"I think it's time for me to start," I decided. If it wasn't coffee, it was going to be alcohol, and I needed to be at least halfway on my game to be seeing patients, so the latter was out.
"Well, we have every selection to mankind," she told me, leading me inside, telling me about all the flavors of syrup we had, the different creamers.
I was only half paying attention as my mind reeled with so many thoughts I felt queasy.
As I drank coffee that I stopped gagging over after my second cup and tried to focus on patient issues, my thoughts raced back and forth, but always seemed to land back not on A—where my mind needed to be—but on Niro.
His lips.
Hands.
Voice.
The intensity in his eyes.
The resigned disappointment as he turned to leave.
I know. I know.
But what did he know?
What did he think I was going to say?
Hell, I didn't even know what I was going to say, but it wasn't something to be disappointed about in any way.
Was he replaying my words from in his bathroom after he took a machete to my confidence? Hadn't he been able to see under the hurt to the lie nestled there?
Maybe time had thrown off his ability to read me as well as he once had. Maybe I had gotten better at lying.
Either way, I wanted to reach out; I wanted to tell him I lied, that I was even lying to myself because I was terrified of my feelings for him.
But as I carried my weary bones out of work and into the relative privacy of my car, that was when the thoughts of A came back.
A watching me.
A knowing how important Niro was to me.
A using that against me at any point.
There was a sharp stabbing sensation in my chest at the idea, but I knew what I had to do. I knew I had to pretend like nothing had happened, that nothing had changed, that whatever he thought he "knew" was right. Even if what he knew was as far from the truth as possible. Even if not telling him that felt like a betrayal. To him, to me, to everything we had ever meant to each other, to what we could have meant to each other in the future.
Only, now, we couldn't.
I couldn't risk it.
I couldn't put him in danger like that.
I had to push him away.
I had to keep him away.
No matter how much it hurt.
And judging by the way my heart felt like little shards scattered across my chest as I climbed into bed with Nugget later, it was going to hurt a lot.
Chapter Thirteen
Niro
"The fuck is the matter with you?" Fallon snapped, making me almost fall on my ass from my crouched position which was making my back scream, still not fully back at one-hundred percent after the fight, then all the manual labor I'd done to distract myself from thoughts of Andi.
"What? I'm rotating my tires," I said, waving at my bike.
"You rotated them last week. And everyone else's while you were at it."
"Just looking for something to do," I told him, letting him assume I meant since the gym and fighting was now off-limits.
Anything, fucking anything other than the truth.
That I was barely able to think of anything but the sounds Andi made when my thumb worked her clit, how tight her walls felt around my fingers, how right it sounded when she cried out my name when she came.
Fuck.
Just letting the memory flash across my mind for a second was like a kick to the balls.
Then, of course, there was the look on her face after she came, after she'd realized what had just happened. And with whom.
Panic.
Maybe even a hint of fear.
Fucking fear.
Because I'd put my hands on her.
Christ.
It was a memory that chased away all the lingering traces of desire when I woke up from dreams about her with a raging hard-on and very little hope for release.
Panic and fear on the face of someone I had always vowed to protect from everything, to keep safe, to allow her to continue her light, easy existence in peace.
I'd put that look there.
And it was proving hard to live with that fact when I didn't have something to pound my fists into about it.
I knew the president was working with Ross Ward to mend fences, but I wasn't naive enough to think I would be able to fight again there, get my frustration out in that way again.
"We have a drop coming up," Fallon said, shrugging. "I was planning on sending Finn to toughen his ass up a little bit, but I can send you in his place. Get out of here. Clear your head a little."
"I would..."
"Fallon," Brooks called from the gates, making us both turn to find a bike rolling up the street.
Just one, but we were on edge lately.
Fallon and I both reached for guns even as we made our way toward Brooks, waiting for it to rumble closer than part, the engine cutting.
"We've been fucking over this," Fallon started when the rider climbed off, reaching up to pull the helmet off her head, shaking out her long blonde hair. "You're not welcome here, Danny."
"Don't flatter yourself, President-In-Training," she said, shooting him a wicked smirk even as Fallon bristled under her condescension. "I'm not here because I want to be here."
"Then why are you, babe?" Fallon asked, making Danny's eyes get small, annoyed at the pet name, knowing he was using it to try to make her feel small.
"One of my men was hit in that shootout," she explained.
"I'm fucking heartbroken about it," Fallon drawled.
"Anyway," she went on, looking at me instead. "He was in a medically-induced coma until this morning when he finally woke up. He was asking for you."
"Asking for me?" I asked, brows furrowing.
"Please," she said, rolling her eyes, "I don't get it either. Maybe he hit his head or something. But he practically begged me to come and get you."
"Listen, Danny, we're not at your fucking beck and call," Fallon told her, shrugging, making my decision for me.
