by Snow, Nicole
Men nodded glumly. Brass looked at me from across the table, his temples throbbing, chewing on the same wicked tension all of us had caught between our teeth.
“Everyone in favor of bringing our brother Stryker in to face judgment, say aye.” The Prez picked up the bear claw gavel and looked at Brass, beginning to go down the line.
One by one, we voted. By the time it circled back to me, the last man standing, it was unanimous.
When the Prez's gavel hit the wood, it sounded like a bullet cracking past my ear. “That's it, then. The only thing left for us to do at this table is to decide how to bring our brother in with the least resistance.”
* * * *
Me, Brass, and Asphalt waited at my kitchen table. The women laughed upstairs, probably playing with the kid, taking their minds off the dark, heavy shit facing the club.
'Course, none of them knew shit. It was club business, and we'd told them to stay the hell away from Stryker if he showed up, without any further explanation.
The fear in Sally's beautiful eyes matched the same spark shining in Christa's and Missy's.
“Shit. You really think he's coming – here?” Asphalt grabbed his coffee cup and took a long pull, snorting when he saw there was nothing but a few cold dregs left.
“With any luck, he'll go straight to the clubhouse,” I said. “That's where the Veep ordered him. Who the fuck knows if our new prospects got loose lips too. If they do, and he decides to swing by our safe place here, we'll be ready.”
“He'll listen,” Brass growled. “Fucker's been dazed and confused since he got shot. Not too many guys think clearly when they're nursing a kiss of lead.”
I hoped to fuck he was right. Something in my gut shook, pumping angry dread through the rest of my system. My hands ached to draw blood, almost as bad as my dick hounded me to march upstairs, pull Sally into the bedroom, and fuck the stress right out.
“Roman?” I heard her voice and spun.
“What the fuck? I told you to stay upstairs with everybody, babe. It's too fucking risky down here.” I stood up, walking over to her.
She had the kid in one hand, and an empty tote bag in the other. “Caleb threw his spoon on the floor and got it dirty. Besides, the girls could use some more coffee, and I thought I'd come down and brew up a fresh –“
I raised my hand, cutting her off.
Outside, a motorcycle rumbled. Not one of ours. Brass and Asphalt were up with their hands on their pieces before I could blink.
“Stay put, dammit. Go upstairs. We've got shit to take care of.” I didn't wait to see if she listened.
I pounded out behind the boys, feeling adrenaline hit me like a shot to the heart as soon as I got in the open garage. Stryker killed his bike and ripped off his helmet, wincing as he flexed his fucked up bicep, still wrapped in a dirty looking tourniquet.
“What's going on, brothers?”
“I told you we're supposed to meet at the clubhouse,” Brass said coldly, stopping at the edge of my garage. Asphalt and I were right behind him.
“Yeah, I already talked to Wisp. He said you were all gathering here, and the crew was light, keeping an eye on the girls. Just came by to see if you could use a hand trading shifts, or whatever.”
We were close to him now. Stryker swallowed. I watched his hand carefully, making sure he wasn't going for anything dangerous strapped to his body, waiting for the Veep to make the first move.
“We've got ourselves a problem, brother,” Brass said, only inches from his face.
“Yeah, the cartel –“
“Bullshit. I'm talking about your failure to follow a direct order, besides the shit you've been keeping to yourself, playing dumb.”
The lean kid blinked, anger and confusion crossing his face. “Dumb? What the fuck are you –“
Brass grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him down. I helped, smashing his face into his bike's seat, so fucking hard I could've shattered his nose right there.
“You fucking asshole! Did you really think we wouldn't figure it out? Did you really think you could rat on this club and get away with it, cartel piece of shit?” The Veep exploded, snarling as he twisted Stryker's wrists back, just short of snapping.
Behind me, I heard Caleb wail in Sally's arms, and a new kinda anger flared in my gut.
