Loving Crow (Unsaintly Kings MC Book 1)

by A. Lynn

  She has some restraint marks on her wrists, but they are superficial. There are some superficial lacerations that run the length of her spine, too. What I'm about to say is pure speculation, so don't assume, just wait for Ms. Marks to tell you. But I would say that it looks as though her clothes were cut off of her and the tip of the knife was allowed to drag down her spine."

  “Was she ra,” I rasp out. I clear my throat and try again, “Was she raped?”

  “It looks that way. There is substantial tearing in her rectum that required stitches."

  “Is that all, Doctor?” Ma asks.

  “I'm afraid not. There is a large 'T' carved into her hip, that required thirty staples to close.”

  “So they branded her?”

  “It would appear so."

  “When will she wake up?” I ask.

  “There is no telling. She lost a significant amount of blood and has had a lot of morphine since she came in. She’ll wake up in her own time. Do you have any additional questions for me?”

  I shake my head. “Thank you, Doc.”

  “No problem,” she says as she walks out of the room.

  “Mijo," Ma cries.

  “I failed her, Ma, how the fuck do I make something like this up to her?"

  “No, amor, you didn’t fail her. How could you possibly have failed her?”

  “She texted me twice but I was busy with all this shit with Cleo. My phone wasn't even on me, it was in Gunner's fucking truck!" I say as a tear rolls down my cheek. "What do I do now, Ma?"

  “All you can do is love her and help her through this in any way that you can.”

  “What if she wants me gone? What if that is what she needs from me? I can’t lose her, Ma, she's my endgame."

  “I don't think it would come to her pushing you out. That girl loves you too damn much. And as much as it pains me to say it, if that's what she needs, then let her go."

  “How could I, Ma? I wouldn’t survive it.”

  “It's not about you right now, it's all about Rea and what she needs."

  “I know." I just hope it doesn't come down to that.

  Chapter 12

  Reagan

  The antiseptic smell is the first indication that I am in the hospital. The second is the blindingly white sterile walls. I glance around the room through slits in my eyelids, opening them any wider and I may lose my sight. How long have I been sleeping? When my eyes have adjusted to the bright lights in the room and I can open them wider, I wish I hadn't, because then I wouldn't be able to see that I am alone.

  Still.

  Where the hell is he?

  I call for the nurse and a couple of minutes later a bubbly redhead comes in. At least I can count on some people.

  “Hey, Reagan, I’m Nicole. I’ll be your nurse for tonight,” she says with a smile. “How are you feeling?”

  “Could be better.”

  “I would say so. Do you know what happened?"

  “I don't," I lie. I don't know why I lied, I just don't want this to fall at Crow's door, no matter how pissed I am right now. "How bad is it?"

  She grimaces and says, "You have a fractured eye socket with a bloodied eye. It's important that you don't blow your nose—like for a while—so infection doesn't pass from your sinuses to the tissue around your eye."

  “Okay, what else?”

  “Your nose is broken and your jaw was dislocated. Dr. Riggs from Orthopedics came to set and pack your nose. He also put your jaw back in place, which is the reason for the bandaging. You need to refrain from opening your mouth too wide.”

  “How long?”

  “Every case is different, but four to eight weeks." I nod. "Ribs four, five, and six are fractured, too. You have been taped up pretty tight, but girl, they will hurt like nothing else. No amount of taping or pain medicine is going to touch that. It will only ease enough to allow for deeper breaths," she smiles sadly.

  “Four to eight weeks for those, too?”

  “More like six weeks minimum.”

  A tear slips down my cheek and Nicole rubs my arm. "I have a three-year-old son coming home from California on Friday, what am I supposed to do?" I ask as my voice breaks.

  “Can’t his Daddy take care of him?”

  “He doesn’t have one. My best friend got pregnant and the guy didn’t want anything to do with her, so she asked me to step in. I adopted him.”

  “And where is she?”

  “I have no idea. Probably off getting high somewhere.” I dry my face off and say, “Please continue.”

  “There is a large ‘T’ cut into your thigh. It took thirty staples to close.”

  “They branded me?”

  “It would seem so. I'm so sorry, Reagan."

  I don’t need her to tell me the last injury, but I ask anyway, “Is that all?”

  “I’m afraid not,” she pauses. “You have some extreme anal tearing. Some of the ones on the inside were so deep that you need sutures.”

  I nod as more and more tears cascade down my cheeks. “Do you know how long I have to stay here?”

  “I don’t know for sure. Dr. Wiley was worried about your blood loss and building it back up. After that one is empty, I only have an order for one more unit. So maybe tomorrow?”

  I nod. “Did you happen to see my purse anywhere?”

  “I put it in the cabinet. Would you like me to get it for you?”

  “Please.”

  She hands the large tote to me and asks, “Can I get you anything?”

  “Maybe some pain medicine and some water?”

  “I’ll be right back,” she nods as she walks out of the room.

  I’m looking through my purse when I come across the large envelope with Ryan’s scrawl on the front. I set it on the table above me and continue looking for my phone, but I must have left it at home.

  Nicole walks back in and scans a syringe and then scans my ID bracelet. “What is that?”

