Doc (Ruthless Kings MC #7) - K.L. Savage Page 0,23
names. I need all the information you can give me. This is club business now.” He puts his nose against my neck and tangles his fingers in my hair. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I’ll never let anyone hurt you again,” he promises. “You aren’t alone.” He leans away, and I see the determination, the need for blood, and the honesty shining through his eyes as he cups my face with his hands. “You can count on me.”
My lips purse, and fire spears my eyes when the emotion doesn’t stop. “But I can’t count on me,” I admit weakly, but it feels good to say it out loud. A shaky breath leaves me when his hand falls to my stomach and his thumb rubs back and forth over it. I’m still not sure if I can be a mom, but the way Eric believes in me right now, he’s making me wonder if I can be.
“I’m sorry,” he says, pinching his perfectly groomed brows together. He lifts his hand away and rolls out of bed, sitting on the very edge. “I can’t keep it together.” He stands up and swipes his arm across the nightstand, shattering the lamp as it smacks against the wall. “Who touched you? Who made you cut your arms? Who nearly killed you? Tell me.” Eric kicks the chair, and it slides across the floor and then falls to its side. He drops his arms on the bed and grips the mattress. “Tell me!”
“No,” I answer.
He didn’t expect that answer because he straightens and scoffs, placing his hands on his hips. No one would ever think he would be part of a motorcycle club. I hear the guys when I’m there. They call him pretty boy because he has blue eyes and thick wavy hair. He doesn’t have tattoos, and he dresses nice, unlike the typical t-shirt, jeans, and cuts the other guys wear. Eric is usually in a polo and jeans, or khakis.
“Why? Why won’t you tell me who ra—”
“Don’t! Please, don’t say it. I can’t hear that right now, Eric. I don’t know if that’s what happened. For all I know, I got drunk, I had sex, and this is the consequence. Also, no one made me cut my arms; that was me. I wanted to kill myself. That isn’t on anyone but me.”
“You’d rather die than be a mom?”
I lay my head against the pillow and clear my throat. “No, of course not, but I’m not cut out to be a mom, Eric. Look at me. I’m under psychological evaluation. I have twelve-inch cuts down each arm. Part of me wishes I was still dead. A kid deserves more than that. I panicked! Did it influence the decision to cut my arms? Yes. I was scared. I’m still scared. I can’t take care of myself. How am I going to take care of a baby?”
He doesn’t say anything. There’s nothing to say.
He knows I’m right.
I wish like hell I wasn’t.
A few hours later, I walk out of the room after she falls asleep. I lean against the wall, completely fucking drained. The ridges of the scars along my back start to itch from the stress of today, and I close my eyes, telling myself that my dad isn’t here. The wounds are old. They aren’t who I am.
Liar.
They made me the man I am today.
What I’d give to know the name of the man who took advantage of her. I want the entire story. I swear, if I find out that he touched her without consent, I’m going to strap him to my table and cut every inch of flesh like my father did to me.
“Goddamn it.” I scrub my fingers over my brows then rub my eyes. I’m so damn tired. The whole world is weighing on me. Well, maybe not the entire world, just Jo. The one woman who I thought I’d be able to date when she came home, but that’s not going to happen. Shooting my shot is out the damn window. She’s not going to want anything to do with me after what’s happened to her.
My stomach is in sickening knots. I don’t have the comfort in knowing what will happen with her tomorrow or the next day. I don’t know if she’ll want to keep the baby or give it up for adoption, but I know one thing…
She isn’t alone. No matter how she wants me—friend, lover, nothing—I am here. I’ll love that child like it’s my