XI: Blinders Off (Sally)
I should've listened to him. I never should've wandered outside, even when Stryker started screaming, and the men circled him like sharks, knocking the wind out of him with savage blows to his stomach.
I wasn't the only old lady who came running to see the commotion. Missy and Christa stepped in front of me, the better to cover Caleb, urging me inside. But they were also there to sneak a peek firsthand at the chaos.
I stopped in the doorway and watched as two men dragged Stryker up, blood trickling through his teeth.
“Get in the fucking truck, asshole,” Brass growled. “We're going for a ride. You know the club likes things neat, but we will slit your throat right here and mop up the mess if you make one wrong move. You try to fuck with them, and we'll do a lot worse than that.”
The VP pointed a furious finger our way. Then his brow furrowed deeper, rage throbbing in his temple, and he must've realized we'd defied a direct order.
“Goddamn it! What the fuck are they doing out here? Roman!” Brass ripped the injured man around by the shoulder, nodding to Asphalt holding the other side of him, and they pushed him toward Roman's truck.
My man spun around, took one look, and started coming toward us. “Shit! Get the fuck back inside – all of you!”
The two old ladies in front of me jumped in from the garage, brushing past me and Caleb. I waited for the inevitable punishment.
My heart raced like a freight train. The last time I'd been reminded what Roman really was, we were in bed, tangled together as he sent me straight to ecstasy. It was fantasy then, a heatwave rippling up my spine every time I brushed his chiseled body.
Fucking an outlaw made me shamefully wet. But seeing what they did to Stryker in the driveway – what wasn't even finished – reminded me there was nothing sexy about the harsh reality of their bloodletting.
“I told you to stay inside,” he said, his voice like ice. “Next time, you fucking listen, babe. This isn't social hour. These boys didn't drop by and sit with me all morning because we wanted to play cards. We're taking care of business, and there's no way we're letting any of our women get in the way.”
“Business,” I repeated, studying his stark mad face. “What kind of business involves beating a man with your own patch to a bloody pulp? Are you going to kill him, Roman?”
I wasn't sure why I asked the question. Did I really want to know?
“Club business,” he snapped.
God, I hated that phrase a little more every time I heard it. Each time it came out, it curdled the air, as if somebody took a sledgehammer and knocked a gaping hole into our happy life.
“Get upstairs. Don't come down 'til you hear from me or one of the boys. We'll send a few prospects around to check up on you later. I gotta deal with this, and I can't stand here all day waiting for you to listen.”
As if to underscore it, the truck's horn began blasting outside, and didn't let up. The roof was about to come off with the incredible rage blasting out of these men, but his was the only hellfire I really cared about.
Caleb stirred in my arms, irritated by the sound. I pushed his face into my chest, trying to cover his poor little ears.
“Don't go if it isn't safe, Roman. Please.” I looked at him, feeling my heart drop. “I've got a terrible feeling about this. You guys are about to get in over your heads. I warned you once before, begged you not to go...”
Snarling, Roman twisted away from me, ripped the door open, and screamed. “One fucking minute!”
The horn stopped. Brass gave him a stern look that said not a second more.
“Stop worrying, babe. I know what I'm doing, and so do the guys. We're doing
this shit for you and every other chick holed up in this house. You can dig me up and kill me again if I don't come back. Now, shut up and give me a kiss.”
The tears came hot and cruel as he grabbed my face, held it tight, and smashed his lips to mine. I kissed him anyway, even though I was losing control, thinking about all the awful ways he could die. The crap I'd seen them do to Stryker was just the beginning of a thousand horrors.
Like it or not, I'd handed my heart to a man forged in violence, and now it was going to pieces.
“Don't. Fucking. Go.” I couldn't resist whimpering it one more time as he broke away and turned to the door.
He looked at me one last time, the light in his eyes darkening. “Go upstairs, babe. We'll talk about how much you doubting me's complete bullshit when I get home.”
Anger shot through my veins. I sucked in a breath and was about to curse him, but the door whipped open and slammed shut. Half a minute later, Asphalt's bike fired up, and peeled out ahead of the truck.
