Lucky II (Patten Bodyguards Book 6) Read online

  Dammit. I could’ve sworn on a stack of bibles that the woman in the bar that night was in her mid-twenties. I made one bad decision. I got into a car with a beautiful stranger who wanted a quick lay. I was just being a good guy, happy to accommodate but I’ll get it all sorted out. I have to. Otherwise all my dreams are down the shitter.

  While I’m deep in those unhappy thoughts, Stan swivels on his heel and slams the door to let me know how pissed off he is. At least for now, I guess I’ll have to make nice with Barbie here.

  My right knee hurts like a mother-fucker as I hobble back to where she’s standing. Even though she heard the whole interaction, I have to give her credit. She doesn’t seem the least bit phased. Instead of giving me lip, she takes my cane, puts it in a corner, and then points to the therapy table.

  “Sit.”

  Today is going to be a big fucking waste of time. Paper crunches under my butt when I hop up and cross my arms over my chest.

  “Lie back.” The pretty blond removes her coat and hangs it up in a closet.

  Then while I stare at the tin ceiling, she pulls my sweats up, pokes at my bum knee, which makes the tendons burn like hell.

  “Next time, come in shorts. It’s easier.” Her blond brows furrow, lifting my leg as if it weighs nothing at all.

  “There isn’t going to be a next time.” I send her my perfected glower as she pushes my thigh into my chest.

  That fucking hurts. “Enough!” I twist my leg out of her grasp.

  She stares coldly, voice condescending. “Ten more times. You count.”

  I do as she commands, feeling a bit childish but if she makes my injury worse, I swear I will fucking sue this place.

  Once done with that torture, she turns to the treadmill, sets a too-fast pace, and says, “Walk.”

  I stare incredulously at the timer. I can’t believe this little bitch. Who does she think she is? Without my cane, that’s impossible. After sixty agonizing seconds, when she’s not looking, I reach to slow it down.

  Of course, she’s watching and slaps my hand. “Leave it, Mr. Quinn. Concentrate. Work on your gait. Tuck in your abs. You’re walking like a duck.”

  Blow it out your ass, Barbie.

  Keep Reading