Series: Silver Spoon MC Series by Nichole Rose
Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 38632 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 193(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 129(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38632 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 193(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 129(@300wpm)
Even without him to keep us on the straight and narrow, we aren't what Samara thinks. Not a single man in our club would kill—or die—for the patch on our cuts but for the men who earned it. We're brothers. Family. That doesn't make us criminals. We're doctors, lawyers, CEOs. Hell, Bender is a rockstar. Angel is actual royalty, a prince. But Samara has been through hell, and I don't blame her for judging MCs harshly. In her position, I'm not sure anyone else would feel any differently than she does right now.
An MC just killed her sister. They nearly killed an innocent child. Every single motherfucker involved deserves to fry for what they did. But we aren't them or anything like them. The best way I know how to prove that to Samara is by showing her who we are. I have no intentions of keeping the truth from her. I'm just going to give it to her in small doses. I don't want her running anywhere but to me. That'll just piss me off.
I can't even fucking explain it. Before she even looked at me, I felt her in my soul. The minute those gold eyes finally settled on me, something started roaring that she's mine. It hasn't stopped roaring ever since. As soon as I heal her niece's heart, I'm claiming hers. I'm not a man who loses, especially when it counts. I'll be damned if I lose this time. Samara and her niece are mine now. God help anyone who thinks different.
"Asshole," Fifth says, chuckling and then he sobers. "Since you clearly didn't call for my advice, I'm guessing you called to have me look into her sister's death? See what I can find out?"
"I'd appreciate it," I murmur.
"What do you have?"
"Her name was Siobhan Lansing. She died a little over a week ago outside of Dallas. Baby's father was a Danny Spangler," I say, relaying what little I know. Samara didn't fill me in on many details, and I didn't ask. When she tells me the full story, I don't want it to be because I demanded answers. I want it to be because she trusts me to hold her while she grieves the sister she obviously loved a great deal. She doesn't trust me right now, not with this.
I can't say I blame her for that, either. I know how fucking judgmental doctors are, how pretentious they can be. They've probably sat across from her all week, staring down their noses at her, accusation in their eyes when they discuss Scout's condition and how she should have had this surgery weeks ago. I'm guessing not one of them considered that it wasn't Siobhan's choice not to seek medical care during her pregnancy or after. I'm guessing not one of them knows she sacrificed her life to get her daughter to safety. I doubt they looked far enough into her case to find out.
It grates on my nerves to think of how many times Samara has had to bear the judgement of men who don't even understand true sacrifice. Her sister was a warrior, and so is she. Her entire world just changed and she's still standing. She's still fighting for her sister's memory and the baby she left behind. She's stronger at twenty-two than most men could ever hope to be, but I don't think she even realizes it. She's in survival mode, just trying to make it from minute to minute.
I've seen it a thousand times. When your kid is sick, nothing else matters. Scout might not be hers by birth, but she's going to be a hell of an aunt to that baby girl. She hasn't left her side all week.
I talked to Scout's care team this afternoon. I read her chart from cover to cover too. She's dangerously ill, but she's a fighter too. Her team is relieved I'm taking over. Dr. Shapiro is a good surgeon, but good isn't enough in a case like this. Scout doesn't need good. She needs the best. She needs me. Dr. Shapiro knows it as well as I do.
"I'll see what I can find out for you," Fifth says.
"Thanks, man."
"No problem. Good luck."
I disconnect and shove my phone into my pocket to wait for Samara.
Within five minutes, she ducks through the door, buried so deep in her hoodie she looks like she's in the Siberian wilderness instead of Houston in July. Her dark hair blows all around her face before she manages to bat it back into place, making me smile. She's fucking beautiful without even trying. She looks like she's headed to the gallows instead of standing in a luxury high rise.
I offered to meet her at the hospital, but she insisted on meeting me here instead. I don't think she wants anyone to know she's staying at my place. As if they aren't all going to know soon enough anyway. I plan to ensure they know she's mine. They won't be treating her with anything less than the respect she deserves, or they'll answer to me, plain and simple. Fuck their rules and their judgement.