Cora POV “Cora, go home. Alice has arrived.” My supervisor called out from the nurses' station. “Fantidillyastic, Thanks, Boss.” I blew a k**s her way and headed to change and clock out. It had been a busy night and an even longer day. I was dead on my feet, and those words couldn’t have come soon enough. Today, the shift was to finish early, well, not early, because I just did a double shift, a twelve-hour shift followed by an eight-hour shift. The girl who called in sick, Alice, showed up late but eventually arrived. To me, she didn’t look sick, but it wasn’t my call. Maybe some other reason. Not my problem. I can head home two hours earlier than I thought I would, which means I can pop in and see my boyfriend. I miss him when I have these long shifts. I work in our emergency department at the local hospital. I am a fully trained nurse, and I love the fast pace of the emergency department. It can be dangerous, because the loved one wants their family member treated immediately, or a drunk patient arrives, and can be abusive and violent, not so keen on those, but it’s part of the job, and you handle it, the best you can. Today, my supervisor called me into the office and offered me a transfer to a small-town hospital that was struggling to find staff. I was told to think it over and give them an answer by the end of the week. Second, in charge of the emergency department sounded nice. I have proven to be good at my job, finished school early, and completed nursing school in half the time due to my workplace experience. While in high school, I worked in a hospital for about four years before starting nursing school. I knew all the hospital staff, and I finished nursing school early. I want to discuss moving to another town with my boyfriend, Jake, whom I have been dating for about a year. Before I accepted the job, he had been talking about getting out of town; he had had enough and wanted something different. This might be perfect for both of us. Instead of going home to my one-bedroom apartment, like I should have done, because I was beat on my feet, I instead swung by my boyfriend's place. He didn’t want me to move in with him; why? Something to do with not being ready to share a house with someone, and Jake said my place was too small for him to move in with me, so we are still apart, his choice, not mine. It’s eight at night, and he should be home; he said he had no plans tonight and to pop over when I finished. I have worked nineteen hours straight; I am ready for some relaxing time with my man before going home to bed. His place came into view. Great, the garage doors were closed, that means he’s home. He keeps it open when he goes out, weird, but his call, if anyone were watching his habits, it wouldn’t take much to work that one out. I found a place to park on the street and walked around the back door, which was rarely locked. Entering the back door, something felt different; I couldn’t put my finger on what, yet. The television was on in the lounge, but no one was watching it. I followed a trail of clothes up the stairs to the loft, where the bedroom was. Jake didn’t use the bedrooms downstairs, as far as I knew; he liked the huge space upstairs, which he renovated into a large bedroom. The trail I was following appeared to be male and female clothing, but not just one male; it was possibly two or more. That didn’t make sense to me. He was always too clean and tidy; this wasn’t like the Jake I knew and loved. Giggles from a woman were heard through the open door, followed closely by a gruff, deep chuckle. Both sounded familiar; was that my stepbrother's and best friend’s voices? I slowly made it up the top of the stairs, and the room came into view. I investigated the large, open room, not believing what I was seeing. My boyfriend was in bed, n@ked, and by the look on his face, enjoying what he was giving and receiving, Jake pounded into my so-called best friend, a girl I had gone to school with, and knew most of my secrets, and behind Jake at the same time, was my stepbrother pounding my now ex-boyfriend’s, in the arrrrssss, rear, backside, call it what you want, but my boyfriend was sandwiched between these two,. The look of pure enjoyment was on his face. A look that I had never seen in the year we've been together. Oh my god! I can’t believe I never knew about their sexual preferences. What was I to Jake then, because he never hinted that he wanted anything different or more than the basics