Manacle (MC Sinners Next Generation #3)

by Bella Jewel

  “That was good.”

  “Fuck yeah. Not as good as bein’ with you, but hearin’ your voice like that . . . damn . . . kills me.”

  “In a good way?”

  “Yeah, baby. In a good way.”

  I yawn.

  “Go to sleep,” he says.

  “It’s so hard without you.”

  “I know, but try. You gotta stay well for the baby.”

  “I know,” I whisper. “I love you.”

  “Love you too. Get some sleep.”

  I hang up and curl into the sheets, falling asleep in a matter of seconds.

  “Skye!”

  I blink awake, confused.

  “Wake up, open the door!”

  I rub my eyes and turn, glancing at the clock. It’s three a.m. My heart seizes in my chest and I push up on my elbows.

  “Skye!”

  Mom.

  I shove out of bed and rush to the door, swinging it open. Her face is drained of all color and I know she’s been crying.

  “Mom,” I say, my voice barely there.

  “Honey.”

  “What’s happening?” I cry, pressing a hand to my heart.

  “The clubs got ambushed tonight.”

  My blood runs cold.

  “Momma . . .”

  “We got a call from Jason, one of the Prospects. He said it was a mess.”

  “Mom, please,” I beg, my knees shaking.

  “We don’t know who is okay and who isn’t. He said . . . he said . . .” She wraps her arms around her middle and hunches over as the sobs are ripped from her body.

  “Mom,” I scream.

  “He said it was a blood bath.”

  My knees go out from beneath me and I fall to the ground with a thud, sobbing. Danny. God. Danny.

  I turn and crawl across the floor, the ache in my shoulder screaming at me to stop but the desperation in my heart not allowing me to. I reach for my phone and I dial his number.

  “We’ve already tried,” Mom says, coming in.

  I dial anyway.

  It rings. And rings. And rings.

  He doesn’t answer.

  “Danny!” I screech, dialing again.

  “Honey, come on. Stand up. We’ve got to be strong until we find out more.”

  I throw the phone with a frantic sob. Mom lifts me to my feet and hangs onto me so tightly I can’t breathe, but that’s okay because I don’t want to.

  “H-h-h-how do we find out?”

  “Anyone who has been hurt has been taken to a hospital in Denver. We’re going now. Hopefully we can find out who was...l-l-lost, too.”

  “If they were okay, they would have called . . . they would have . . .”

  “There are police around, lots of things going on. You know when the club gets in that mode, they don’t have time to call. Not to mention they always leave their phones behind.”

  “You said they were ambushed.”

  “Tyke told me it was a set-up; they walked right into it, so they wouldn’t have had their phones. It’s okay, we’re going to find out soon. You have to be strong.”

  I nod but the pain in my chest is so overwhelming I want to fall to the floor and scream. “Then let’s go,” I whisper. “Let’s go.”

  The next two hours of my life are a blur. Mom calls Tyke, but he doesn’t answer. We all desperately try to call the phones of our loved ones, but no one answers. Both the Knights and Jokers old ladies are frantic, all of them dealing in their own way. Some are overwrought and crazed. Some are quiet. Some are sobbing.

  We arrive in Denver just on four in the morning and we drive straight to the hospital, all of us rushing in, desperate for answers, praying our loved ones are okay. If they’re not . . . I can’t think like that. I can’t. I place a hand over my stomach and say a prayer as we rush to the nurses’ station.

  “Can I help you?” the woman asks, giving us all a look.

  “We were told our loved ones were brought in.”

  She studies us. “The bikers?”

  Mom nods. “Yes, where are they?”

  “I’ll need all of your names and who your significant others are to find out correct information. A lot of them were brought here.”

  “Hurry,” Serenity screams. “Please! We just need to know who is okay and who isn’t.”

  “There have been eight deaths. Four are in surgery with serious life-threatening injuries, and at least ten are being treated for significant injuries that don’t require surgery.”

  Eight deaths. Vomit rises in my throat.

  “Who died, please?” Ash cries, her face pale. “Please.”

