It happened so fast.

One minute, she was running with her stride, keeping up with the speed. The next, her right foot landed half on the band, half on the side rail.

She went down too quickly to catch herself, or at least catch herself with an arm or a hand. Instead, she hit the console hard, bounced, and nearly sanded her face off on the belt because the stop key she had so carefully put in the machine was not attached to her clothing.

So the treadmill just kept running.

For a second, she was too stunned to move—but then a shot of burning pain was enough to get her flipping over from wherever she’d landed. God, the nauseating stink of toasting flesh made her nose crinkle.

That was when she saw the shitkickers.

Right next to her face.

Abruptly, there were all kinds of people talking above her, and she tried to track what they were saying, but something was in her eyes. And her head hurt. Why did her head hurt?

“…Doc Jane, right away.”

“…stretcher?”

“Fast. Hurry!”

Flopping around with her hand, she tried to get the sweat out of her eyes so she could see better.

Not sweat. Blood: When she looked at the palm she’d passed over her face, it was smudged with bright red blood.

Oh, crap. She’d hurt herself fairly badly.

And all because she’d been being a chick.

Damn it.

When Paradise went down across the weight room, Craeg nearly threw the barbell off to the side to run over to her. But you didn’t do that with six hundred and eighty pounds—not unless you wanted to hurt yourself, or hurt somebody else.

With as much control as he could spare, he moved forward one step and relied on the Brothers’ help getting the load back on the supports. Then all three of them hightailed it over. Craeg went for the stop key, yanking it out—because she was way too close to that goddamn band, her crumpled body half on, half off the fucking piece of shit.

“Paradise?” he said.

As Butch knelt down beside her, Craeg nearly yanked the guy out of the way, but that was ridiculous. For one, the Brother was a teacher. For another, there was no bigger announcement that Paradise and he were up to something than if he went all territorial over her in an emergency fucking situation.

“Paradise?” Craeg repeated. “Paradise…”

She sat up when she heard him say her name, and then she turned to look to him—oh, God. There was blood. So much … fucking hell, he was going to pass out.

The Brothers barked commands at each other and then Tohr left to get help. Which meant there was a space next to her to fill, and Craeg’s body took advantage of that before he had a conscious thought to move.

“I’m fine,” she said, batting at hands and sitting up. “I just feel stupid. I don’t need help.”

Ripping off his shirt, he wadded it into a ball and pressed the fabric to the leaker over her eye. “Shut up,” he muttered as she started to argue with him. “You’re going to the clinic. You probably need stitches.”

“It’s only a little cut.”

“What exactly do you think all this red stuff means.”

“No reason to get hysterical—”

“I’m not the one arguing with…”

They went back and forth, terse words crisscrossing and canceling one another out. It wasn’t until they paused to take a breath that he realized everybody in the weight room was staring at them with a collective well-isn’t-this-news.

Shit.

Whatever, he needed to make sure she consented to treatment first. Then he’d worry about all the conclusions that were being jumped to.

And yes, he was the one who picked her up and put her on the gurney.

And yes, if any other male, including her little buddy Peyton over there, or either of the Brothers, had touched her, he would have bitten the male’s arm off.

Out in the corridor, she was still fighting with him, and he knew it was because she had scared herself and was burning off the fear.

“Ridiculous.” But at least she was holding his shirt against her face. “I just need to rinse my face off and it’ll stop.”

“Yeah, ’cause a little water’s really going to help that two-inch slice up there.”

“This is overkill!”

“And you went to med school when?”

As they came up to the clinic door, he intended to go in there with her, but Butch stepped in front of him. “You need to go back to class.”

Craeg opened his mouth to argue—and that was when he knew he’d lost his damn mind. He’d properly met the female, what, four nights ago, tops? This was inappropriate.

Even so, his head shook back and forth. “I’m not leaving.”

“They’re going to have to examine her,” Butch countered. “All of her, if you get my drift.”

Craeg cursed and took one last glance through the slowly closing door as Paradise transferred herself from the gurney to the exam table. As if sensing he was no longer with her, she glanced up in confusion, looking for him.

“I, ah…” Craeg cleared his throat. “I’d like to see her after she’s finished.”

“If that’s cool with her, you got it.”

Craeg nodded and commanded his feet to do an about-face and head back in the weight room’s direction. It was a good half minute before they responded, and talk about sluggish—his legs took their damn sweet time getting him back where he needed to be.