Donovan (Golden Glades Henchmen MC #6) Read Online Jessica Gadziala

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Biker, Crime, MC Tags Authors: Series: Golden Glades Henchmen MC Series by Jessica Gadziala
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Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
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No, it wasn’t.

But I also hadn’t been twiddling my thumbs and counting my money in the years between running street races and joining the MC either.

It did feel more personal than club-related. Catching me on a backroad, wanting to run me over. That shit felt intimate.

But who knew?

The world was full of crazy-ass people.

“Let’s worry about the who later,” Huck suggested, always a leader who was willing to take shit as it came, not wasting the present worrying about the future. “The guys cleared out the party and the women are at my house with the kids, where they can be protected.”

Since he’d built his place on the grounds of the clubhouse. Che, too, lived right next door in Harmon’s old house. It was the other guys who lived a little further away.

“Think it’s time to take a page out of Reign’s book,” Huck said, speaking to himself, referencing the president of our mother chapter in Navesink Bank, “and build onto the clubhouse. Maybe a big safe room for the women and kids for this type of shit.”

So, okay, maybe he was worrying about the future. And who could blame him when he had a whole litter of kids to take care of? As well as all the other club kids.

I, for one, thought the clubhouse could use some more space. Even just for the men, since Huck was actively trying to increase our numbers. So as much as living in a construction zone sucked, it was probably a good idea.

“Here we are,” Che called back.

Lying in the trunk, I couldn’t see until Huck came out, popping up the door, and letting me see Ama standing there with one of her nurses, a gurney at their side.

“Oh, good. You left his helmet on,” Ama said, making Seeley smirk, proud of himself for anticipating his woman’s wishes. “Hey, Donovan. You feeling as rough as you look?” Ama asked, moving aside to let the guys transfer me to the gurney.

“Worse, probably,” I admitted as she wrapped a strap around me, then started pushing me toward the clinic.

Thanks both to the club, and Teddy’s generosity, the clinic she ran that was in a rough area, had seen a lot of updates recently.

New equipment, new supplies, even new flooring and paint that it had been in desperate need of.

“You guys can wait out here,” Ama said, pointedly, to the guys. We might have been her extended family, but she was still a doctor, and she wanted to give me some privacy as she rolled me back into her biggest exam room, and promptly started cutting off my clothing.

“I know this is ridiculous, given that I am with a biker, but I have always hated motorcycles for this very reason,” Ama said, wincing as she looked at me. “I mean, sure, cars wreck all the time. And, yeah, if you aren’t wearing a belt, the damage can be horrific and fatal. But bikes are almost always worse.”

As someone who had wrecked a bunch of cars in my youth, and sustained mostly minor injuries from those accidents, I had to agree that this was definitely worse.

“This road rash must feel miserable,” Ama said as she started examining my body.

My arms and legs got the worst of the rash thanks to my slack shorts and short sleeve dress shirt. But where my shirt had ripped while dragging across the ground, I had some on my stomach and chest as well, just not as severe.

“I have to clean all of this. And then the treatment will involve antibiotic cream. Daily. If not more. You don’t want to get infected and this is a large surface area where infection could slip in. But we are going to wrap most of it in gauze for a while as added protection.”

“Okay,” I agreed as the nurse rolled a little silver tray over with said gauze, ointment, and what looked like plastic bottles full of saline.

“How are your ribs?” she asked, pressing at them.

“That one, fuck,” I hissed as she probed.

“Okay. I have a portable x-ray. I want to get a look and make sure it is just bruised, not cracked. Or if it is a break, how severe.”

With that, she kept moving over me, feeling, poking, manipulating my joints.

“This is absolutely broken,” she told me when she got to my wrist, and I had a vague memory of trying to brace my fall. “So, I will get an X-ray of this as well. Hopefully, you can avoid surgery and pins. Which, obviously, I can’t do. You guys need to befriend a surgeon,” she added, then went toward the clasp of my helmet.

“He knew you would want me to keep it on,” I said.

“Smart man, Seeley,” she said, and her fondness was clear in her soft smile. “Does your neck hurt?”

“Only when I’m breathing,” I said, getting an airy half-laugh out of her.


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