That makes more sense. “Why?” Shut up, Nessa.
“The whole name gets a little long. I stick to Dom for most cases.” He crosses a leg over the other, his ankle resting on a knee.
“No, I mean why the Impaler?”
This question he laughs at. “For my favorite way of killing someone.”
I rear back in my seat, hitting Bennett’s arm hard. He clears his throat next to me. “Let’s stay on track. Why were you at the bakery?”
“Are you trying to keep me from visiting one of my guys?” Dom leans forward and the air thickens to the point I don’t risk breathing.
“No, but your eyes haven’t left Anessa, and as she’s in my protection, I’m curious.”
“She’s yours, huh?”
“She’s in my protection.” Bennett squeezes and his fingertips dig into my shoulder.
Dom laughs. “You don’t need to protect her from me, Bennett. I appreciate her humanity in treating one of my own like a person. Not everyone would. I heard she rode in the ambulance. That takes guts.”
Why are they talking about me like I’m not sitting in both of their lines of sight? Still, even though it’s annoying, I don’t speak up and risk drawing more attention to myself. I’ve asked enough stupid questions for the day.
“Why was Mad Dog at the bakery?” Bennett again asks the question Dom hasn’t answered.
“Kevin, the previous renter was running money for the mob out of New York. Everyone knew that. Either Ridge is horribly bad at his job or he’s keeping important facts to himself.”
“And last I heard your gang associates with the Capri family not the Zanettis. Has that changed?”
“You mean since the last time Ridge tried to bug my clubhouse?” Dom settles back in his chair, at ease. “No, it hasn’t changed.”
