The Surgeon: A Curvy Girl MC Romance
The Surgeon: Chapter 3

‘Let me get this straight,’ Jude ‘Fifth’ Despora says, his deep voice a rough growl of sound. ‘Her sister was murdered by an MC, you moved her into your place, and failed to mention that you’re the VP of an MC?’

‘Something like that,’ I mutter, jogging up the steps toward the glass doors of the luxury high rise across Main Street from Texas Children’s. Located in south-central Houston, the Texas Medical Center campus is the largest medical complex in the world. It sprawls across two square miles of the city, housing twenty-one different hospitals, a plethora of medical institutions, and various associated facilities.

Apartment buildings like this one have cropped up all over the place, making it easier for the people who work here and the families seeking care to get from A to B without having to commute in. I keep an apartment here for days when I’m too beat to make the drive back to Silver Spoon Falls after seeing patients at the hospital here…which happens often. My primary practice is in Silver Spoon Falls, but the hospital there simply isn’t equipped to handle some of my more fragile pediatric cases. I perform a lot of surgeries here and hold a heart clinic once a week as well. I end up spending a good portion of my time in Houston.

‘You’re making me look bad,’ Fifth complains. He’s a lawyer, hence the road name. He likes to plead the fifth whenever he thinks it’ll keep him out of trouble. It rarely works outside of the courtroom. He may be a suave bastard, but we know him too well to fall for it. ‘All this time, I’ve been telling everyone I’m the third smartest man in the club behind you and Hacker. Clearly, I’ve been overestimating your intelligence and underestimating mine.’

‘Asshole,’ I mutter, laughing. ‘I have a plan.’

‘To frighten her off? Because that’s precisely what you’re going to do,’ he warns me, his disapproval loud and clear. ‘If she has a problem with MCs, lying by omission isn’t going to win you any points with her, Hands. You know it as well as I do.’

‘I’m not lying by omission,’ I say, ducking through the door when the doorman holds it open for me. ‘I’m doling out the truth in pieces that make it more easily digestible for a traumatized woman who just lost her sister to a bunch of assholes.’

‘You’re so full of shit, for a minute there, you almost sounded like a politician,’ Fifth snorts.

‘Well, if it isn’t a lawyer calling the kettle black,’ I drawl, leaning up against a column to wait for Samara. Fifth’s moral compass points firmly north. If Cash is the heart of our brotherhood, Fifth is our conscience. He keeps us all in line, makes sure we keep our noses clean and our heads on straight, but I give him hell about being a lawyer anyway. It keeps him humble.

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 replace 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 replace 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 replace 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.

‘Hey,’ she says when she spots me. Her gaze dances up and down my body, her cheeks heating before she quickly glances down at her at shoes. Fuck, I like how sweet she gets when she’s feeling shy. I can’t wait to see her looking at me the same way when she’s spread across my bed, wearing nothing but a smile and my love bites. My dick stiffens at the thought.

‘You cold, angel?’ I ask, grinning at her.

‘I’m always cold,’ she says, scrunching up her nose at me. ‘I thought Texas was supposed to be horrible in the summer.’

‘It’s eighty-five degrees outside. That’s flip-flop weather.’ I push away from the column, strolling toward her.

‘It’s ninety in San Diego,’ she says, craning her neck back to look up at me.

My smile grows when her little nose turns up, as if to punctuate her feelings about the inferiority of Texas weather. I happen to agree with her on that front. My mom runs a successful modeling agency for plus-size models in Los Angeles. My siblings and I grew up in Beverly Hills. I didn’t move to Texas until I started my residency at Baylor. The weather sucks, especially when the humidity kicks in, but the rest of the state isn’t so bad. It’s home to me now.

‘Come on,’ I murmur, leading her to the elevator with a hand on the small of her back. ‘Let’s go up and get you settled.’

She mumbles something under her breath that sounds like a complaint, but she doesn’t speak again until we’re on the elevator. As soon as the doors close behind us, she scurries to the far corner. Her brows furrow when I swipe my keyfob and press the button for the top floor.

‘I thought you said you had an apartment here.’

‘I do.’

‘A penthouse isn’t an apartment.’

‘It’s a penthouse apartment.’

She huffs at me. ‘I should really be paying you rent if I’m going to be staying here, Dr. Grimes.’

‘Tate.’

‘What?’ The little groove between her brows deepens.

‘My name is Tate. That’s what you call me. Not Dr. Grimes. Tate.’

She’s a stubborn little thing, I’ll give her that. As soon as I say it, her lips compress into a thin line, her gold eyes narrowing further. ‘I don’t think that’s very appropriate,’ she says. ‘You’re my niece’s surgeon.’