“Bastard!” I screamed it anyway, if only to blow off the steam he'd left behind, burning me up inside.
I was back to hating him, but my love wouldn't die so easy. This stupid, proud man was going to get himself killed and repeat his family curse, if he didn't kill me first with heartbreak.
* * * *
Upstairs, later, Caleb dozed on Christa's lap. My phone blew up for the tenth time in the last two hours. I grabbed it, hoping it was Roman, but I saw the mysterious number instead.
Every time I answered, it was nothing but muffled static. The last time, I Googled it, and found out it was coming from the hospital.
Norm was awake, and trying to contact me, apparently. I wanted to take off, leave my son with the girls, and find out what the hell was going on.
But it wasn't so easy with Rabid and the prospects downstairs. He'd only poked his head in a few times. The kind, reasonable biker I'd talked to before had hardened into the same emotionless superman as the rest of them, and he only had one thing to tell us.
You're staying put. Club's orders. Don't even fucking think about going anywhere without our permission.
Maybe I should've been used to it by now with the way Roman bossed me around. But hearing it from another hard man with the bear patch...I quietly seethed.
Raged and worried too. The mystery that crept into my phone each time it chirped was killing me.
Missy touched my shoulder as the line went dead, and I lowered it back into my lap. “It'll be okay. I'm sure we'll hear from the guys soon. They never keep us in the dark for long when there's serious crap going down.”
“Easy for you to say.” I looked at her and frowned. “Your kid sister doesn't know how lucky she is, missing all this shit at a friend's house. What if Norm has something useful for the club? Roman intended to grill him, ask him what happened that night he got torn up on the farm.”
“It's not my call,” she said softly.
Christa looked up, shifting Caleb in her arms. “I'll talk to him. He's my old man. I've got nothing but mad respect, but I don't understand it either. There's no danger taking a ride to the hospital. Even the crazy cartel assholes wouldn't be insane enough to try something there.”
I pursed my lips. I wasn't so sure about anything now. I'd brushed up against a world I really didn't understand, didn't want to understand, except for whatever it took to bring him home safe.
My boy needed his dad. I needed a man, and I wasn't ready to lose him when I'd finally gotten him back.
“Let me take him.” I stood up and walked over, pulling Caleb into my arms.
I felt my son's soft warmth before I laid him down in his crib. His eyes cracked open, bathing me in the same dark eyes that matched Roman's a little more everyday.
Jesus. If he didn't come home safe...
The door opened and closed. That got the guys' notice downstairs.
“What the fuck?” I heard a gruff voice say.
Missy and I leaned against it, straining our ears to listen.
“You're not supposed to be down here, baby. What the hell are you doing?”
“Trying to talk some sense into you,” Christa said coolly. “Her cousin keeps calling, you know. He was there when the ranch got attacked and Stryker was shot up.”
“Don't mention that fucking rat's name again!” Rabid spat.
Hearing how he said rat caused my heart to skip a beat. I had a feeling it was something like that, but knowing it...God. The young man was as good as dead if he'd truly done something to fuck over the club.
Maybe he'd be crucified, just like the other men Roman talked about killing. Or maybe there'd be something worse. I cringed every time I thought about the way the same rough, strong hands that roamed my body might be used to destroy another human being.
I had to be honest – I loved a killer. A thug. An utter bastard who wasn't afraid to wreck and ruin with the worst pain he could think up.
And I couldn't stop loving him, even though the rational part of my brain was screaming, telling me how deep I'd gone down this rabbit hole.
“Rabid, stop. I'm doing this for a friend and the club. She deserves to find out what's going on, and it might help the rest of you too.”
“You're wading goddamned deep into club biz, and you know it's not my call, Christa.” There was a long pause, and then a loud, masculine sigh. “Fuck it. Just for you, I'll call the Prez.”
My heart sputtered. Missy and I shared a long, excited look, trying to listen anxiously as Rabid presumably turned away and hit the phone.