we had together? ‘Yes, right there, Jake,’ Sally-Anne, now my ex-girlfriend, urged my now ex-boyfriend to go on, faster, harder. Paul, my stepbrother, had hold of Jake's h**s, keeping them close as he pounded into him, and he was g******g out in bliss—nothing like how we had intercourse. I was going to say love, but obviously it wasn’t love on his side, was this??? What? My hand went to my mouth as I tried hard not to vomit. A bitter taste hit my mouth as they m****d and g*****d in pleasure. I need to get an STD test done ASAP, because this doesn’t feel right for me. This was not my scene. I took a photo first, so they couldn’t deny it, and backed down the stairs and out the back door, where I promptly vomited what little I had in my stomach, all over his lovely yellow daffodils. This betrayal went deeper than him hа'ving sex with someone else that I didn’t know. This went way, way deeper. I was the one getting hurt, while they were having fun behind my back, and most likely laughing about it, thinking about themselves getting away with it, all the while playing the innocent act. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and rushed to my car. I took a few deep breaths, hoping it would calm me down enough to drive. Driving home was virtually automatic. As tears ran down my face, I had trouble seeing where I was going. The blare of a horn had me slowing down because I had picked up too much speed in my haste to get away from there. My home didn’t come fast enough; it was like slow motion. My mind was stuck in that house, their sounds of enjoyment still ringing in my ears, the sight of their n@ked bodies, slick with sweat. At home, I rushed to the bathroom and puked again until there was nothing left in my stomach. My throat and belly are sore from purging the demons. I don’t know if I was sick because of the th'reesome or because of whom the th'reesome was with. But the betrayal, the loss of trust, and the loss of friendship were combined and locked in a box, labelled ‘never to be opened again’. I don’t know how I can keep a straight face when seeing them again, like my stepbrother, who would be at the family dinners, and no, I don’t want to think about that right now. Diving into my bag, I pulled out my phone, and it took me four tries to get the number right; the numbers were hard to see through my tears. I needed to get away from here. I can’t face them. I don’t want to face them. “Hello, Senior Nurse Carmel speaking.” My boss's polite voice answered the portable phone. Good, she’s who I wanted, no, needed to speak with, didn’t want to have to explain it to anyone else. I was feeling embarrassed enough having to explain it to Carmel. “Hey, it’s me, Cora.” I started and couldn’t contain the soft sob that came out as I spoke. “What’s wrong? Do you need medical help?” Carmel suddenly worried. Having picked up my tears, I could hear her moving, possibly to somewhere quieter so she could hear me. “Um, can I take up that offer of the transfer, and how soon can I leave?” I asked, not answering her question, immediately. “Yes, it’s yours. You can leave anytime. Want to tell me why there's been a sudden change? Did your boyfriend do something? Why are you so upset? Do I need to send out the heavies?” God, I love this woman; she knows how to make me laugh. “Will this stay between us?” I asked tentatively, knowing she wouldn’t say a word, but needed to hear it for some reason. “If that’s what you want,” With a shaky breath, I told Carmel about what I walked in on, and now I needed to get away, fast and quietly. “You have not taken any holidays in years. Why don’t you pack up and leave, take some holiday time off, before starting at the new job, and clear your head? I insist, as of right now, you are on two months’ leave. Take care of yourself.” Carmel’s sweet voice of encouragement and insistence on taking a break helped. “Thank you, my lease is up, so I don’t need to worry about renewing it now. I will pack and leave in the morning. Thank you, Carmel.” I hiccupped through the explanation and thanks. “Be safe, girl. I know it hurts right now, but it will get better over time. Keep in t***h, you know I am here if you need me for anything." Carmel was there for me when my mother died, and my dad fell to pieces. I was more or less left to fend for myself; she became my second mother. “Will do.” I hung up and locked up before climbing into bed, too exhausted to think, after a double shift and a huge shock.