I prowl toward her across the chrome and glass elevator, fighting a smirk when she plasters herself up against the wall like she plans to climb it to avoid me. Once I’m in her personal space, close enough to touch her but not close enough to make her feel like she can’t get away from me, I tilt my head down toward her.

‘I don’t give a fuck if it’s appropriate or not, angel,’ I murmur, skimming my nose along her crown. After spending a week in the hospital with Scout, she should smell like the place, but she doesn’t. She smells like coconut and sunshine, like the beach and home. ‘You’ll learn soon enough that I make my own rules. When you’re sleeping under my roof, you’ll call me Tate.’

She makes a soft sound in the back of her throat that turns my dick to steel. That needy whine, that shocked gasp. Fuck, I can’t wait to rattle this woman and turn every single thing she thinks she knows about doctors and men like me on its head. I’m not like any man she’s ever met before. I’m her man. Already, I feel the connection between us growing, feel the need to possess and claim this delicate, fierce angel beating at me.

‘Back up,’ she whispers, her voice shaking.

‘Not until you call me by my name, Samara.’

I’m pushing the bounds of propriety to their breaking point. I know it. She knows it. We both know she could probably have my job for this…but we both know she won’t. She wants me too. I saw it lurking in those gold eyes this morning. I see it blazing in them now. She feels the same undeniable pull. She’s just afraid to give in to it.

‘Say it, baby,’ I demand on a whisper, running my lips along her crown this time. I’m not sure why I need her to give me this so fucking badly but I do. I don’t want to be Dr. Grimes to her, especially not when we’re alone.

‘Dammit, Tate,’ she whispers.

I press my lips to her temple in a soft kiss. Her body trembles against mine. Even through her oversized hoodie, I feel how soft she is. ‘I’m going to save your niece, angel. And while I’m doing that, we’re going to get to know each other. Intimately.’

‘You’re Scout’s surgeon,’ she reminds me again.

‘And we both know if I slipped my hand inside your panties right now, they’d be soaked for me,’ I growl, narrowing my eyes on her. ‘We also know they haven’t been that way for any other doctor you’ve met this week. Or any man in recent memory, have they, Samara?’

‘I…’

My warning growl quickly silences whatever lie she was going to tell.

She shakes her head instead, silently agreeing with me.

The elevator shudders to a stop on the top floor. The doors slide open.

Samara startles like a frightened doe.

‘Easy, angel,’ I croon, running a hand down her side. ‘Easy.’

‘Easy for you to say,’ she sniffs, glaring at me. ‘You didn’t just step out of your life and into the Twilight Zone.’

I chuckle, taking a step back and holding out my hand. ‘This isn’t the Twilight Zone. This is your life now that I’m in it. I guess Gage didn’t tell you everything about me, did he?’

‘I guess not,’ she mutters, reluctantly letting me pull her from the elevator. ‘He certainly left out the parts about you being overgrown and bossy.’

‘Nah, angel. I’m not bossy. I’m the boss.’

She snorts, shaking her head as a small smile plays at her lips. ‘Whatever you say, bossy,’ she says. And then she stops walking and does a double take, gaping at the apartment around us. ‘Holy crap, Tate. This place is amazing.’

I cast a critical eye around, trying to see what she does. The walls are all glass, looking out over the Medical Center to the south and west, and Rice University to the north. Automatic blinds black out the windows with the touch of a button, turning the apartment into a fortress. Thick rugs cover the porcelain floors. Expensive bowls and vases rest on equally as expensive tables. But the furniture is soft and plush, made for comfort more than style.

The truth is, I don’t give a shit about impressing anyone when I’m here. I care about sleeping so I’m not useless to the patients fighting for their lives across the street. If I’m not at the top of my game, I’m no use to them. I didn’t pick the penthouse because it screams money. I picked it because it’s completely soundproofed. Nothing intrudes, allowing me to sleep like the dead.

‘It’s better than a chair in the waiting room,’ I murmur. ‘You’ll be able to rest here. And sharing a bathroom with me is a hell of a lot better than sharing it with fifteen random strangers. I clean up after myself, and I have fluffy towels.’

‘Sh-sharing with you?’ She blinks wide eyes at me.

‘Mmhmm. There’s only one bedroom.’ I wink at her. ‘Don’t worry though, baby. I won’t tell anyone how much you like to cuddle at night.’

Her mouth pops open.

I close it with a finger beneath her chin and then brush my thumb over her bottom lip. It’s so damn soft. Christ, I can’t wait to taste it. ‘I’m teasing, Samara,’ I say quietly. ‘I’ll keep my hands to myself until you’re ready for me to put them all over that beautiful body of yours.’

