Violent Angel (Pretty Broken Things #1)

23. Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Three

“ Y ou’re not paying for this.” Elliot rested his head on his folded arms on the table in the clinic, where the stitches he’d torn were being repaired.

Nexus’ top surgeon, Dr. Stephan Fisher, hadn’t been thrilled when Winter showed up at his house in the middle of the night to drag him here. He also got a little pissy at Tig’s threat to make his address public if he reported any of them.

But the second he saw the damage Elliot had done to himself, he ordered him onto the table, and got to work.

No one would blame him for charging extra.

Except, Winter insisted on using his blood credits, instead of Elliot’s.

“I am. And Tig’s taking care of the cleaning crew.” Winter folded his arms over his chest, looking down at him over the rim of his glasses, refusing to back down. “Don’t you get it, man? There’s four of us left. We won’t survive if we don’t stick together. Your days of being a lone wolf who really isn’t one? Are over.”

Tig skidded into the clinic, splashing himself with hot chocolate from the cup he was carrying. He shoved the cup at Damon, who sat as close as Dr. Fisher would let him, then bounced in place, waving around a manilla envelope.

Catching Tig around the waist when the doctor snapped a glare in his direction, Damon set down the cup. “Deep breaths, kiddo. Did you burn yourself?”

“Looks like you didn’t traumatize your boyfriend too bad, Elli.” Winter chuckled as he joined Damon in checking on Tig, but frowned when the little redhead burst into tears. “Shit. Waterworks. We should get Lux.”

For the first time since he’d started on redoing the torn stitches, Dr. Fisher spoke up. “You bring that mutt back in here, and I’m shooting one of you.”

Tig sniffed, gasping in air as he glanced over. “Not the dog? That would upset Lux.”

“No, not the dog.” Dr. Fisher smiled warmly, then tied off the last stitch. “I’m not a monster. But I’m already risking my medical license with this nonsense, so I might as well go all in. See that case over there? My key’s in my jacket by the door. Go take one of the little blue pills I gave you last time.”

Winter’s brows shot up. “Viagra?”

“Xanax. He’s having a panic attack.”

“Oh…” Winter made Tig sit and went to fetch the pill himself. “You can tell just by looking at him?”

The doctor peeled off his gloves and tossed them in the trash. “I can tell because I’ve been treating him for them since he was twelve. You all have your own struggles, which is the only reason I tolerate bullshit like tonight. Now I will give you fifteen minutes of privacy to discuss whatever that is, but then I want you out.”

Elliot stepped gingerly off the table, starting to pull on his boxers and pants, but Damon beat him to it. “You’re not curious?”

“Not even a little.” Dr. Fisher gave him a level look. “I was serious about the no sex for two months. If Gerard or your boyfriend here don’t understand, let me know and I will discuss it with them. Personally.”

I never realized how much I like this doctor.

His grin earned him a dry look from Damon.

Then his man turned to the doctor. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll enforce it, even if I have to tie him up every night. With a chastity belt.”

“Ah, I see.” Dr. Fisher clucked his tongue. “Give me a call if you need any recommendations.”

“I will.”

Scratch that. Dr. Fisher fucking sucks.

“Don’t pout, my little python.” Damon wrapped his arms around Elliot from behind and kissed his cheek. “There’s plenty of other things I can do to you. But that control you gave me? I’ll be using it from this point on.”

Winter groaned as he opened the envelope, pulling out a photo and a small card. “Shut up, you’re making me hard. I wouldn’t blame Elliot if he jumped you in your…” His lips parted as he trailed off, tears glistening on his cheeks. He held out the photo to Elliot. “Please tell me I’m not imagining things?”

The picture was of a man, hanging by one wrist to a pipe, wincing in pain. His other arm hung by his side, a dirty bandage covering where it was missing from just below his elbow.

Damon looked over Elliot’s shoulder and let out a low curse. “That’s Parker. Whoever’s been killing Eros’ Eight sent Gerard his arm.”

Mouth dry, Elliot read the card.

Dear Elliot,

I believe I may have been too subtle, but I will amend that now.

No matter how often I’ve tried to replace you, I can’t seem to forget the one who got away.

Have you forgotten me?

Because if you have, I won’t stop until your memory is very clear.

You may join me at my cabin to discuss this further, or you may accept the gift I’ve left for you in the basement of the café.

Either way, I will be seeing you again soon.

Warmest regards,

Julien Saint Claude.

“We have to go after Saint Claude, don’t we?” Tig leaned into Winter’s side, his whole body trembling. “The café…everyone’s dead. The place is full of big armed men. They look almost like Nexus mercs, but…not.”

Elliot took a deep breath. “They could be mercs or state police or…both. He’s a politician we were supposed to take out. Gerard was searching for him—he’d gone off the map, I think…I don’t know, I always focus on the next mission. I’d put him out of my head.”

“He obviously didn’t put you out of his.” Damon rubbed his arms. “Whatever you decide, I’ll support you.”

Somehow, Elliot had a feeling Damon already knew what that decision would be. Not the choice of a specially trained merc with only one goal in life—to kill as many evil fucks as possible.

Tonight, he wouldn’t focus on how many people he could save.

I’m gonna focus on just one.

“We’re going after Parker. And whatever it takes? We’re bringing him home.”