“Who?”
“It doesn’t matter.…”
Doesn’t matter? He had only two thoughts in his head: first make sure she was okay; and second, make sure whoever had done this never hurt her again.
“It matters to me. Tell me. Now.”
“You can growl and shout and threaten me all you want tomorrow, but right now, I just want to be alone.” She scrubbed her hand over her face. “I should just have gone with Banks to his place. He’s got a triple steel door. No Jaggers would be able to get through.”
“You should have come to me.”
She lay back on the pillows, seemingly unaware that the flimsy piece of satin she wore had slid to the side, exposing the crescent of her breast. His groin tightened painfully, and he dug his nails into his palm. Damn. Not now. Not when she was injured and looking at him like he was the last man on earth she wanted to see. But with adrenaline still pumping through his system, he was almost overwhelmed with the primal need to take her, hold her, make her his again. And then he would hunt down and kill the bastard who had hurt her.
“After what happened outside Peelers, you weren’t on the top of my list.”
His shoulders tensed. Not just because he had hurt her, but also because he’d never even considered she would look to another man for comfort or protection. And what if she had gone to Banks’s house? What if he’d found her lying in his bed? He’d have killed the bar owner most likely. Just the thought of her with another man sent rage coursing through his veins. “It’s my job to protect you.”
“You took my phone. Oh … and you betrayed me. Accused me of betraying you. Hurt me. So forgive me if I didn’t think of you when I needed protection.” She shifted in the bed and winced.
“You need medical treatment.” Jagger pulled out his phone. “I’ll call Doc. Take you back to the clubhouse.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
Goddamn it. Didn’t she understand she needed proper medical treatment and not a waitress and a bar owner fumbling with her wound, no doubt leaving her with an infection or a scar or worse? His hands fisted at his sides as he fought back the urge to throw her over his shoulder and carry her out the door. “You’re hurt.”
“I’m fine.” Her voice softened. “Dawn had a full first aid kit that she brought from the bar after the fight. And Banks knew what he was doing.”
But she wasn’t fine. He’d never seen her so pale, bruised, beaten. Even now, her hands shook and the spark was gone from her eyes. But instinct warned him not to push. He was lucky she was talking to him at all.
“I’ll check to make sure.” He found the bathroom down the hall and washed his hands, barely recognizing the strained, anxious face that looked back at him in the mirror. When had he last been so emotionally volatile? Not since Christel died.
When he returned to the room, Arianne had pulled the covers around her. She edged away when he sat on the bed and winced when he lifted her arm.
“What does a biker know about treating bullet wounds?”
“Field training in the army. Everyone was taught how to treat a bullet wound.”
She tilted her head to the side. “You were in the army?”
“Fourth Infantry Division. Two tours of Afghanistan.”
When she didn’t respond, a niggle of doubt worked its way through his mind. By way of distraction, he carefully removed the bandage and examined the wound, testing the edges with his thumbs for tenderness or infection. “I’ve rendered you speechless.”
“Why did you quit?” She blurted out. “How did you go from the army to being an outlaw biker?”
“I didn’t quit.” He felt a familiar heaviness in his chest. Although he had never regretted his decision to join the Sinners, the circumstances that led to the end of his military service still pained him. “I was honorably discharged. Shrapnel from a rocket-propelled grenade got lodged in my heart during a raid. Doctors said it was too risky to take it out and an even bigger risk to have me in the field. Couldn’t handle a desk job, so they booted me out.”
Concern replaced her curiosity, and she lightly stroked his forearm with her free hand. “You have shrapnel in your heart? Aren’t you worried that one day—?”
He waved a dismissive hand. “Only a problem if they have to open up my chest. That’s when there is a risk of it dislodging. Otherwise, there isn’t anything I can’t do. But despite all the medical reports, the army didn’t see it that way. They thought it was too much of a risk.”
“I’m sorry.”