“She’s your sister,” he told Dawg, his gaze connecting with the other man’s, knowing he could make an enemy of him in this second. “You want answers, you’ll have to get them from her.”
“Let me down.” Piper struggled in his arms.
Put her down? Was she insane? The second Dawg saw her limping, he’d go damned ballistic.
“Fuck! I’ll be damned if I will.” Tightening his hold on her, he moved forward, more than surprised as the Mackays parted and allowed him to pass.
Pulling her keys from where he’d tucked them into his jeans at the hospital, he called back to the three men following them, “Her bags are in the truck, if you want to make yourselves useful and bring them in.”
At least one set of footsteps paused behind them.
“Like hell,” Dawg growled. “She can have them later.”
Jed shrugged.
“I should have stayed where I was,” she whispered. “Why didn’t I stay where I was?”
“They would have found out,” he warned her. “Want me to tell you how many contacts Timothy has on the police force there?”
“Where?” Dawg snapped behind him. “I thought you were just the fucking chauffeur?”
Holding her securely as he unlocked her door, Jed glimpsed her expression from the corner of his eye and restrained a sigh. She was shutting down fast. He could feel it, and he hated it. When Piper shut down, her rational and logic went out the fucking window, especially if she was dealing with her brother. She didn’t do confrontations well, though he knew she would never admit to it. She buried her fear instead and faced the world with a brutal ice that sliced her deeper than it did those she was facing, once she had time to think and consider what she said during those moments.
Stepping into her bedroom, he strode to the bed in the center of the small suite, laid her on it, then watched in resignation as she jumped from the mattress to face the three men entering the room behind them, the moment he placed her on it.
“Go home, Dawg.”
The lights flipped on, and for the first time Dawg had a full, unobstructed view of her face.
“God, Piper.” It was Natches who breathed out the protest. “Sweetheart, what the hell happened to you?”
Dawg looked like he had taken a blow to the balls and was having trouble catching enough breath to even fold to the floor.
“Don’t the three of you have wives and children of your own to torment?” She questioned them harshly as she tugged at the soft cotton material of the blouse she had worn home.
The light, neutral tone of the gray blouse did nothing to hide the damage done to her fragile face, or where it extended along her shoulder and into the scooped neckline of the garment.
It was one of her creations, he knew—one she was exceptionally proud of. Unfortunately, the light color only emphasized the darkness of the bruises.
“Who did this?” Dawg grated, his voice harsh.
Piper drew herself up, the last hint of any emotion leaving her face.
“I said leave.” The demand in her voice was impossible to miss.
Just as arrogant, just as condescending as Dawg could be himself, she faced him with icy refusal, her gaze never flickering beneath the fury in his.
“Dawg, let her rest.” Jed placed himself between them. “Ordering her isn’t going to get you anywhere.”
Dawg’s fists clenched at his sides, the need to strike out, to take vengeance, clear in his expression and the tension in his large body.
“Get out of my way, Jed.”
“Get out of her room!” Jed countered, determination hardening his voice. “You’re not going to yell at her, and you’re sure as hell not going to attempt to force answers from her. Just go home and see if you can’t ask nicely next
time.”
Who was more surprised, he wondered, when the three Mackays did just as he ordered—turned and left without another word—himself or Piper?