  “Morphine. Dr. Wiley thought it might be better for you with the extent of your injuries.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s stronger than most of the pain pills that are prescribed for any one of your injuries. You will heal better when you relax and get some rest. Also the liquid means you won’t have to wait for the medicine to be dissolved and absorbed.”

  “Oh. I’m not used to taking anything other than Tylenol, will it make me sick?”

  “It might,” she pauses. “Hmm, do you want me to get you some crackers? Maybe a soda instead of the water?”

  “That might be for the best,” I answer. “I’m going to run to the restroom real quick, while you run and get that.”

  She pushes the plunger on the syringe and says, “Do you need me to help you?”

  “I should be okay.”

  “Okay, make sure to roll the IV pole in there with you. This one,” she pulls on a long rod with bags hanging from the stop. She sees me look at them and says, “The clear ones are antibiotics, just to make sure you don’t get an infection. Blood was drawn in the ER, but they want to keep an eye on it. The other… You can probably figure that out.”

  I nod and make my way into the bathroom. After doing my business and washing my hands, I take a deep breath and make eye contact with my reflection.

  “No fucking way,” I harshly whisper to myself. What did that monster do to me? I break down crying while taking in the state of my face.

  “Are you okay in there, Reagan?” Nicole calls through the door.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “I left the crackers and soda on the table for you. Call if you need anything, okay?”

  “Okay,” I call back.

  What am I going to tell Jordan and Sasha? The left side of my face is fucked.

  There is a fairly long cut above my left eyebrow—that has suture tape holding it shut—and the eye is almost completely sealed shut. There is a large blood blister that runs from my eyebrow all the way down past the apple of my cheek. My right eye is black also, but only
the lower lid. Probably a result of the monstrosity that used to be my nose. It is two times the size it usually is. I'm not an overly vain person, but damn it was cute. As terrible as it all looks though, the eye and jaw are just bruises and they will fade. It's only the nose that gives me pause.

  I take a step back from the sink and pull my gown to the side to get a look at my hip. There is a rather large bandage on it. It's probably best that I don't see the brand that will be on my body for the rest of my fucking life.

  And now I'm crying again.

  “Reagan, baby? Can I come in?"

  “Y-yes,” I croak.

  The door pushes open and there stands Crow with tears in his eyes. “Baby, I’m so sorry.”

  I shake my head as tears fall. "Where were you?”

  “I was dealing with Cleo, then we had Church.”

  "With Cleo, that's just perfect. I don't think that insult had met my injuries, yet."

  “Baby,” he starts.

  “And where were you when I woke up?”

  “Helping Rhys and Einstein put a security system in your house. We changed all the locks, too.”

  “It’s a little late for that don’t you think?”

  “I don’t want some random ass person being able to get to you in our home.”

  “It wasn't random." I walk past him to get back in the bed.

  “What do you mean it wasn't random?" He asks, following close behind me.

  “I need to speak with Gunner.”

  “He’s in the waiting room with Pop and Axle. What do you need with him?”

  “I need to tell him something, that’s usually what it means when I say I need to speak with someone,” I snap.

  “And you can’t just tell me?” I don’t say a damn word. I just sit there and look at him like he’s stupid. “Look, Reagan, I know you’re hurt and pissed at me, but I’ve had just about enough of your smart ass mouth,” he grits at me.

  “Is that right?"

  "Yeah, it is."

  "Well, on your way to get Gunner for me, just go on and head home. I'm sure Cleo is wondering where you are, anyway," I say with a sneer.

  “Watch it, Reagan,” he warns.

  “Fine, Crow, you go and fuck yourself while I will get Gunner myself," I say as I start to climb off the bed.

  “Just stop, okay? I’ll get him.”

  When he gets to the door I stop him. “Hey, Crow?”

  “What, Reagan?” He answers without looking at me.

  “Don’t come back this time.”

  He doesn’t respond, he just grabs the door handle and flings the door open so hard it smacks the wall before slamming shut again.

  “Asshole,” I mutter to myself.

  Here’s the thing, I know I’m being a bitch but I needed him and he was not there for me. When Terry and the "New Guy" were done with me and left, I texted him before I passed out. I came to and texted him again, he didn't answer either time. I had to call fucking 911 myself. Then he wasn't here when I woke up? That's epic levels of fucked-upness. I don't expect to be more important to him than the club—I am rational—but is it so wrong to want to be just as important? I don’t think so.

  Gunner knocks on the door and pokes his head in. “Crow said you wanted to speak to me?”

  “Yes. Please, come in.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Not too bad, just sore. The nurse gave me some pain medicine about an hour ago.”

  “That’s good, darlin’. So what can I do for you?”

  “Do you know what happened to me?”

  “I do, Crow didn’t divulge specific details or anything, but I got the gist. Do you want to tell me?”

  “Not particularly,” I say with a weak smile. “But, I do need to start at the beginning.”

  Gunner nods and says, “Okay.”

  “Crow dropped me at my house earlier before he went to the club to see about Cleo or whatever." He opens his mouth to speak but I rush out, "Club business, I know. I was standing on the porch checking the mail, just junk and bills but on the very bottom of the pile was this." I hold up the large envelope from Ryan. “That’s also when I noticed that the door was ajar.”