‘I’m killing Gage,’ she whispers.

‘You can’t.’ I tap her on her nose, smiling. ‘Scout needs you.’

‘Fine,’ she huffs. ‘I’ll kill him when she’s eighteen.’

‘Hey, ladybug,’ Samara whispers, running her palm gently over Scout’s head. ‘I brought a special visitor for you tonight. He’s bossy, but he’s a doctor, so I guess he can’t help it.’

I smile at her comment, amused. She’s been calling me bossy all evening. I don’t mind. She can call me whatever she wants. It doesn’t change the facts. I know what I want and what I want is her.

Scout’s resting comfortably in her crib, her tiny lips slightly parted. Her skin is ashen and a pale blue from lack of oxygen. It’s common with her condition. Because there’s only one vessel instead of two, oxygen-rich blood and oxygen-poor blood mix on the way out of the heart, meaning not enough of the former gets to the lungs. Her condition hasn’t deteriorated enough for her to require a ventilator just yet but it’s close. Without surgery, her health will continue to decline. In a matter of weeks, her lungs simply won’t be able to keep up. They’ll fail. Eventually, her heart will too.

Congenital defects are a particularly cruel twist of genetics. They form long before science even has a hope of stopping them. By the time most parents even know something is wrong, the course is already set. In Scout’s case, even if Siobhan had been tested during pregnancy, the outcome wouldn’t have changed. Scout would have been in the operating room sooner, but there is no unraveling a congenital defect.

It seems like she rests a little easier with Samara crooning to her. Her heart rate slows, her tiny body sinking a little deeper into sedation. She’s a beautiful little girl, a dark-haired angel like her aunt. My heart pulses with emotion as I watch Samara with her. She’s a natural, the fierce love she feels for the tiny baby pouring out of her. It pulses in the air around her, shining as bright as the sun.

Not for the first time today, I replace myself awestruck by her. She gave up everything without hesitation to be here for Scout. She’s holding it together admirably when anyone else would be broken on the floor.

‘Were you and your sister close?’ I ask, wanting to understand her. Needing to understand her on levels I’m not sure I can put into words.

She freezes for a moment and then slowly relaxes, stroking her hand over Scout’s head again. ‘We were. Once.’ She sighs. ‘Siobhan left home my junior year of high school. We kept in touch regularly for the first couple of years, and then things changed. After our mom died, she grew more distant.’

‘Your mom died?’

She bobs her head in a tired nod. ‘Three years ago, ‘ she says, her voice soft. ‘She had too much to drink and decided to get behind the wheel of her car anyway.’

I frown, leaning back against the glass wall. ‘Was this a common occurrence?’

‘Common enough.’

Jesus.

‘Our mom died instantly,’ she continues after a moment. ‘Siobhan came home for the funeral. That was the last time I saw her. I tried to convince her to move back after that, but she seemed happy.’ She huffs out a sad breath. ‘I should have tried harder.’

‘Hey.’ I push away from the wall and cross toward her before gently turning her to face me. ‘No one can predict the future, angel. Don’t force yourself to carry guilt that doesn’t belong to you. You didn’t know.’

‘Did she?’ she whispers, staring up at me with wide, worried eyes. ‘I keep asking myself that question, Tate. How long was Danny involved with this club? How long was she involved? I have so many damn questions.’

‘Then we’ll replace the answers,’ I say, pulling her into my arms. Surprisingly, she doesn’t fight me. She lets me comfort her. ‘But I won’t allow you to feel guilt that doesn’t belong to you. It belongs to the club who did this to her.’

‘I hate them,’ she whispers.

‘I know.’ I dig my thumbs into the back of her neck, massaging the tendons. ‘But not all MCs are the same.’

‘How do you know?’

Tell her, a little voice whispers. You have to tell her.

‘Because I’m not,’ I murmur. ‘Because my brothers aren’t.’

She goes rigid in my arms and then pulls back. Her confused gaze meets mine. ‘What do you mean, you’re not?’ she asks. ‘Are you saying that you’re in an–?’

‘Yes.’

Fear trickles into her gold eyes, stopping my heart. Fuck. Seeing it there burns like corrosive acid. The last thing I want is for this incredible woman to fear me or my brothers.

‘We’re not them, Samara,’ I say, my voice soft, emphatic.

I’m not sure if she believes me or not. Scout’s night nurse bustles in, interrupting us before she can respond.

‘Hey, Dr. Grimes. Good evening, Miss Lansing,’ she says, smiling between us. ‘It’s time for Miss Scout’s meds.’

Samara stares at me for a long, silent moment and then spins away, her expression indecipherable.

Fuck. I should have stuck to the plan.