I’m still staring up at him in shock when there’s a knock at the door, making me startle.
Did he really just say that? It was different when we were in the heat of the moment. But now that it’s over and we’re back to the Tommy and Clara we were before I found out he’d been stalking me, before I shot him, before he fucked me so hard my pussy is aching and yet still slick from the memories, I’m not sure how to take his words.
Tommy chuckles, brushes the wet strands of hair that have fallen over my eyes away, and then pulls away to answer the door. I feel the loss immediately, which is ridiculous, right? It has to be some kind of postcoital side effect when you have mind-blowing sex with a serial killer and not below-average sex with a two-pump chump.
The door swings open and Doc steps into the studio, making it look small just the way he does every room he ever walks into. I’ve spent a lot of time with the tattooed giant since the first time we met when he patched me up after Angelo Russo’s goons hit me. Because Everett has been calling him at least three times a week, every week since Wynter told him she was pregnant.
Doc’s deep-green eyes meet mine immediately, and a warm smile usually reserved for the women of the Saint James family crosses his face.
“Clara, lovely to see you again.” His eyes drag down my body, then move to Tommy, and then back again. “Am I here to patch her up because you’ve hurt her?” he grits through clenched teeth.
“He didn’t hurt me,” I tell him before I’ve even registered what he said. Why do I feel the need to defend him? He did hurt me and let’s not even mention the intense stalking. And yet, I can’t bring myself to tell Doc that.
He raises an eyebrow and looks me over again, looking for any visible injuries if I were to hazard a guess. If he looks closely enough, he’ll see the bruises forming around my wrists, barely visible beneath the sleeves of the oversized sweater, and the cut on my neck that my hair is hiding from view, not to mention the smattering of bruises on my hips from where Tommy held me a little too tight. But I’m not going to offer any of those injuries for him to view because if there’s one thing I’ve learned about him over the last few months, it’s how incredibly protective of women he is. He’ll go toe to toe with anyone, even Elijah Russo, if he thinks there’s a woman in danger, and that’s no small feat.
“She has a cut on her neck I want you to look at,” Tommy tells him, and I shoot him a quick glare.
Does he want to end up dead? Because Tommy may be frightening as hell and have a reputation to boot, but Doc is menacing, and I would not want to end up on his bad side.
Doc’s intense eyes turn on Tommy and a sound that’s barely human rises in the back of his throat. “You cut her?” he growls.
Tommy nods as if he’s oblivious to how angry he’s making the man who is about to stitch up his bullet wound. “Safely, obviously. I would never put her in danger.”
Doc lets out an irritated breath and advances on me without another word. I barely stop myself from stepping back, but I know he’s not going to hurt me. I know he’s not like my father. He must notice the way I stiffen and he slows, his eyes turning soft.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Clara.” His voice holds none of the anger it did a few moments ago, completely void of the barely contained rage.
He looks over his shoulder at Tommy, who looks almost as concerned as Doc. “Her father’s a cunt,” Tommy tells him.
He lets out a breath, fighting to remain calm, and not for the first time, I wonder if there’s a reason he’s so protective of women. If there’s something in his past that made him this way. “Why don’t you take a seat, Clara, and I’ll have a look at your neck.”
I nod once, not brave enough to disobey the giant of a man and move toward the dining table. I’m about to sit in one of the chairs when Tommy catches my wrist and tugs me into his lap on another chair. How did he move so quickly and quietly?
I glare at him over my shoulder, but the way the tension in his shoulders eases once I’m settled makes my heart thunder in my chest.
Doc mutters something under his breath as he settles his bag on the table. A leather bag that looks like it’s been through three wars and been blown up no less than six times, but I don’t comment on it. Tortured men like the ones I’m surrounded with have reasons for everything they do, and I’m not about to question that.
Tommy drags my damp hair away from my neck and his eyebrows pull together when he sees the angry red cut. It’s not deep, and it doesn’t even hurt that much. More of a sting than anything else.
“Did you at least sterilize your knife?” Doc asks, tipping my neck to the side so he can get a better look.
Tommy moves behind me, and the only reason I know his answer is Doc’s response. A deep grumble and a few curse words under his breath.
“I know you’re a crazy fuck, Tommy, but you need to be careful with her,” he admonishes.
Another movement behind me and the arms wrapped around my midsection tighten. “I know. It was the spur of the moment. I’ll make sure it’s sterilized next time.”
I whip my head around, eyebrows in my hairline in surprise. “Next time?” I squeak.
A small smirk tugs at his lips as if he finds my shock adorable. “Yeah, fawn. Next time.”
Doc shakes his head, a few more curse words, and then he dabs something on my neck, blocking my view of the man who is both terrifying and intriguing at once. “She doesn’t need stitches. The cut is shallow and clean, so I doubt it will leave much of a scar. Make sure you moisturize it twice daily once the wound closes, this will help the healing process.”
I nod, unable to do much of anything else. The air is charged around me, the tension between the men palpable.
He presses something over the cut and I can’t help but wince at the pressure, which in turn tears a growl from Tommy’s throat.
“Be gentle,” he snaps.
Doc glares at him, his eyes dark and dangerous, two things you wouldn’t expect from a doctor. “You’re the one that cut her. I think we’re a little past gentle.”
“I’m fine,” I whisper, looking down at where my hands are pressed against Tommy’s across my midsection.
He doesn’t seem to have an issue with me touching his hands or even his arms, so I take full advantage of running my fingers up his corded muscles, tracing his intricate tattoos to distract me from whatever Doc is doing to my neck.
“Change the dressing once a day after a shower for the first four days and make sure to apply disinfectant as well. Then leave it off, but keep an eye on the wound for swelling and redness.”
“Didn’t you just say it was minor?” I ask.
“It is, but even minor cuts can get infected, especially when the knife wasn’t sterilized, and the knife’s owner has a penchant for skinning people alive.”
Tommy’s sharp intake of breath and growl distracts me for a second until Doc’s words sink in. Did he say Tommy skins people alive? Surely I heard him wrong because…and then it occurs to me who I’m talking about. No, that’s probably the absolute truth, which is both terrifying and unsettling.
Doc’s eyes flick between us, and he shakes his head with a tut of his tongue. “Come on, man. You can’t keep shit like that from women.”
Dread rolls over me again, and suddenly, the warm, comforting arm Tommy has around me is like a steel prison. I knew Tommy was a psycho, but how could I feel so much for someone with such little respect for human life?