  “If you give me the names of your husbands or—”

  “Who died?” Ciara screams.

  “Ladies, I know you’re frightened, but regulations require me to correctly identify you before giving out private information.”

  “Fuck this,” Jaylah cries. “Fuck you.”

  “If you don’t calm down, I’ll have you escorted out.”

  “These are our husbands, our children, our friends,” Pippa says softly. “Please, ma’am, understand how terrified we are.”

  The nurse looks at her. “Okay, look, I’ll find out for you.”

  She stands and disappears. I stare numbly at her computer, my body weak. Eight names are going to be read out, and out of those eight names, it’s very likely someone we love is going to get called. I don’t know if I can bear that.

  The nurse returns, papers in her hands. “Okay, I have the names of those who have passed, those who are in surgery, and those who are injured.”

  We all stand, stiff, unable to speak.

  One by one, she reads the names of those who have died.

  “Jason Wren.”

  One of my dad’s oldest members.

  “Kyan Toomey.”

  Santana shakes her head with a sob.

  “Lyle Water.”

  Another one from our club. Mom sobs.

  “Peter Wright.”

  Pippa makes a pained sound.

  “Jake Stone.”

  Pippa makes another sound.

  “Joshua Frank.”

  Josh is a prospect in our club. My heart aches. He has a girlfriend. He’s only twenty-two.

  “Timothy Lake.”

  Ash covers her face.

  “And Jeremy West.”

  Three from our club. Five from theirs. None of our loved ones. That brings a little comfort but there are four people in surgery with life-threatening injuries.

  “A-a-a-and those in surgery?” Ash asks.

  “Yes, we have a Keenan Willis, who sustained a gunshot wound to the chest.” She looks to us. Pippa cries. Another from their club. “A man with no I.D. who was identified as Spike by another club member. We’re still waiting on his full name and—”

  Ciara wails.

  “What’s wr-wr-wrong with him?” Mom asks, pulling Ciara into her arms.

  “Knife wound to his back. I don’t have the specifics.”

  “Is he going to be okay?” Ciara begs.

  “At this stage I’m waiting on an update but he was classed as critical when he went in.”

  Ciara’s legs go from beneath her and my mom goes down too, sliding to the floor.

  Tears run down my face.

  “We also have a man called Tyke who sustained a bullet to the stomach, and has internal bleeding, severely,” the nurse says, and Pippa’s face goes pale.

  “Tyke,” she breathes. “No.”

  Santana grabs her, pulling her to her chest.

  “Keep going,” Ash pleads.

  “And we have a Cade—”

  Mom wails, cutting her off. “No,” she bawls. “No.”

  “He also sustained a gunshot to the chest. I’m waiting on an update.”

  My legs tremble. Daddy. No.

  “There are more coming in. At this stage these are the only names we have but more are going into surgery, some severe, some not.”

  “Can we see them?” Jaylah asks. “The on
es who are okay, can we see them?”

  The woman nods.

  I just stand there, numb.

  Daddy.

  My mom’s crying becomes hysterical sobs, and her and Ciara go outside with Pippa and Santana. Ash comes over and wraps an arm around my shoulder. “Come on, honey, I’ve got you. Let’s go and see the rest.”

  “Daddy,” I croak.

  “I know, baby. Come on.”

  We move with heavy footsteps down the halls behind the nurse who leads us through some doors, up a lift, and then into a ward that is buzzing with people. Alarms beep, nurses rush around, and doctors bark orders. It’s chaos. I see leather jackets everywhere covering men who are pacing, sitting, yelling. My eyes scan those men, desperate.

  Danny. Please.

  Ash makes a pained sound and starts running towards Krypt, who appears from the crowd. Jaylah does the same when Mack appears. My eyes scan and scan, looking, desperate. Granddad sits, his head in his hands, on the edge of a chair. I run over. “Granddad?” I whisper.

  He jerks his neck up. “Skye, baby . . .”

  “Please tell me he’s okay,” I plead.

