by Joy Blood
“How about Will?”
“Nixon?” I snap, pissed for a whole other reason. He’s going to go accusing my guys for something like this? “No fucking way did any of my boys do this. Fuck no.” I raise my voice, and the forensics team looks my way as the officers slowly hover their hands over their guns. Pricks.
“Take a look around, Nate. He was clearly seeing the woman. Did you not know?” I’m so dumbstruck by his statement, I just stand there, mouth open like some asshole before I glance around the room. At first, I don’t see a damn thing that would indicate Nix was screwing Wexler, then a picture catches my eye, and I move closer. Framed on the TV stand is a photo of Nixon holding Wexler, kissing the now dead woman on the cheek as she laughs. Son of a bitch. Why the fuck wouldn’t he tell us about this? “I take it you didn’t know.”
I shake my head and continue to look around. “Nixon is on a run,” I lie through my teeth. “Been gone two days. Should be back tomorrow morning, if not tonight.” He looks at me skeptically, running his damn eyes, the same as his brother’s, over my face, trying to catch me in my lie. His stance is ridged. He knows I’m lying. Maybe not straight out, but he’s aware I’m not saying something.
“Have him come down to the station for questioning.” I nod and start toward the door, ready to get out of here. The stench of stale blood and death in the air is enough to rip my lungs apart. “Premo,” Fergus calls out, stopping me, but I don’t turn around. “If he doesn’t show up, we’ll have to issue a warrant. Won’t look good for him, given his record,” Fergus warns. I know the man isn’t trying to be a dick, he’s just doing his job, but damn his words grate at me.
“He didn’t do this, Fergus. You know damn well he wouldn’t have,” I growl, then get the fuck out of here. The four of us go way back to elementary school. Fergus, Wick, Nix, and I. Nixon is the youngest of us, but it didn’t faze him one bit. We still all hung out. And for the better part of the summers, we were inseparable—until Fergus and Wick’s parents took them on their annual camping trip to Montana, then it was just me and Nix.
Outside, I find my brothers waiting for me. “Any of you know about Nixon and Wexler?” None of them answer at first, but then O starts taking.
“He was sweet on her, that’s for sure. Didn’t know how sweet until last week when he told me about them having a baby.” Shit.
“Anyone know where the fuck he is?” They all shake their heads. “This shit doesn’t look good with her dead and him gone. Especially with his baby in her. How fucking long has this been going on?”
“Maybe over a year now? After she got him off for that assault charge,” O offers, his shoulders rising, then dropping again. “Sorry, Pres.”
“We need to find him before the boys in blue do.” I shake my head and get back on my bike.
Twelve
When I wake again, I’m not alone. The man from before is in the room tending to the IV bag. “Hey there, darlin’. Good to see those baby blues again.” His smile is kind, almost comforting as he looks me over. “I need to change that bandage on your head.” Like before, he moves slowly, waiting for my nod. When I give him the okay, he starts my way, holding new bandages he places on the table next to my bed. I shift to my side for him to have better access. The pulling of the tape creeps along my scalp, making him wince. “Healing nicely. Do you have any nausea? Maybe feel out of breath?”
Instead of answering, I ask him my burning question. “Why am I here?”
His bushy gray eyebrows bunch together in confusion, then his face softens. I can tell he was once a handsome man, until age caught up with him. His blue eyes alone would make any woman swoon.
“You are here because you have a guardian angel, darlin’. And the fact that I haven’t lost my touch doctorin’ people.” He shoots a smile my way, showing off a missing tooth on the bottom. “You have nothing to worry about here. You are safe, and no one will hurt you. So stop lookin’ like you want to bolt. You won’t get far. Not with the head injury you’ve sustained.” He goes about cleaning up the bandages he pulled from my head, then unhooks the long tube running from my arm. “Detox bag. You were dehydrated before. That’s what the other bag was. You can have a break from it for now, but I’m going to leave the port in. Just in case we need to hook you back up. Finding a vein was a little challenging.” He pauses a moment, then tosses the garbage away. “So, the breathing? Nausea?” he asks again, and this time, I answer.
