Never Coming Down

by Deja Voss

  This will probably be the last time they see me anyway. By this time next week, Gavin will move on to his next conquest, and no one will ever speak my name again.

  They say your whole life flashes before your eyes right before a near-death experience. In my case, things slow down. Super slow—like sludge, mud, cement—this rain of bullets litters the parking lot and I see each one whirring around me before I have the mind to get to the ground.

  It’s noise, it’s chaos. The visor of my helmet is keeping the dust from my lungs, but I am choking. I feel like I’ve been laying here for hours, trying to catch my breath.

  Then silence.

  I wiggle my fingers and toes. I nervously run my hand over my body, making sure I’m coated in gravel and not shrapnel. Nothing feels bloody, nothing feels broken.

  Now that I know I’m ok, I go into that mode. That place where I am a healer, I am a problem solver. It’s time for me to put the pieces back together. I toss the helmet aside and slowly stand up, peeking out from behind the bike.

  “Is anyone hurt?” I shout, sprinting over to the group of men on the ground.

  “I think I’m hit!” I hear someone scream. He’s cradling his shoulder as blood pours onto his hand.

  “Let’s get that arm up over your head,” I say. “You don’t worry about anything. I’m a doctor.”

  Chapter 13

  Gavin

  I’d know that sound anywhere. It’s been a long time since I heard it, but even back in the office as I’m signing tax documents, even over the blaring music, I can feel it rumble through my body.

  “Ollie, stay here,” I command. “Lock the door until I say so.”

  I take off in a full sprint. I can hear the pings of bullet on metal, but all I can think about is the fact that I left her out there unprotected, without so much as saying goodbye. I pull the door open to the aftermath, catching a glimpse of a familiar cut speeding down the road on a green motorcycle out of the corner of my eye.

  My brothers are lying on the ground, and I don’t even know where to begin. Rising from a cloud of dust is Sloan. I feel like I’m going to throw up. I should’ve never put her in this position. I should’ve been here to protect her. She looks like she’s intact by the way she’s standing, but it could just be adrenaline. She tosses her helmet on the ground, her face expressionless.

  “Sloan,” I shout, running after her as she charges across the lot, over to my brothers. “Are you ok?”

  I don’t know if she can’t hear me from the ringing of recent gunfire or if she’s just ignoring me. I want to grab her and hold her and make everything alright, but she’s already back on the ground, kneeling beside Clutch’s bleeding body.

  “Sloan!” I yell. “Are you ok?” It takes everything in me not to just throw myself on top of her, drag her inside, check every square inch of her body and make sure she’s ok.

  “I need a first aid kit,” she says to me. “Or just gauze, bandages, whatever. We need to get this bleeding slowed down before I can clean it up.”

  Clutch’s bicep looks like raw hamburger meat, fat and blood and gristle hanging from his arm. He’s writhing as he winces in agony.

  “You’re going to be just fine,” she assures him, propping his arm over his head.

  “Oh my God!” I hear Olive’s high-pitched screaming from the doorway. She’s sobbing. She takes off her high heels and sprints across the parking lot in her bare feet.

  “I told you to stay inside,” I bark. “It’s not safe out here.”

  “Ollie,” Sloan says calmly, as if this is a normal day in the life. “Do you have a first aid kit in there?”

  “What are you doing here?” she stammers.

  “I’ll talk to you in a little bit. Right now, I need to get this guy fixed up.” She turns her attention to Clutch, checking his pulse with her fingers on his neck. “What’s your name?”

  “Clutch,” he says, a pale grimace stretching over his face.

  “Listen, Clutch, from what I can see, you weren’t directly hit. You don’t have a bullet in you. You just took some shrapnel.”

  The poor guy has been shot at more than all of us combined after three tours in Iraq. It would be a shame if here in a parking lot on a Saturday afternoon was where he actually took a bullet.

  The rest of the men have gathered around now, watching as Sloan tears off the sleeve of her t-shirt and begins pressing it to the wound.