  He looks across the room his left and I see him. Danny’s standing against a wall, covered in blood, his head lowered, his eyes on the floor. His fists are clenched and he looks utterly broken, but he’s alive. He’s alive. I start running, shoving through people. Danny looks up and pushes off the wall, so much pain flashing over his face. I throw myself into his arms when I reach him. He makes a pained hiss, but pulls me in so tightly, so thoroughly I can’t get any air into my lungs.

  “You’re okay,” I breathe against him.

  “Yeah.”

  “Daddy,” I croak.

  “Yeah, baby.”

  “Spike . . .”

  “Yeah,” he says, his voice strained.

  His legs go from beneath him and we both slide down to the floor. There we stay, wrapped in each other, until we hear news.

  ~*~*~*~

  My legs are numb. My body is sore. Danny hasn’t moved.

  Not until a doctor comes into the waiting area, his eyes scanning the space.

  “Are you the family of the victims in surgery?”

  Mom leaps up, running over, followed closely by Ciara and Pippa.

  “Yes!”

  “Well, I have good news. All four are out of surgery and while they’re still critical, I expect them to make a full recovery. I’ll bring in each doctor to go over the specifics with each family; I just figured you’d all want to know.”

  Tears explode from my dry, aching eyes, and Danny’s arms tighten around me.

  “Thank God,” he murmurs. “Fuck, thank God.”

  The doctor takes all the ladies through and I push to my feet, my entire body aching. I look down at Danny, still covered in blood. “Were you hurt at all?”

  He shakes his head. “Nah.”

  So that’s other people’s blood. God. Poor Danny.

  “You need to have a shower. Come on, there isn’t much more we can do here.”

  “Just let me talk to my mom, yeah?”

  I nod.

  We go into the second waiting area and when our moms come out, we rush over. Danny takes Ciara into his arms, his big body wrapping around hers. She clutches him, sobbing. I fall into my mom’s arms, and we do the same.

  “Is he going to be okay?”

  Mom nods. “They removed the bullet, stopped the bleeding. He’s going to be just fine.”

  Her body trembles. “Momma,” I whisper. “It’s okay.”

  Sobs rip from her throat and Danny moves Ciara over towards us, pulling my mom into his other arm. He holds them as if he’s their rock, as if he’s the only thing keeping them standing. Truth is, he probably is. He stands there, no doubt exhausted and tired, holding them until their tears stop, and then he steps back, keeping their hands in his. “They’re resting. There isn’t much you two can do. Mercedes has told me Taj has said it’s okay if we go over there and shower, so let’s do that.”

  “Come on,” I say softly, taking my mom’s hand. “We’ll shower then come back, okay?”

  She quietly nods. I can feel the exhaustion rolling off her body.

  Danny and I lead them out to the car and he decides to drive. Nobody says anything as we make our way to Mercedes’s apartment. When we arrive, Taj is just walking out the front door. He takes one look at Danny and his eyes get big, but he’s more than welcoming.

  “I’m headed out for the night, but here’s the key. Feel free to use the shower, sleep, eat, do whatever you need.”

  I smile at him. “Thanks Taj.”

  He reaches over and squeezes my shoulder. “No problem.”

  He disappears and we all enter the apartment.

  “Danny,” Ciara says softly. “You shower first, honey. I’ll find you something to wear.”

  He nods and disappears down the hall, his face broken. I have to go with him. I look to my mom and Ciara and they both nod. I rush off down the hall after Danny. When I get into the bathroom he’s already naked, walking into the shower. I quietly remove my clothes and then slip in with him. His forehead is pressed against the wall, his big body shaking.

  Oh Danny.

  I go up behind him, wrapping my arms around his middle and pressing my cheek to his back. His shaking gets more intense, but he doesn’t make a single sound. I just hold onto him as tightly as I can. Letting him know I’m here. That it’s going to be okay.

  After about ten minutes, I let go and grab some soap, putting it on a sponge and gently rubbing it over his back. I do that until I’ve cleaned every part of him, then I turn him around. His eyes are closed, but the red in his face confirms what I already know.