“No. Not right now anyway.” Sniffing, I reach up to wipe at my nose. “When I was up and walking, it was hard to breathe and my heart was pounding. Made my head hurt.” He nods in understanding.
“That would be part of the anxiety. It should pass over soon. Your BP is stable for now, but dropped the other day in the hall. That’s why you passed out.”
“The other day? How long have I been out?”
“Two days now. Since you passed out, that is. Altogether, you have been here for almost a week. You’re nearly detoxed, but you still have a rough road to travel. You aren’t quite out of it yet. Lucky for you, the trauma to your head caused you to sleep through most of it. Guess that’s one way of looking at the injury. Can you look this way?” he asks, shining a light at my eyes. “Your pupils are reacting how they are supposed to. That’s good. You think you can eat? I have some broth to start with.”
The thought of food does sound appealing, but I have more pressing needs. “Can I use the bathroom first?”
“Course you can. Need any help?” I shake my head, and just as I’m maneuvering off the bed, something dawns on me.
“If I’ve been in this bed for—”
“No need in analyzing it, darlin’. I’m a retired army medic. Complete professional. Don’t you dare be embarrassed about a thing.” He shoots me a comforting smile and heads toward the door.
“I don’t know why you are helping me, but thank you.” He only nods before closing the door behind him, leaving me to my business.
As soon as I walk into the bathroom, the large, clawfoot tub calls my name. Without thinking twice, I put the plug in and turn the water on. Searching around the bathroom, I find a few towels and snag one for the floor and one to wrap around myself. I also find all kinds of soaps and scrubs—things I remember from what seems like another life. I select one and pour in a small amount to create some bubbles, then strip off my borrowed clothes.
The hot water wraps around me like a blanket, giving me a slight reprieve from the situation I find myself in. Being cared for by a stranger may seem like the best thing to have ever happened to me, but I’m skeptical. As soon as I feel well enough to leave, I’m gone. People don’t do things out of the kindness of their hearts. I’ve learned the hard way there is always an angle. Keeping my IV-strung hand from the water, I relax and close my eyes. It isn’t long before I’m drifting off, finding myself there again—the place where it all started.
“She is going to be a dancer. A little ballerina.” I smile as I look up at him, overwhelmed with so much love.
“Just like her mom.” He rubs his hand along my bare stomach, only slightly rounded. “I can’t wait to meet her.”
“Me too.”
My eyes fly open and my breath catches as I sit up in the tub. I haven’t had that memory in so long. I don’t ever want to have it again. My tubed hand goes to my arm, scratching where the need for a needle burns at my skin. “Withdrawals,” a voice says from the bathroom door. My gaze falls on the man who was here the last time I was awake, and I let out a screech. “You’re okay. No need to scream.” He holds up his hands, as if I’m a wounded animal, and starts toward me. “You probably shouldn’t be in the tub unsupervised, though. Not until you are well enough to where we can trust you won’t pass out again.”
He grips a towel in his hand and holds it out for me. His hand comes next, extending for me to grab. He keeps his eyes trained on mine, not drifting along my completely naked body. I wrap one hand around my chest and take his, letting him help me from the tub before wrapping the
offered towel around myself. “Doc has something in the room for you to eat. Come on.” He offers to lead me back into the room, but I step past him fast enough to get some distance, then hear him let out the water in the tub before following me.
By the bed is a bowl of the broth I was promised, along with some crackers and a glass of water. Eagerly, I sit down on the bed and reach for the broth, ready to drink the whole thing down in one go.
“Careful. I’m guessing it’s been a long time since you had some real food in your stomach. Better take it easy or it might come back up.” He comes to my side and takes the bowl from my hands. I’m about to protest when he reaches for a spoon I didn’t see on the table and starts to feed me.
“I can do it myself,” I snap, wondering where my annoyance is coming from. He’s only trying to help. He doesn’t seem to care about my rudeness and still offers the spoon.