Cora POV Morning came, too soon. My night was filled with memories of what I saw, and I couldn’t erase them from my brain. It’s true what they say: ‘What’s seen can’t be unseen.’ I hate that it’s on repeat, like a bad song you can’t turn off. A quick shower to try and clear my head and wake me up, trying to put in some sort of order what I was to do today. I started the day packing. There wasn’t much. I had been keeping things minimal, hoping to move soon. Well, I am moving, but not where I had thought I would be going. I chuckled at what sounded like a dead sound at my stupidity and blindness. Of all the time, I found them together. Not once did I suspect anything. I feel so naive. Three suitcases of clothes and personal items, a briefcase of documents that I need, some money, a phone charger, and a laptop computer. I used the shredder and shredded every photo I had of the two of us, as well as those that included my ex-best friend and stepbrother. I kept the family photo, as tempting as it was to cut my stepbrother out, but changed my mind, and I left him in it. For now. Crying as I did it. I threw everything of his that he had left here over time into the bin, and a few items from my ex-best friend. I think that she was the one who had hurt me the most. I trusted her. Been there for her when her relationship fell apart, and she was stabbing me in the back, this whole time, with my man. Walked through the apartment, not that there was much to walk through, ensuring there was nothing left behind. I gave the young single mother all my food and let her take whatever she wanted or needed. The poor girl needed all the help she could get, even took some of the clothes I had here to Sally-Anne, before throwing the rest away. Bedding, towels, kitchen stuff, all of it, what she didn’t want, furniture-wise, I left in the apartment. The bond wasn’t that much, and it wouldn’t hurt me not to get it back. I had plenty of money, thanks to my mother’s will. Which annoyed my dad that I was left so much, and pissed off my new stepmother, because she thought Dad had more money than he did. When he kicked me out of the home, I made sure he paid me half of the home's market value, and I had three appraisals before we settled. Mother's life insurance went to me, along with all her jewellery, the balance in her personal bank account, half of the balance in a shared bank account, shares in something, and shares in Dad’s business, which I still have; he didn’t buy me out, and I receive a nice dividend for doing nothing. Only the house got settled between us. What I received from Mum didn’t bother him too much until he remarried, and she wanted to spend it; his new wife was pissed off because she couldn’t get her hands on it, a little gold digger that dug the wrong hole. Haha ha, it only made me laugh all the more inside when I saw her seething over her miscalculation of his wealth. This was part of why Dad hated me, maybe did not hate me, dismissed me, and gave his all to his new stepson, me being the only child from his first marriage, and Dad wanting a boy. Yeah, you can guess the rest; he didn’t get much from Mum’s death. A second life insurance policy, a boat, a country cottage, and a coin collection. He wanted it all, but the will was airtight, and it cost him a lot before he quit trying to get more. His new wife started everything up again, but in a different way, to try to get money out of me. Everything was locked up tight, and they couldn’t get a cent out of me. I had a different lawyer and accountant from Dad’s; it was the one Mum used for her personal stuff, not the one Dad used for business or personal stuff. That accountant was too chummy and close with Dad. Mum used to warn me not to let anyone get their hands on what’s mine, keep everything separate, even in marriage, because not all marriages last forever. “Hello Jim, here are the keys. I won’t be renewing the lease.” I handed over the keys to Jim, my landlord. The nice man never gave me any problems and fixed things fast when something broke. “Thought you might be leaving, moving in with that boyfriend of yours?” He wiggled his eyebrows; the sight almost had me chuckling. He was bad at it. “Nope, he has another girlfriend. I am heading to a new town. Thanks again.” Not wanting to give him too much information. He looked shocked, and it took a moment to gather his thoughts, which gave me enough time for me to wave goodbye and duck out the door. At the local service station, I topped up the tank, checked the air pressure, grabbed drinks and snacks, and checked my phone. A message from Jake, telling me to have a good night's sleep, and that he missed me. Yeah, right, as if I would ever believe that line ever again. I hit the road, a three-day drive, and I was more than ready to start it. Radio on full, to drown out my thoughts, that I don’t want to address right now. The first song was one I knew, and I sang out loud, as I tried to push my body to come awake and not be too lethargic. Lack