Page 72 of Cain

“It’s just all over. Face got fucked up. The seatbelt did its thing—”

“But left some bruises.”

“Yeah. Did something to her knee too. And whiplash for sure. Maybe a concussion. She’s got no one to—”

“She can come back, Cain. Obviously. But maybe once she is feeling better, you can question her a little. I wanna know who is driving around on my fucking streets and running women off the road.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Okay. Check in later.”

I made my way back into the exam room, finding they’d removed the collar from her neck.

“No whiplash?” I asked.

“Mild,” Georgie said. “It doesn’t feel mild, but it’s mild.”

“What’d they say?”

“That I’ll probably have pain, stiffness, headaches, and limited movement. But that movement helps heal, so they don’t want me in a collar.”

“Sounds manageable. What else?”

“I have severe bruising across my chest and stomach from the seatbelt and a badly bruised knee, but they’re almost certain it’s not worse than that. I have… cuts. And a mild concussion. I was lucky.”

“Yeah, you really were.”

“But everything hurts,” she added as I sat down next to her on the bed.

“I know it does. When we get out of here, I will do everything I can to make you hurt less. But it might be a rough couple days.”

“It can’t. I have to—”

“Take care of yourself,” I cut her off. “That’s all you need to focus on now. Speaking of,” I said, grabbing her leg and giving it a little squeeze. “I was wondering if you would let me take care of you.”

“You don’t have—”

“Sweetheart, I want to. So I’m asking you to let me.”

She glanced over, her gaze searching my face. “Okay.”

“Would it be alright if I do that taking care of you at the clubhouse?” I asked. “If it’s important to you, we can use your motel room. But I would prefer you somewhere safer.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” I repeated. “I’m gonna ask how much longer until you get your discharge papers. And scripts, if you have any.”

Despite a few nudges, it was still over an hour before we had a prescription for anti-nausea medication and a prescription-strength acetaminophen.

When we made it outside, Briggs was still waiting there with the SUV, holding a coffee and opening the back door for us to slide in.

Georgie curled into me in the backseat, whimpering each time the car hit a pothole or jostled over uneven pavement.

“Sorry,” Briggs called, wincing in the rearview. “Almost there.”

“I’ll get you some acetaminophen as soon as we get there,” I promised her as she sniffled.

There were no local pharmacies open all night so we’d have to go the home remedy route for nausea.

But this was the club.