  “Sabers,” she says, not taking her eyes off of her task at hand.

  “What?”

  “That’s who did this. I saw them drive off.”

  Olive returns with the first aid kit and Sloan pops it open, pulling out all the gauze in it.

  “Should we take him to the hospital?” Olive asks.

  “No,” Sloan says sternly. For the first time since we arrived here, she locks eyes with me, as if looking for some sort of guidance. Everyone around is looking at me for some sort of guidance. It only makes sense. I’m the vice president; I’m supposed to be in charge when my old man isn’t around.

  “We need to get out of here,” I say. “Who knows who saw what. The cops could be here any minute. We need to chase those fuckers down and see what’s going on. You sure you got this, Sloan?” I ask her. I have no reason to doubt her ability, but she’s about to get an education in what it’s like to be affiliated with the Mountain Misfits MC.

  “I got this.” She grabs my hand and squeezes it, smiling up at me sadly. “You go to work.”

  Austin heads for the truck that we use for deliveries.

  Heat and Brooks mount their bikes, revving the engines.

  “Ollie, you good to drive?” I ask her. She’s just standing there, mumbling to herself, tears running down her face.

  “Can you help me get him loaded up?” Sloan asks me. Olive backs her Jeep up to the sidewalk and I grab Clutch under his arms and scoop him into the back seat.

  “Gavin.” Sloan is streaked with blood and looks like she’s about to cry. “I’m so sorry.”

  She shouldn’t be apologizing to me. I’m the one who put her in this shit. She was right. This is never going to work. This isn’t fair to her.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “If you guys just get him back up the hill, Patch can take care of him from there.”

  She wraps her arms around me, hugging me close like she doesn’t want me to slip away. I kiss the top of her head.

  “You need to go,” she urges, but she doesn’t loosen her grip. “Please be careful. Please come back to me in one piece.”

  That’s simply not possible.

  This girl already has me shattered like glass all over the lot, broken into bits of what I should do and what I want to do and what I’m going to do. Reeling me in and pushing me away at the same time.

  Watching her step up and take charge of the situation, taking care of my injured men like they are her own, letting me do what I need to do to keep the club together and taken care of just tears me up even more.

  The most I can guarantee is that I’ll be back to her. Maybe then we can try and put some pieces back together.

  Heat and Brooks pull their bikes over to mine, ready to ride.

  I pull my gun from my ankle holster and shove it in my waistband. I straddle my Indian and rev the engine.

  “You know where the Saber house is?” Brooks shouts.

  I slip my sunglasses down and throw him a thumbs-up.

  “Follow me, boys.”

  Things are about to get ugly in the best kind of way. The Mountain Misfits are going hunting.

  Chapter 14

  Sloan:

  “Do you mind telling me what the fuck is actually going on?” Olive squeals, shooting me the dirtiest look I’ve ever seen over her shoulder. Her hands are clenched on the steering wheel, white-knuckled, but she’s not going anywhere.

  “You gotta drive, sweetie,” I say. The bleeding has slowed down significantly on Clutch’s arm, but I’m gripping it tightly, keeping as much pressure on it as possible.

>   “That really fucking hurts, woman,” Clutch moans. He’s a very attractive guy, buzz cut with big hulking biceps. He looks more like a military man than a Mountain Misfit. His grimace reveals sparkly white perfectly straight teeth that have to be capped in porcelain veneers. I have a feeling, on most occasions when he smiles, women just drop their pants.

  “I’m sure it does.” I feel bad for the guy, but I don’t really have any options. I need the bleeding under control before I can start working on cleaning the wound, and trying to do it in a moving vehicle isn’t impossible, but it’s definitely not ideal. “You just want me to let you bleed out instead?”

  “Here,” Olive says, digging through her purse. She tosses a joint over her shoulder. “Now shut up, you big baby.”

  “I got fucking shot, Ollie!”

  “You did not. You got hit by some bullet fragments. And she’s right. You need to calm down,” I try to say without laughing.