of sleep can do that, and the long drive might not be a good idea, being a mess like this, but I couldn’t stay, not near them. But my mind has its own ideas, and soon a song came on, one that reminded me of good times. I sang and tried to think of the good times, but as I said, the mind had other thoughts. Soon, I was analysing everything, even t***h, every word, every laugh, when the four of us were together, and slowly, as the vehicle ate up the miles on the road, I picked a moment about six months ago, when things started to change. Not a lot at first. My ex-girlfriend was around more, even when I wasn’t home. I never thought anything bad about it at the time. They’d sat together, the three of them, with Sally-Anne in the middle, their legs touching. She would giggle at things that were said, and I had no clue what they were talking about. They went out together while I was working, and still, I was stubid enough not to pick up that there was more to it. I thought she was chasing my brother, and I was okay with that. Never did, I guess, she wanted them both. I must shut down those thoughts and fast, or I would be pulling over to throw up the little toast I managed to eat for breakfast. I know as a nurse I have to keep eating and drinking. As much as I want to stay positive, the thoughts of them drag me down. The next town’s signpost arrived, it was a little after one, and I decided to grab something to eat after I topped up the tank. I pulled into a quaint little roadside truck stop, and there was soft music playing, and the smell of good food. As much as the food smelled good, I ordered the soup of the day and a bread roll, still not trusting my stomach to hold anything down. After the tasty beef broth, I visited the bathroom, which was clean and smelled like lavender. This stop was a nice place. I can see why the car park was full of trucks. They had good food, a happy server, and clean toilets. What more could you ask for? The soup stayed down, and I changed from listening to the radio to my own play choice, one that didn’t have bad memories, and that was how my next two days went. Eat, drive till I am exhausted, stay in the first hotel I come to, shower, change, eat a small, light breakfast, and drive on again. Sleep was better on the second night, and today, late in the afternoon, I should have reached my new home. I was more optimistic today. I had my phone set to vibrate the whole trip and refused to check it until I was ready. No doubt, by now, they would know I was no longer living in the apartment. A group of bikers rode by, or should I say low-flying by. They zoomed by at speeds I had never been game to go; I was more conservative, call me a scaredy-cat, but that was me. I have been in a car that went fast when I wasn’t driving, but I've never had the nerve to go at breakneck speed. I guess I have dealt with so many road victims and seen the results of speed.

Cora POV So far, the day had been going great, as more and more bikers rode by, and I loved to watch them, moving like a long snake, flowing fluidly down the road. A few more bikes rode by about ten minutes later, then a few more, another twenty minutes. That was a lot of bikes. I wonder if they are on a charity ride or one of those chase-the-Ace bits of fun. I had a friend who loved going to bike rallies. I loved the sound the engines made, and it made my chest vibrate. I had the window down, and the sound filled my jeep, louder than the music that was still on. Seeing these bikes perked me up; feeling a lot better than when I got up this morning, I was starting to feel hungry. This was a good sign. At the next stop, I pulled over, topped up, and sat in the café to eat some lunch. I tried a burger and fries with a pot of tea. My whole outlook was better today. I still hadn't checked my phone, afraid to see what lies they might have concocted. But that can wait until I am settled in my new home and can relax, rather than get upset while still on the road. Several bikes pulled up, fueled up, and grabbed some food. They were polite, and one actually held the door open for a woman with a child on her h*p. She thanked him. It was nice to see that not all the stories I heard were bad. They paint the bikers as bad people, but from what I have witnessed so far, they are just as human as the rest of us. They live by their code, whatever that is, and not all clubs are bad; a few bad ones give the whole bunch a bad name. Back on the road, I turned on the radio, sick of my playlist repeating, and, wanting something different, chose a rock-and-roll station. My mood was improving with each mile closer to my new home. The songs were ones I knew, and when ‘Sweet Child O’ Mine came on, I sang my heart out. I loved that song, straight after was ‘Patience’, and I was almost in tears. As I listened to the words, all I needed was a little patience, and to me, that meant I didn’t need to run from what had happened, but embrace it, and let time heal me. I need a little patience. I got