“Shit, you look terrible,” Flynn said. “I’ll take you to the hospital.”
“No, it’s fine. I’m okay. Just need to shake it off.”
“Knight! You can’t be serious.”
“I’m tough. I’ll get some ice when I get home.”
Flynn scoffed. “Nobody’s this tough.”
I pulled away from him and staggered, light-headed. “No hospital, damn it. They’ll call the authorities and spending all night telling them about the Serpents will only make them putmeon their radar.”
“Dalton could handle it.”
I waved him off. “I can’t report this, okay? It’ll make things worse. I just need to…”
I had no idea what I needed to do.
“Go home,” I settled on.
“Fine, but you have to let Aiden examine you,” Flynn said. “And if he says there’sanydanger of head trauma, I’ll drag you to the ER whether you like it or not.”
CHAPTER 19
AIDEN
I layered chicken,mushrooms, frozen ravioli, and mozzarella cheese—topping it all with cream of mushroom soup—in a casserole dish. It was a bit of a cheat, but it tasted great, and I was fairly certain Knight wouldn’t complain about a meal he didn’t have to make.
I should have taken a turn sooner, but he always beat me to the punch. Even on our one day off together, he’d start dinner—or suggest we get takeout so we could stay in bed—before I thought about what I might do.
I wasn’t sure why he wasn’t home yet today, but I’d seized the opportunity to return the favor.
I covered the casserole dish with foil and slid it into the oven, which was at 320 degrees. Close enough to preheated. I’d just let the casserole cook for an extra five or ten minutes. It really just needed to get hot and thicken—I’d cooked the chicken before putting it in.
I rinsed the skillet in the sink and was just thinking about pulling out a bagged salad when I heard an engine outside.
I smiled and started toward the door, eager to surprise Knight. That man did so much for other people. I’d noticed herarely expected anything for himself. That was a rare quality, selflessness. I certainly didn’t have it. I’d happily eaten Knight’s food, enjoyed his back rubs, and even let him wash my hair in the shower once—even though I should be taking care of myself.
I opened the door, thinking to call out a teasing greeting about service with a smile. The words died on my tongue when I saw Flynn’s old Buick in my driveway instead of Knight’s bike.
“Flynn?” I called as he got out of the driver’s seat. “What…”
The passenger door opened, and Knight got out. Huh. Maybe he’d gone for a drink and had too much to drive?
I stepped out on the porch, watching as he carefully unfolded himself from the car. He kept a hand on the door—almost as if he needed the support.
Flynn jogged around the car, but Knight waved him off. “I’m fine!”
But he didn’t look fine. As Knight walked toward the house, slightly hunched in a way that screamed pain, his face came into view. I sucked in a sharp breath.
His lip was split and oozing blood, there was bruising along his jawline and temple. His knuckles were busted open and bleeding.
“What the hell happened?” I asked, rushing forward to slip under his arm.
“I’m fine,” Knight said again, sounding worn out. He let me support his weight as we went up the porch steps.
“He got his ass kicked,” Flynn said behind us. “Some bikers jumped him.”
“Bikers? Like?—”