  I hold the joint to his lips and light it for him, a cloud of smoke filling the air. It’s not my first choice of anesthesia, but we’ll make it work.

  “What were you even doing here, Sloan?” Olive scolds as we peel off onto the highway. “You could’ve been killed!”

  “What about you?” I ask. “Is this a normal thing?”

  Nobody says a word, basically affirming my fears. She’s driving faster and faster, taking loud deep breaths like she’s hyperventilating.

  “Ollie, slow down. Cops!” I scream, catching the cruiser on the side of the road out of the corner of my eye.

  It’s too late. The blue and red flashing lights are creeping up on us.

  “Turn left,” Clutch urges, calm as can be. The narrow winding cut up ahead looks like an old four-wheeler trail.

  “Pull over,” I plead, my heart racing a million beats per minute.

  “I’m sorry, Sloan,” Olive says, crossing over the lanes of traffic and ramping her Jeep into the woods. “That’s not how this works.”

  She puts it in four-wheel drive and begins to crawl up the side of the hill, the bumps in the trail bouncing us around in the backseat. I can still see the lights on the cop car, but they’re parked at the bottom of the mountain on the side of the road.

  “What the hell!?” I shout, my heart beating so loudly I can hear it in my ears.

  “Well let’s see. We have drugs. We have gunshot wounds. We have outstanding warrants,” Olive says.

  “That would be me,” Clutch smiles.

  “What do you think the board of directors at the hospital would say if they found out you were involved in this?”

  I know exactly what they would say. Pack your shit, Sloan. You’re a hot mess.

  “Am I starting to make sense here? You think I’m just some bitchy cock block overstepping her boundaries. I’m just protecting you. You’re too good for this shit!”

  She drills her Jeep right into a huge pothole, sending the two of us flying into the roof of the Jeep.

  “Calm down,” I say to her. “Just get us to wherever we need to be safely please.”

  Clutch winces as I peel back the bloody gauze.

  “Do you know where we’re at?” he asks her.

  “I think so.”

  I can see the mansion one mountain over in a clearing tucked up in the hills from where we are. I have a feeling it isn’t going to be a smooth ride.

  “Was it worth it, Sloan?” she asks. I can see her pursed lips in the rearview mirror. I’ve been friends with her long enough to know that it means she’s the kind of pissed that generally ends with someone holding her earrings so she can unleash her fists of fury.

  “Was what worth what? I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

  “Screwing Gavin. Was it worth putting everything you have at risk just to fuck some guy?”

  “You’re making wild assumptions, Olive. Can we not do this in front of him?” I plead. “It’s really nobody’s business.”

  “She really doesn’t know how any of this works, does she?” he laughs. “Club business is everybody’s business. And you have been the talk of the town for the past couple days.”

  I cringe.

  “It’s nice to finally meet the lady who turned Gavin into monk for the last few months. It makes sense now,” he says, shooting me a wink.

  “Olive, I appreciate what you’re trying to do here. You’re a good friend. I don’t think you have anything to worry about, though. We’re good,” I assure her. “We’re done.”

  “You have an odd way of showing it. I’m so pissed at you right now.” She slams into another rut in the trail and Clutch’s skull cracks me right in the face.

  “Now you’re just doing it on purpose,” I shout.

  “Seriously, can you guys just kiss and make up?” Clutch asks. “It would be my dying wish.”

  “Shut up, idiot. You’re not dying,” she snaps.

  “Well Gav’s probably going to kill me for bleeding all over his lady.”

  “I’m gonna kill you for bleeding all over my car. You owe me a detail, bud.”

  We make it to the main road that leads up to that familiar mansion, the one I’d visited only once before, the place that started this long and winding journey for me and my best friend.

  “You’re the one who drug me out here to begin with, you know.”

  We both start laughing at her failed attempt to become a stripper. It all began here at the mansion.

  “I still think you’re an idiot, but I also can’t blame you one bit. Anyone in their right mind would happily fuck their life up for a chance to hit that,” she laughs. “It was only a matter of time before you guys finally rubbed your parts together. I was just being a good friend and trying to prolong the inevitable. Guess it wasn’t my place.”