it; the song might not have meant that, but my mind twisted it into something I needed and gave me peace. Just as I reached this thought, a single bike flew by, not as fast as the others, the rider looking around as he rode. I wondered what he was looking for. Suddenly, his bike went all over the road, like he was having trouble keeping it under control. I slowed down and waited to find out how he fared. His bike flipped him off, and he went one way, and the bike went down into a ditch. I pulled up close to him and grabbed my medical kit, which I carried everywhere. As a nurse, my kit contained a bit more than a standard first-aid kit. He was sitting up, complaining about his broken bike. The man looked like he was talking or yelling at no one and telling them to come and fast. He was yelling about the tyre being shot out, and where he was. To get here fast, and be careful, the shooter was still around. I waited till he was no longer yelling. Wondering what I got myself into. “You, okay? I am a nurse, let me help you.” He stared at me, as if he didn’t believe what he was looking at, his eyes taking me in from head to toe and lingering on my chest. I looked down at my chest and jeans, then back to him. No buttons were undone. What’s his problem? “My shoulder, I think it's dislocated,” he finally said. I moved forward with instinct and helped him remove his helmet, which he had been fighting with the strap under his chin, using one hand; the other was limp, resting on his l*p. He threw his lid to one side, and he let me unzip his jacket. He was wearing a cut that said ‘Gunner, enforcer.’ I know a little about bike clubs, so I think it was like a bouncer at a nightclub, or something like that; it meant he could give as good as he got and not get on the wrong side of him. I looked at his shoulder. It was all out of shape; I've seen this shoulder shape many times in footballers. It was dislocated. That’s got to be hurting. “Want me to put it back in?” I asked, wondering whether I should call an ambulance, but by the time it arrived, I would have done the job. “You can do that?” He was looking me up and down again, making me feel self-conscious. “Yes, my name is Cora. I was a nurse in the ED, so do you want something for the pain, or do you want to do it? Although it really should be X-rayed first, something tells me you don’t want to go to the hospital.” I was ready to do whatever he asked. He looked in pain, even though he was handling it well; you can’t hide it completely from your eyes. “Gunner, my name, and yeah, do it.” He gritted his teeth. “Going to hurt like hll.” I positioned myself over the top of him, I moved the arm around a bit, felt what I was looking for and using my body to help push, I suddenly moved his arm back, and a loud pop was heard, followed by words that would not be anatomically possible. But accepted it, for what it was. The pain reaction had got worse, and well, he did trust me, and that was saying a lot, not many trust a complete stranger. “I suggest you rest it up for a few days, a week if you can.” "No need, I've dislocated it a few times before; I mend quickly," Gunner replied. Suddenly, a red dot appeared on his head. I knew what that was, seen in movies, a laser from a rifle. “What the fuk.” I dived forward to cover him, not thinking clearly, had to protect my patient, and a sharp pain hit the back of my t***h. I must have screamed, but I don’t remember doing it. The next thing I know, I am on the floor, and this bulky man is on top of me, looking around, phone in hand, demanding they get here now, as there was a shooter close, sending pop shots at us, and the girl got shot. “Don’t ask what girl, just get here, and now, before I get shot too.” He demanded before hanging up. “Stay down, Darl, we got a shooter about. But then you already know that, right?” He didn’t look down at me when he spoke; his eyes were focused on the trees. The sound of bikes arriving and more gunfire, before someone came rushing over to Gunner. Checking him out. “Gun, were you shot?” The man asked, still checking him for blood. “That’s not my blood; it belongs to Cora, who took the shot, protected me, she did, no one's done that before.” He rolled me off with a grunt. “What, thought you were shot? You said on the phone,” The guy was still looking for blood. “He shot my tyre, hung on as long as I could before it bucked me off, and I dislocated my shoulder. Cora had just put it back when that shooter aimed for me. Cora took the shot for me, saved my life.” He sounded like he had to keep repeating himself; they didn’t believe he wasn’t shot. They rolled me over, onto my stomach, and then the next thing I knew, they were cutting up my jeans. I was in too much pain to give a Dam, but someone was going to be buying me a new pair. These were my favourite jeans. Just got them to sit right on me. “We got a squirt.” I don’t know what they were talking about, but I suddenly felt cold, and all sound seemed to distort, and darkness claimed me.