“Fuck,” he grunted, a few minutes later.
“What is it?” Christa asked.
“No answer. Look, I'm sorry, baby, but I can't do shit as long as I can't get in touch with Blackjack. I've got my orders, and I'm holding you here. All of you. The Veep'll have my fucking head on a pike if I let you chicks out and shit happens.”
“And you don't think something might be happening to the club – something we could prevent?”
“Ah, come the fuck on! Don't pout. Don't give me some shit about magic solutions either. You don't have a clue what we're dealing with, and that's the way it outta be.”
For some reason, I cracked a smile through the thick of it. Missy exhaled a sharp breath, shaking her head.
“I thought you were supposed to take matters into your own hands when there's an emergency? Aren't you man enough to decide what's best?”
I could practically see him wagging a finger in her face. “Don't. Now, you're stepping on my damned toes, and it's not gonna get you anywhere.”
“I'm not trying to get anywhere. I'm trying to save some fucking lives!” Christa's voice cracked, high and strained. “I know you'd never let anyone put new scars on me again. I know what it's like to be tortured. Don't you think I've had all the dangers that come with wearing your brand burned into me for life? Don't you think that maybe I understand what I'm dealing with?”
“Baby, I know you do. It's not like that –“
She cut him off. “Exactly. It's about wasting precious time. What if Blackjack doesn't call you back until it's too late? What if men die because Norm could've told you something critical?”
Another long silence. Then, at last, I watched him throw his hands up.
“Ah, fuck! Get your shit together right now. We'll go to the damned hospital, but I'm escorting you the whole way with two prospects. Missy stays here with the kid. I'll give you girls an hour before we're back at this house. Not one second more, understand?”
She answered him with a wet, happy smack of lips, and then I heard her feet pounding up the stairs. I grabbed my purse and flung the door open before she'd caught up to us.
* * * *
“You sure you're okay to do this alone?” Christa asked in the waiting room outside the ICU, bathing me in soft, concerned eyes.
“I have to. We've got – what? – forty minutes? I need to make the most of this.”
I swallowed, letting her wrap her arms around my neck one
more time before I followed the nurse waiting for me outside the huge steel doors.
Walking in there felt like going into a tomb. The ward was freakishly quiet, so dark and silent and severe I imagined a person could hear death's footsteps if they listened closely enough.
Norm sat up in his bed, his jaws wired shut with some massive apparatus around his head. His arms and legs were both in slings.
When he saw me, his eyes lit up. Surprising, especially when his system must've been pumped full of pain meds.
“Oh my God. How did you even pick up the phone?”
He made a sound, halfway between a grunt and a sigh. My heart sank.
It must've been a nurse who'd made the calls, tried to get me over here.
Whatever he wanted, I didn't have a clue how the hell he was going to tell me anything.
Not like this.
“Norman.” I reached for his hand, wondering if he could even feel mine. “You're going to beat this, I fucking promise. The guys are working to make our place safe again right as we speak.”
Our eyes locked, and then he blinked. One time, slow and deliberate.
“Is that a no?” I asked softly.
He blinked two more times. Yes.
A bitter lump formed in my throat. Uncle Ralph did the same thing after his first stroke, before the second fatal one took him away forever. It was hell reliving it, except Norm found his strength, forcing out his words in a way I'd actually recognize.
I paused for a moment, looking at the bland gray clock on the wall. A little under forty minutes.
Shit. Whatever he wanted to tell me, I'd be lucky to get it out of him in time if we had to patiently play question and answer.
I decided to start with an easy one. “How did you call me? Did you use a nurse?”
Two blinks. Faster than before. Yes. Of course.
I swallowed, forcing back fresh tears. There'd been a lot of those earlier, and this was definitely no time to cry.
“What happened that night? Who did this to you? You got ambushed...”
He stared blankly. Slow down, girl. He's not telling you a damned thing unless it's got a yes or no.