“Maybe. But this way, I’ll know you aren’t going too fast and taking too much. Now, open up.” His stern voice gets me to comply, sending uneasy shivers through me. “Doc ran a blood panel on you. You might be happy to know it came back negative on all counts.” My eyes flick to his as I swallow down the first spoonful of broth. I nearly choke on it from his words. I don’t know what to say. The thought of getting any kind of disease never crossed my mind in my drug-induced haze.
“Why are you doing this?” Again, my voice is harsher than I intend. Why would he take the time to help me, let alone run any kind of tests on me? “I’m a nobody. You won’t be able to get some sort of reward for finding me and nursing me back to health.”
“Not looking for anything in return. As for why I’m helping you, I don’t have an answer for that. Just decided I’d rather not see you die.” He shrugs, unfazed, and gives me another spoonful. “Do you have family?” The simple question cuts through me, making me bring my hand back over to scratch my arm.
Sniffing, I shake my head. “No.” I manage to stop myself from snapping at the man. He only gives a slight nod, then gets another spoonful ready.
“Got someone to call? Maybe someone who could help you?” He holds back the spoon, waiting for my answer. When it doesn’t come, he puts the spoon back into the bowl. I want so bad to rip it out of his hands and drink it up, but something stops me.
“I have no one. If I’m too much trouble for you, feel free to toss me out.”
“So you can go back to shooting up? No. I’d rather not have that shit on my conscience. Here.” He finally gives me another spoonful, and this time, he doesn’t stop to ask more questions.
Thirteen
I let her take the last few bites without more questions, but she will need to answer them sooner or later. I could tell she was getting irritated with me, but knew it wasn’t her talking; it was the withdrawal. Detoxing will bring out the worst in a person, so I don’t expect her to be all sunshine and rainbows, not even a little bit. Doc said she was hesitant with him at first, but he did get her to answer him when he asked how she felt. Which is good. If she doesn’t let me or him know what’s going on with her, there’s no way of us helping. Not that I think she wants the help. Each bite she takes, annoyance brews on her face. Her wide lips purse, and her un-manicured eyebrows pinch together. The woman would be stunning if she wiped that pissed off look from her face and just smiled. She could have been a model before all this shit happened to her. Maybe she was. One who took a wrong turn in her career.
“You got a name?” I ask, realizing through all the questions I asked, I didn’t go for the one I should have.
“Do you?” she snips, pushing away from the side of the bed to lean back against the backboard and pull her legs up under her chin.
“Premo.”
“I heard Doc calling you Pres.” She flicks her blue eyes over my room, maybe actually looking at it for the first time. The place isn’t filled with much, just the essentials: my bed and side table where my stack of books and reading glasses are. She eyes them before bringing her face back to me.
“Yeah. I’m the president of the Siberian MC. My brothers call me Pres. But also, I’m known as Premo,” I explain, waiting for the looks I know all too well to cross her face.
Look one is fear. People have their own misguided perception of MCs. And while they may not be far off, it’s not like we go out trying to find some asshole to off just for the fun of it. You just don’t fuck with the club. It’s simple.
Look number two is lust. For women anyway. The craving of the bad boy and a chance to roll around in the sheets with someone who could possibly be a criminal.
Her features tense just a little, and she tightens her grip on her legs. Look number one it is then. “How about your name then?” I try to get it out of her again, but she still doesn’t want to tell me. “Fine. I’ve got some friends in the police department, I’m sure they can dig through their missing person flyers.” I pull out my phone to snap a quick picture, to which she dodges, covering her face.
“Fine!” she yells, then peeks up to see if I put my phone away. I still have it out, but the camera app isn’t up. Little does she know, I already snapped a picture of her while she was sleeping.
“Going to tell me what your name is?”
“Stephanie.” It sounds foreign coming from her mouth. Little fucking liar. “Now, leave me alone!” She picks up a pillow to throw my way. There’s the withdrawal again.