  I don’t say anything.

  I just run the sponge over his chest, his arms, his stomach, down past his private parts and over his legs. I wash every trace of blood from his beautiful body. I fill my palm with shampoo and bring it to his hair, washing the thick sandy blond locks until there isn’t a trace of bad left. Then I cup his face. “Hey,” I say softly. “Look at me.”

  He opens his eyes and the pain there kills me. It fucking kills me.

  “I’ve got you,” I whisper. “Do you understand me?”

  He nods.

  “It’s going to be okay.”

  “It . . .” he trails off, taking a breath and gathering himself. “It was a blood bath, Skye. Never seen anything like it in my life.”

  I wrap my arms around his middle and let him know I’m listening.

  It takes a few minutes, but he keeps talking.

  “We got some information, found out where they were going to be. Decided to go at night, set up, finish this once and for all. When we got there, we realized straight away it was an ambush. They set it all up, from the people feeding us information to us arriving when we did. The only thing they didn’t anticipate is that we’d have both clubs and all the members.”

  “I thought they knew you were working together?”

  “They did, but we made sure when we travelled, it was separate. Completely different routes. As predicted, they only had one lot of men watching a certain route, and didn’t see the Jokers come in. We all stayed in separate places, only communicating by phone. We made it look like the Jokers had stayed at the compound for protection. It worked. It was the only thing that saved us all from being killed.”

  I flinch.

  “It was over as quickly as it started, but fuck, it was like a warzone. Then there were cops everywhere and shit just . . . fuck Skye.”

  “I know.”

  “Some people are bound to go to prison after that.”

  I pull back. “What?”

  “It’s hard for them to touch the club, no doubt, but they’ll try and take down a few.”

  “Danny . . .”

  “Not me baby, but we need to be prepared that some of the higher members may go away.”

  “No,” I cry.

  “Hey,” he says, stroking a thumb over my cheek
. “Let’s just worry about right now.”

  I nod, but fear grabs hold of my heart. We can’t lose anyone else. We just can’t.

  “Is . . . is it over?”

  He nods. “There ain’t a single one of them still walking, Skye, and that’s all you need to know. We had triple the man power, and it’s the only thing that saved us. We took out all of the big guns, their minions and the rest. I doubt we’ll have a problem; everything they created perished last night.”

  I swallow. I don’t want to know anymore, and he wouldn’t tell me even if I did.

  “You need some rest,” I say. “Come on.”

  He lets me pull him from the shower, and I dry him with a towel. I go into Mercedes’s room and find a tee of Diesel’s. Danny is bigger than Diesel but it works. I find a pair of boxers and give them to him, also, much to his disgust.

  “They’re clean,” I assure him.

  “Still.”

  I smile, going back into the bathroom and lifting his bloody clothes. I take them straight to the laundry and put them in the machine, turning it on the longest, hottest cycle there is. Mom and Ciara sit on the sofa, tea in their hands, talking quietly. When I come in, they both look up.

  “Is he okay?” Ciara asks.

  I nod. “I think he’ll be fine; he just needs some rest.”

  She nods. “We’re going to shower and do the same. We’ll let you know if the hospital calls.”

  I smile weakly and hug them both before heading to Mercedes’s room. By the time I get back, Danny is already asleep, lying on top of the covers, his hands behind his head. I flick off the light and climb in beside him, curling into his side, and within minutes, I’m asleep too.

  But not before I thank God for answering my prayer.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  “Get me my damned jacket, woman!” Spike yells across the hospital room, wheeling himself towards Ciara.

  “You’re not wearing it in here. You need to wear what you’re told.”

  “What I’m wearin’ is a fuckin’ dress!” he barks.

  I giggle.

  “Not funny, girl,” he shoots at me.

  “It’s really funny and cute.”

  Spike’s eyes shoot to my dad. “Your daughter did not just call me cute.”

  Dad grins. “She did, and she’s right.”

  “Fuck you, Cade. I’m in a wheelchair, but you’re still stuck in that bed. I’ll take you the fuck down.”