  “There she is,” I giggle. “Welcome back, Olive. Your multiple personalities are absolutely delightful today.”

  “Still fucking mad at you.”

  “Jealous?” I tease.

  “That too,” she laughs.

  “Don’t be,” I say. “It was a onetime thing. He’s all yours.”

  “You know I’m not above your sloppy seconds. I don’t shit where I work, though.”

  “I’m not supposed to be turned on right now, am I?” Clutch asks.

  I take a bottle of water and begin to dump it down the side of his arm to flush the wound to try and loosen some of the debris before it gets too lodged in his skin.

  “Not helping,” he moans.

  “There’s something majorly wrong with you, Clutch,” I say, flashing a smile. Fortunately we’ve reached our destination. Waiting for us in the gravel driveway in front of the giant two-door garage are a few guys I haven’t met before, and one who’s face will be forever branded in my mind.

  Gavin’s father scowls at me as I hop out of the Jeep, with Clutch in tow.

  “Somebody call Patch and tell him they’re here,” he hollers. “Thanks for your help, lady.”

  He waves me off, as if shooing away a fly.

  “I want her to do it,” Clutch says. “She’s a lot prettier than Patch.”

  “Whatever,” the old man growls, spitting a wad of tobacco to the ground, barely missing my feet.

  “You’re fine, Clutch,” I say. “I’m sure Patch will have no problem getting you cleaned up.” I can tell I’m not welcome here. Gavin’s dad is making me really uncomfortable with the way he’s leering at me, and I know after our little incident in the hospital, he’s not my biggest fan.

  Olive has already wandered off, and I watch her as she wraps her arms around a big burly guy. He’s got her picked up in the air in a giant bear hug, her feet off the ground. Another guy comes up behind them and tugs her skirt down in the back so her ass isn’t hanging out. I can hear her high-pitched laughter from across the lawn. I realize I recognize them from the hospital. Tank and Red, the enforcers.

  They’re right up her alley. I wonder how she’ll ever choose between the two.

  “Take him to the shack and do what you
gotta do,” Gavin’s dad says, obviously aggravated. “If you’re gonna be hanging around here like a dirty birdie you’re gonna need to learn the dress code from your friend over there, though.”

  I know I’m a train wreck in my day-old jeans and t-shirt with the sleeve ripped off. Dried blood streaks my arms and my hair is full of clumps of dirt and gravel. I haven’t even given a second thought to what my makeup looks like, but I’m sure it’s long gone.

  Maybe it’s a good thing. At this rate, by the time Gavin gets back from whatever he’s doing, I’ll be so vile and disgusting he won’t want to touch me with a ten-foot pole.

  Let alone the ten-inch one he’s carrying around with him.

  God, it’s been a crazy twenty-four hours. I’m not even counting the drive-by shooting or the fact that I’m about to perform backwoods surgery on a self-proclaimed felon on the run. The heart of the matter lies at the fact that if it wasn’t for Gavin, I wouldn’t be here.

  If it wasn’t for him, I’d be enjoying my day off from the hospital sitting in my apartment, all alone, stealing Wi-Fi off my neighbors so I could binge-watch whatever the current thing is so that I don’t seem like an isolated alien in the breakroom when I come back to work.

  If it wasn’t for him, I would still be thinking about him, replaying the day we met over and over in my mind.

  Now I don’t have to do that. Why am I trying to push him away?

  Clutch and I walk into what looks like a shed from the outside. Heat follows behind. I don’t know why, but I kind of like that old guy. He seems to do a good job looking after these wild mountain boys.

  The lighting in the shed reminds me of an operating room, but the floor is concrete. White subway tile lines the walls, and the only thing in the middle of the floor is a big drain. Huge stand-up freezers line the walls.

  “Is this where you guys do your butchering?” I ask. I know they’re avid hunters. This seems like the perfect shack for hanging freshly hunted game.

  “Sure.” Clutch shrugs and smiles.