Doc (Ruthless Kings MC #7) - K.L. Savage Page 0,84

against the door frame. “Ow,” I hiss.

“Shit, are you okay? Are you bleeding? Is the baby okay?”

I rub my head, and he carefully swings my legs in front of the seat and gestures for them to stay as he backs away from me. “Please, don’t tell Doc. Fuck me. He’s going to remove all my organs.”

“I’m fine. The baby is fine. My head hit the door, not my stomach.”

Knives closes the door gently, and I watch as he walks around the truck, kicking the dirt and hitting himself in the head with his hand. The guy is too hard on himself. He finally opens the driver’s side door and climbs in, cranks the engine, and the grumbles vibrate my ass, but they tickle my stiches and I wince.

I’m real tired of these damn stitches, but it’s my fault. Pain is karma, and I deserve it. I dig in my pocket for a pain killer, break it in half because I don’t want to be loopy, and toss it in my mouth.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve seen Rachel. I’m excited. Don’t tell, Doc, but his mom is hot. I’d totally—”

“Nope, don’t tell me. Please, don’t tell me.” I stop him, not wanting to hear what he thinks. Eric’s mom is beautiful, but I don’t want to think of her like that.

“Right. You’re right.” He whips out of the parking lot, and my back slams against the seat. The tires spin, and the bed fishtails. Braveheart opens the gate just in time before Knives is speeding down the road. I grasp the ‘oh-shit’ handle above me, and my fingers dig into the middle console.

He’s worried about smacking my head against the door, but not my life while he drives? I just made peace with myself. I don’t really feel like seeing my brains scattered along the road. “Why are we checking on her? Rachel doesn’t like to be bothered unless it’s by Doc.”

“Knives,” I sigh. “She’s sick. Really sick. I want to check on her. She and Eric didn’t leave on a great note. She has cancer. Terminal. Doc hasn’t told anyone. I’ve only told Reaper so I can go check on her. And since…” We fly over the hill and catch a few inches of air and land on a rough bounce. My stomach turns, and the baby doesn’t like the speed. “Can you slow down a little? I’m not feeling so hot.”

“Oh, sure.” He slams his foot on the brake to slow down, and I fly forward, catching myself on the dash.

Note to freaking self, never drive with Knives again.

“Better?” he asks as he speeds up.

Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up.

“Sure,” I grumble.

“Now, why is she sick? The flu or some shit?” he asks.

I hold a hand over my stomach as we jump over another hill. “She has breast cancer. Terminal. Are you not listening to me?”

“What!” He slams on the brakes again, and my head almost slams against the dash. “No, no, not Rachel. No.” Denial is thick in his voice as he leans his arms against the steering wheel.

“Doc hasn’t told anyone. He isn’t taking it well. So keep it to yourself. I’m telling you because you’re coming with me to check on her.”

He jerks the wheel right to turn down her street, and my body slides left, smashing against Knives. I hold on to the door as the tires skid, and I swear, I know we’re about to tip over. This is it. I’m going to die.

Knives then takes a left into her driveway and slams the truck in park. I gasp for air, trying not to throw up, but I can’t manage. I open the door and stick my head out, puking all over Rachel’s beautiful daisies.

Ugh, I’m so sorry, Rachel.

“You can’t drive worth a damn,” I mutter, wiping my mouth off.

“Did you die?” he asks, climbing out of the truck.

“No, but—”

“Stop being dramatic.” He rolls his eyes as he helps me out of the truck by swinging me in his arms.

“Nope, put me down or I swear, I’ll beat you with my crutches, Knives. All the movement is making me sick.”

“The baby?” he asks, horrified.

“The baby,” I agree, and he gently places my feet on the ground, then grabs my crutches from the bed of the truck.

I tuck them under my arms, sweating already from the effort of hopping toward the door and the Vegas sun searing my shoulders. Knives is in front of me, arms out, as if he’s waiting on