Gunner POV The ride had been good, a week across the countryside, blowing away the cobwebs, while finding the guys that betrayed us and dealing with them. No one brings drvgs into our town, not now, not ever. drvgs were a personal decision, and believe it or not, most of us in our club were clean. We prefer not to have hard drvgs in our town. We had just stopped for lunch when our President received a call that someone was shooting between this town and ours, and to be careful. He said he was some random shooter, taking potshots at all who passed. Truckee called them in, said he blew out some tyres and nearly lost the load on the road. He was stuck on the side of the road near town, worried the shooter would hit him, so he was not getting out of his truck. There were sixty of us out on this ride. We left in small groups, and I drew the short straw so that I would leave last. We had an intercom we could use, and we set it to the same channel. We often use different channels to talk to our mates, like I don’t want to hear what one of the guys got up to last night with some random chick, but have mine tuned to the President and VP, officers, as more are already with a permanent woman, so the chances of talking about banging some chick won’t happen on this channel. Among the officers, only the two of us are not yet with a woman. Me, because no woman has caught my attention enough to want more than a release, and Taser, our barman, because he gets to see all that goes on with the women, and he rarely uses the club woman for his release. I took my time to finish my lunch, watching the guys leave in groups. I hope they find the son of a biatch. When the last one had left, I got up and headed to my bike. I was not in a hurry, not yet. I was listening to the guys on the intercom as I rode, trying to enjoy the last few hours of the ride, while they gave me insights into what they found, so far, no sign of the shooter or the truck that was hit. Maybe the truck was closer to town than we thought. Quickly, my bike ate up the road, and I tried not to go too fast as I didn't want to catch up to the group ahead. I rode not excessively, just a little over the limit, enjoying the ride. I was looking about as I rode, hoping not to see the shooter while on my own. I had just passed a jeep, with rock music blaring, when my tyre blew, and I had to fight to stay on the road, glad it was the back tyre and not the front, which would have been deadly, most likely sent me spiraling off the bike at speed, not a good end for me. If I lived through it, I would be in a mountain of pain. At a lower speed, the bike hit the dirt on the side of the road and bucked me off. I flew over the handlebars and was swearing like a trooper before landing hа'rd-on my shoulder, sending pain across my body. Lucky that my bike went in a different direction. “Buddy, where are you? What happened? On my way back,” Voices were calling out to me as I tried to get my breath back. I told them what I knew, and they would be back in two minutes. That’s too many minutes too long, if that shooter was close by. I heard a dirt bike in the trees, and my gut told me that it was the shooter, and I warned my guys of the direction I heard the bike and to be careful. When the most gorgeous girl I had ever seen brought my attention back to where I lay, she was talking softly to me, not touching me, yet her assessing gaze roamed over my body. Did she like what she saw? I shook my head, cleared my dirty thoughts, and listened. She’s a nurse. How lucky am I? To have a nurse here with me. Can’t say that happens very often. When she leaned in to fix my shoulder, which I knew was going to hurt as much as it did, when I fell, her perfume filled my nose, a sort of vanilla smell, not overpowering like many girls’ perfumes are at the club; this was more subtle, I took a deep breath, before she set my arm, and all the air rushed out of my lungs, and I nearly passed out from the sudden pain. Still, the pain reduced to something more bearable. Just as I got my breath back, a red beam came searching for me, hunting for a kill shot, and I could do little to get out of range, but before my brain could come up with how to protect the woman or me, Cora jumped on me and took the shot. I think she's out cold. This woman just saved my life. Making sure I held her tight and rolled over, I would gladly accept any more shots. This girl's done enough for me already; she’s a keeper. I wonder where she was headed before stopping to help. I argued with my team as they arrived that the blood wasn’t mine before they started to work on Cora. I cringed when they cut up her jeans. She’s going to be pissed at that. Guess I owe her some new clothes. They must have hit the main blood vessel, because the moment the pressure of the tight jeans was released, she squirted out blood. They put a tourniquet on the upper t***h and bandaged her up the best they could; they still got her to our medical room. I struggled to get up and looked at my broken bike as they loaded it on the back of a van that had just arrived. A man screaming was thrown in the back along with my bike, his hands