  “Why didn’t you call Crow to come back and check it out?”

  “Honestly, I thought it was Ryan. The envelope didn't have postage on it and I just thought she sneaked in because I never got her key back from her. So I darted up the stairs ready to kick her ass for her being in my house when she wasn't allowed to be there, but when I got to her room, she wasn't there. I turned to check the rest of the house, but two guys were standing in the hallway behind me. Both of the men were wearing ski masks, but one of them was wearing a cut."

  “Like ours?” He asked.

  “No, I didn’t see the back of his but he didn’t have your club emblem on the right side.”

  He nods. “Then what happened?”

  “I asked what they were doing in my house and the guy in the cut said that he needed me to give my friends a message. I asked who my friends were and he said the Unstaintly Kings. When I asked what kind of message he said the painful kind, and that was when he punched me in the face over and over,” I end on a whisper.

  Gunner hasn’t said anything. I look over at him to make sure he is with me, but he’s as white as a sheet. His hands are gripping the arms of the chair with such intensity, I’m genuinely surprised they haven’t crumbled.

  “Gunner? You okay?”

  “What was the message, Reagan? Do you remember?”

  “That unless you want this shit to happen again, mind your fucking business.”

  “Fuck, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. We’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

  “Nothing to be sorry about. The alternative is that it would have happened to Sky or Harley, and I’m not okay with that. Better me than them.”

  “The club is in your debt, regardless,” he says earnestly.

  “Gunner, there’s something else. I know who the guy in the cut is, well I don’t know him, but his name is Terry. At least that’s what he said his name is.”

  “How do you know him?”

  “He drove me and Ryan from Fallen a few times. He was overzealous with his conversations on the way. It was uncomfortable. But then he was at the liquor store down the road from my house the other day. That was when he told me his name was Terry."

  “Did you know the second guy?”

  “I don’t. He kept speaking with a sneer when he spoke of the club. Terry kept calling him ‘New Guy” though,” I pause. “The second guy spoke of Crow by name.”

  “What did he say?”

  "After Terry was hitting me in the face, he dropped me to the floor and kicked me in the ribs a couple of times and told me I was pathetic for not defending myself, then the second guy said that must be why Crow likes me so much. After Terry was done with me he asked the second guy if he wanted a turn with me, but he said he wouldn’t want his dick anywhere near where a nasty ass King had been,” I finish as a tear rolls down my cheek.

  “Is that everything you wanted to talk to me about?” I nod and he lets out a relieved sigh. “Have the police been by to speak with you yet?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “They will probably be by in the morning. Do you know what you are going to tell them?” He asks like there are multiple options to choose from.

  “That I don’t know anything. Just guys wearing ski masks. Don’t worry, I know it’s club business.”

  “Thank you,” he says. “You want me to send Crow back in?”

  “No, but would you be able to get my car brought up here, please?”

  “Crow isn’t taking you home?”

  “No, and I don’t have my phone with me to call someone,” I say as I hand him my keys. “Oh, I also need the code for the alarm or whatever. And the key. He said they changed my locks, too.”

  “Are you sure you don't want me to get Crow? You shouldn't be alone right now."

  “I need
to get used to it sometime, no time like the present.”

  “Don’t give up on him, darlin’.”

  “I didn’t, Gunner, he did. He always walks away when it’s time to fight. I’ve been the only one fighting for this—for us—but I’m fucking tired.”

  “Okay,” he sighs. “Whatever you need, darlin’. I’ll get your car and everything taken care of.”

  “Thanks, Gunner."

  “Get some rest."

  I sit there for a few minutes debating if I want to go to sleep or open the envelope from Ryan. I think I may not be in the right state of mind to deal with anything she has to say. I am so beyond done with her. There is nothing there to try to salvage now, and I think that hurts me the most. She has been my ride or die since we were kids. How she can cast me and Jordan aside as easily as she did. And for what? Drugs? A cock connected to an arrogant asshole? I don't think I will ever make peace with her in this situation.

  I turn the TV on and flip through the channels. I come across an old episode of Sons of Anarchy and shut it back off, deciding that sleep is a better option. Except I am hurting too bad to fall asleep. For the next hour or so I situate and situate again trying to find a position that is comfortable for all my injuries. I find being surrounded by pillows might be the best option for me right now.

  I dive back into my purse, looking for something to occupy me while I wait for sleep to claim me. And then I see it, and I start to get hyped. I had forgotten that I picked it up, which I don’t know how, I have been waiting for months for it to come out.

  “Eek! I’m so fucking excited! Royce, Royce, Royce… Break Me” I sigh. Meagan Brandy is a literary giant in the comedy/romance/suspense scene. If you don’t know who she is, do yourself a favor. Oh, and you’re welcome.”

  A few hours later, I am balls deep in my book, when the IV pump thingy starts beeping. I finish the page I’m reading and fish a scrap of paper from my bag, it’s a good stopping point as any. I’m starting to hurt too bad to continue anyway, so I push the button that will send Nicole to my room with that pain ebbing cocktail she calls morphine.