“Fine. I’ll be back—”
“No! I don’t want to see you again!” she yells, then searches around the room with her eyes, maybe for something to throw, while scratching at her arm. I remember this part. The anger. The rage that courses through you while your body is flushing out the toxins. Her hair is as wild as her eyes. Long, dark brown locks hang down to her waist, still wet at the ends, swishing with each choppy move she makes. She swipes at her nose with her arm, then brings it back down to torture with her nails again.
“That’s the poison talking. I can handle it, Steph, so bring it on, but you can bet your ass I won’t stop coming by,” I promise before walking out of the room to update Doc on her status. As soon as I step out the door, I hear footsteps running toward the bathroom. Thinking she might be trying to make a run for it out the bathroom window, I dart back inside, only to find her hunched over the toilet bowl.
“Shit.” I curse myself for leaving before I knew her food was sitting well in her stomach and make my way quickly back into the room to help her. She tries to shrug me off, but I don’t let her. Bringing her unruly hair into my hands, I pull it away from her face as she heaves everything she swallowed down into the bowl. Her body trembles, and a sheen of sweat forces its way along her still marked skin. She tries to pull back, but I hold her there, my hand on her back, stroking for comfort. “Easy. Get it all out, then you can lay down,” I sooth in my raspy voice, damaged by years of drinking and smoking way too damn much.
“Why are you doing this?” Her voice is a squeak of a whisper, but I hear the question and ask myself the same thing again.
“Because you need help.”
“I don’t want help,” she whines and starts purging again, her shaking becoming even more violent. I hope she stops soon. I’m not sure her body can handle more of this. She is so damn skinny.
“You think you’re done?” I get only another whimper, so I back away to grab a wash cloth, wet it down, and clean her up. When I try to pull her face to me, she weakly jerks it away, sniffing.
“Please,” she pleads, but something inside me tells me not to leave her.
“Not gonna leave you. Now, give me your damn face so I can clean you up and get you to bed,” I growl. She flinches only slightly before turning her pale sweaty face to me. Even with the exhaustion, she gives me a defiant stare, then closes her eyes. I swipe along her mouth, then fold the washcloth to wipe her forehead and cheeks. With each stroke, I swear I hear a moan. “Let’s get you to bed.” I reach down to pick her frail body up into my arms. Carefully, I guide us through the bathroom door, then place her on the bed before go
ing back to grab another washcloth.
“Let me help.” Her eyes open to me, the blue so dull and painful, it grips at my soul. “Let me help,” I repeat again. I start padding along her jawline, then up to her forehead once again. I take the cloth down to her neck, then under her hair to cool her.
“I don’t want to,” she whispers.
“Don’t want to what?” She doesn’t explain further. Her body succumbing to exhaustion, she passes completely out.
Fourteen
I stare at the ceiling like I have for the past few days. I haven’t once passed out again, but also haven’t been able to fall asleep for more than what seems to be ten minutes at a time. The withdrawals have been as excruciating as Doc said they would be now that I’m awake to experience them. At least the IV has been removed from my hand. “How goes it today, darlin’?” Doc asks from the door, bringing in a sandwich. My stomach is still trying to accept solid food, and I’m all too eager for it, even if all I could do yesterday was purge my sandwich from my stomach.
“I feel better,” I say honestly. Today, when I woke up, I felt as if a switch had been flipped inside me. I still have the urge to grab a needle, but my body doesn’t feel like it’s trying to kill me from the inside out.
“Good, good. Let’s try the sandwich. Maybe you’ll have better luck than yesterday.” He offers the small plate and starts out of the room.
“Wait. Can you keep me company? I’m a little bored in here,” I say sheepishly, picking at the crust.
“I’ve got a better idea. Since you are feeling better, how about you come out to the kitchen table and eat that? Might do you some good to stretch your legs longer than a bathroom break.” He smiles and walks out of the room, leaving me to follow behind. Gripping the plate in one hand, I walk down the hall. The sun shines bright through the kitchen window, and a spacious apartment greets me as I pass the point I made it to before passing out so many days ago. When I catch sight of the small bin of toys, my heart starts to speed up.