tied behind his back, blood running from his nose, and his left shoulder where one of our guys shot him. “This girl’s got a serious medical kit here, what is she?” Scrubs said as he inspected her kit and handed it to one of the guys to put it in her car, that one of them would drive to our compound. I thought I had already told him she was a nurse, but I guess he was too busy checking me out to give Cora a thought. “Her name is Cora, an ED nurse. I want to be with her. I owe her my life,” I replied as I was helped back to the van and climbed in beside the pale, lifeless-looking Cora. She looked so vulnerable, and it was all my fault that her life changed so much. Quiet moans of pain came slipping out of her mouth as we hit several bumps along the road back to the clubhouse, and the larger bump at the gate. It was time to smooth out that entrance. I murmured to myself, feeling each bump causing pain in my shoulder, and wondered how much worse it was for her. Scrubs carried Cora back to his first aid room, and I trailed behind him. He wanted to check my shoulder. I trusted that Cora had done a good job; she didn’t hesitate to offer to do it again. She sounded confident. That was enough for me. I sat on a chair and watched as he removed Cora’s shoes and then her jeans completely and got to work removing the bullet from her leg. She didn’t squirm as he put a local in her t***h, and then, with a long tweezers-type instrument, started to dig around to find the bullet. A loud clunk in the metal tray signified he had removed it and was now suturing up her wound. It all looked so easy, so quick, but it felt like it took forever. I wanted Cora to rest in bed. “You’re next.” Scrubs left Cora on the bed and turned to me, carefully removing my shirt and checking out my shoulder, then rotating it a little, making me grimace. “That woman did an all-right job, not that I doubted her, with the type of medical gear she had in the kit. Want a sling?” I shook my head. “Didn’t think so, it would heal faster if you did.” I didn’t put my shirt back on; I thought I'd shower first, or I would have to struggle with it twice. “Do you want the girl to stay here?” Is he kidding me? Why would I want her to stay here? “No, she can sleep with me.” Scrubs chuckled. “Thought as much.” “Can you carry her to my room? I don’t think I could carry а-'cup of coffee with that arm.” Scrubs carried Cora to my room and laid her carefully on my bed, before leaving me chuckling as he left the room. Close the door quietly as he went.

Cora POV The sound of running water brought me back to a sense of awareness. I tried to move and then g*****d; the pain in my t***h reminded me of what had happened. I was stubid and covered a stranger who was injured from being hit by a bullet. What was I thinking? Plain stubid, but if I were put in that situation again, I wouldn’t hesitate to cover the patient. It’s what we are taught; we are healers, and sometimes we get hurt. I have had more than one black eye from a violent drunk or a violent patient who lashes out. Mind you, the shooter, once he hits the guy, might have turned his sights on me. So it would have been both of us hit, and one or both dead. I opened my eyes and blinked a few times. Where am I? I turned my head to the sound of water and guessed it was a bathroom. I managed to sit up and look around the room. It was a nice-sized bedroom, with a huge window on one wall and a balcony with a table and two chairs, perfect for sitting outside and reading. The bed was jumbo; the room was mainly brown and black. A mat on the floor was from that movie, Ghost Rider.’ A walk-in robe, too, bedside tables, another larger table with a laptop on it, and three chairs. Three- who uses only three chairs? Guess I am traditional, where a table setting has an even number of chairs. Someone was in the shower, and singing softly, a man, but the sound of his deep baritone voice awoke my neglected lady parts. I got out of bed and wished I had taken more time; my leg screamed out in pain. I was dressed in a large shirt with a club logo that reached my mid-t***h. I lifted the shirt to reveal a thick bandage on my left leg, which was in pain. I still had my p*****s on. That was a relief. I hobbled to the window and saw a car park full of assorted gleaming bikes and other vehicles, and to my relief, I could see my car out there, in one piece. That car held my life; I didn’t want to lose it. “You're awake.” I turned a little too quickly at the sound of his voice, and grunted in pain, and I put my hands on the bed to steady myself. “Yes, how's the shoulder? Gunner?” The man was standing there, barefoot, a towel hung low on his h**s, the line of hair disappearing below the towel; his chest was covered in blackish-brown hair, muscles on muscles. He was drying his hair with a towel in one hand while holding another in the other. His hair fell below his shoulders, also blackish-brown. He was one very eye-catching man. I looked at him from head to toe, and back up. Even his legs were strong and muscular. His smile told me he knew what I was doing, but didn’t call me out. “Scrubs said you did a bang-up job. Doing