Keeping What's His: Tate (Porter Brothers Trilogy Book 1) by Jamie Begley Page B

down. Then Sutton went to the linen closet, pulling out several towels before going back to Tate. She pried his hand away from the dish cloth he had pressed against his stab wound, placing a clean towel down on the gaping hole. She thought she might throw up herself.
    “You should go to the hospital.”
    “No.” Tate groaned in pain when she pressed down on the towel, trying to stop the bleeding. “I should have kept my ass inside when I heard those shots.”
    “Yes, you should have,” Sutton agreed as she heard the sound of motors from outside. “What in the world is that?”
    “From the sound, I think my brother-in-law brought a few of his friends to help.”
    Sutton left Tate on the couch, going to the window to look outside. Her mouth dropped open at the sight of her driveway being filled with motorcycles.
    “I’m not opening the door to them.”
    Tate gave a strangled laugh. “How many did he bring?”
    “Six.”
    “The fucker couldn’t be inconspicuous if he tried.”
    Sutton jumped when she heard a knock on the door.
    “Let them in.”
    “Hell no. You’re safer in jail.”
    From the look of the men she had seen getting off those motorcycles, help wasn’t what they were going to be giving Tate. They were more likely to finish the job of his unknown assailant.
    “Let them inside. They’ll know how to stop the bleeding.”
    Sutton reluctantly went to the door. Her hand trembling, she opened the door slowly so the group of men could file inside. She stood by the door, trying to decide if she should make a run for it while she had the opportunity. Or so she thought until she noticed one of the bikers standing outside the door with his arms crossed against his chest. He was wearing sunglasses and covered in tattoos.
    Sutton slammed the door in his face, deciding she was safer inside.
    Cash stood behind the couch, staring down at Tate while one of his friends went around the couch to squat down next to him, checking on his wound.
    “What in the fuck happened?”
    “Someone knocked me out, and then the bastard stabbed me while I was out and planted the gun on me that killed Lyle,” Tate answered Cash’s question, his voice filled with pain.
    “You sure you didn’t do it?”
    “I believe I would know if I blew someone’s brains out.” Tate tried to shift away from the man who had picked up the disinfectant and gauze to clean his wound. “Dammit, Train, do you have to be so rough?”
    “You want me to stop the bleeding?” the man answered without remorse, continuing to work on him.
    Tate’s mouth snapped closed.
    Sutton went into the kitchen, turning off the boiling water. Using a hot pad, she carried the water into the living room, setting it on the coffee table so the biker named Train could reach it.
    When he shrugged off a small backpack, pulling out several items, she moved back, watching as he cleaned Tate then methodically sutured the wound. The other bikers stood silently as Tate cussed.
    “Rachel could have fixed me up without making me wish I had bled to death.”
    Cash’s mouth tightened. “Maybe so, but I’m not putting my child at risk because you’re a pussy.”
    “Rachel’s pregnant?”
    Cash nodded.
    “She didn’t tell me.”
    Sutton squashed the sympathy that his words stirred.
    “She was going to tell you this weekend when we came over to dinner after Holly and Logan came home. She wanted to tell you all together.”
    “Oh, I’m glad you didn’t tell her, then.”
    “I told her. I don’t keep any secrets from my wife. She understood why I didn’t want her to come. She wouldn’t have been able to stop herself from helping you.”
    Train stood up, reaching into his backpack and pulling out three bottles of pills. “One is for pain, one for infection, and the last one is an iron pill. All three of them are marked.”
    Sutton took them from him.
    “Give me one of those pain pills and some whiskey if you have it.”
    “I don’t, but I have some