it straight away, before the swelling could set in, was a good choice.” “Scrubs?” I frowned at this name. “Our doctor, his road name is scrubs.” “I can’t see any other bruises. Turn around so that I can see.” I twirled my finger in a circle, trying to get him to turn, and used the excuse of looking for an injury to get an eyeful at this nice specimen of a man. Shy, I am not, never have been. Another reason is that my stepmother hates me. Gunner chuckled but did as I asked, turning and looking over his shoulder to watch me look him over. “A small amount of bruising. After what happened to you, I would have expected more than that. You bounced well.” I was surprised he wasn’t in a worse condition. He turned back and pointed to some crutches leaning against the wall. “Use them when I am not around.” “And when you are around?” I asked innocently. “Then I will carry you around.” I'm not sure about that. “Where am I?” I decided it was time to work out how far I was away from my destination. “You are at our clubhouse, about ten minutes outside of Clearwater. We haven’t removed your things from your car yet. But until you are better, I think it best you stay here with me.” “Oh, do you now? What makes you think I want to stay here?” I put my hands on my h**s, hoping to look stern. “Because you can’t drive, and I am not taking you anywhere until you can walk around, say two to three weeks, maybe longer.” “So, I am your captive?” I looked at him incredulously. “If that’s what you want to call it.” He was smirking; he’s a poop-dribbler. “Where am I to stay?” “Here.’ He waved his hand around the room. “In my room.” Definitely poop. “Really, then I need the contents of my car, all of it,” I said, hoping that when he sees what’s in the car, he will change his mind. Gunner pulled out his phone and called someone named ‘Loser,’ instructing him to have the contents of the car brought to his room. I couldn’t believe it; he didn’t know a thing about me. “What hospital were you headed to?” He asked, as he dropped the towels into a hamper that I hadn’t noticed, and turned, moving into the walk-in robe, n@ked, eye candy, yup, that’s eye candy, even from the back. “Lucky I am on holiday, or this would have been a bummer. I will be starting at Clearwater Hospital. I was intending to contact the person in charge of ED tomorrow and get a tour and a feel of the place.” I have the contact information for a woman named Karen, forwarded to me, with the suggestion that I meet the supervisor before I start. Carmel didn’t specify how soon I should contact this Karen. “Bluey, lovely woman, one of ours, you will meet her tonight at dinner.” He had this smug look on his face, and I wanted to wipe it right off, but I didn’t know how. A knock at the door had Gunner taking three long strides, opening it, and three lads walked in, carrying the contents of my car. “Put them over there. Is that the lot?” Gunner pointed to a corner of the room. “No, one more trip. Looks like her whole home was in that car,” Loser, I assumed, replied. “Cora?” Gunner looked at me in question. “Yes, I told you; maybe you were in too much pain to hear me at the time. I am starting at the Clearwater hospital.” I didn’t want to give him too much; he was already pushing my boundaries. I am usually not this open to strangers. But having just saved his life, I feel responsible for him, in a weird kind of way. It doesn’t make sense. I still don’t trust him, or this place is filled with so many men. Men have shown me they can’t be trusted; look at my dad, or my ex, but then look at my so-called best friend. The only person I can trust is me, and then my judgments have been so bad; maybe I can’t trust me either. No, don’t spiral down that rabbit hole. I trust Carmel; she never lied to me. There, see, I found someone I trust. Keep it together. Girl. You got this, own who you are, stay focused on where you are headed. Don’t let this eye candy take you away from your goals. I watched as all the contents came into the room, and Gunner didn’t even blink at the amount of stuff I had. “Find a change of clothes, and I will help you with a shower, or I can give you something of mine.” Gunned pointed to the last bag placed on the bed, my overnight bag, which I had in the front seat, containing the clothes I was changing into each night. Is he mad? Something of his? He’s like six-four, maybe more. No way would his clothes fit me. I rolled my eyes at the thought as I hobbled closer to my bag and unzipped it, pulling out clean clothes. I have another bag full of dirty ones, and I need to get them washed. The moment I had made the choice, I found myself being swooped up in Gunner’s arms and marched to the bathroom, which was still wet from his shower. He lowered me to stand the best I could and began undressing me. “Hey, I can do this. Get out.” I tried to push his hands away and lose balance, Gunner grabbing me around the w***t to stop me from falling. “Stop fighting me, you can’t get those stitches wet, woman. I am doing this whether you like it or not. In second thoughts, keep fighting; it’s turning me on.” I looked down and saw what he meant. I froze.