"Listen, I'm not pretending to understand it. I just know Toll told me to get that guy he fought at the club. So here I am. Getting him. Look," she went on, sighing, when we didn't seem swayed. "Maybe he's not right anymore," she said, waving to her temple. "Maybe he's whacked out on pain meds. I don't know. But in case it's something to do with you assholes, I figured I would let you know he wanted to talk to you," she told us, turning to walk away.
"And why the fuck would you want to help us in any way?"
"Help you," she scoffed, shaking her head. "No. But the way I see it, if we have a common enemy in this town, one that can cause some major shit to go down, we are stronger going at them from all sides. If anyone is going to take down your cute little club, Little Prez, it's going to be me," she said, climbing back onto her bike. "He's at Liberty. Room two-fifty-three."
And with that, she was gone, leaving us standing there lost in our thoughts for a few moments.
"What's the move?" I asked finally. "Go or don't go?"
"It's a hospital," he mused aloud. "It's not like they are going to ambush us there."
"Yeah. And if Danny is right and he has some information we need to know..."
"That's what I'm thinking. But I'm coming with," he said, looking over at Brooks. "You'll fill everyone in?" he asked.
"Already working on it," Brooks said, typing away on his phone.
Brooks was probably a better brother than the two of us put together, always on his toes, always knowing the right move. I guess being one of the few current younger members who wasn't a legacy made him feel like he needed to really earn his place, prove himself.
"Alright good. Thanks. We are heading out," Fallon said, nodding toward our bikes.
And just like that, we were off.
Maybe on a mission to talk to someone with a bent brain, or high on painkillers, but regardless of those possibilities, I had this gut feeling that this wa
s going to be important.
We made our way into the room what seemed like just a couple minutes after Danny who had stopped to grab donuts.
Toll was sitting up in the hospital bed, his large body nearly eating the whole thing up. He looked pale and tired considering he'd been sleeping since the night of the shooting, but alert. Not crazy-eyed.
"Where is she?" he barked as soon as his gaze fell on me, voice rough from disuse, but loud, bouncing off the walls.
"Where is who?" I asked, shaking my head when Fallon looked at me.
"Andi," he said, the name a bullet wound to my minuscule heart.
"Andi?" I repeated, still not understanding.
"Yes, Andi. Where the fuck is she? Do they still have her?"
"Does who still have her?" Fallon asked.
"No one has her," I said at almost the same time, thinking maybe he was fucked in the head after all.
"Toll," Danny said, pressing a hand to his arm, trying to calm him down as the machine he was attached to start to beep a little more incessantly.
"She was there with me," he said, voice rising, nearly yelling. "At the pizza place. We were sitting out front eating pizza."
The jealousy at his words were a stabbing sensation to the cut, the knife turning, creating maximum damage.
"The fuck are you talking about?" I growled, stalking closer to the bed.
"I was at the bar when she got out of work. Her stomach was growling. I suggested the pizza place. She was fucking there," he insisted. "And then the shooting started. She couldn't get inside."
"No, man. No," I objected, shaking my head, wondering if he was confusing Andi for the other unknown woman the cops had no lead on.
"Yes, fucking yes. She was there. And then I got hit. And they came and grabbed her. I was barely fucking conscious but I heard her screaming, fucking screaming for me to help as they pulled her away and shoved her into a trunk. I... I blacked out. I couldn't fucking save her."
I could feel Fallon's gaze on me, see Danny's on him, all of us a mixture of confusion.
"Toll, man, I think you're confused," I said, trying for calm. It wasn't his fault if he whacked his head off the pavement and was remembering shit weird. "I've seen Andi. She's fine."
"No," he said, shaking his head. "No. They took her. They kidnapped her."
And, suddenly, something she'd said came rushing back, something I had all but forgotten about because of everything that had come afterward.
I'm right here. Un-kidnapped.
Un-kidnapped.
I guess I thought she meant she'd never been kidnapped.
But that wasn't how she phrased it.
Un-kidnapped.
Because Toll was right.
Toll was right.
They'd taken her.
Then they'd done something, said something, to force her silence.
That was why she'd said it that way. Because Andi was a shitty liar. She couldn't say she hadn't been kidnapped with any believability. But saying she'd been un-kidnapped? She could say that. Because it was true. They took her, then they let her go.
"Fuck," I snapped, turning, and rushing out of the hospital, ignoring the shouts from the staff as I ran through the halls, not able to think of anything but the fact that something awful had happened to her, and she was carrying on like it hadn't because they'd likely threatened her in some way.
I was at her office after what felt like forever, but I was pretty sure I was pushing eighty the whole way. I don't think I'd have even noticed sirens and lights if they had followed me.
"Um, can I help you?" the woman at the front desk—blonde, round-faced, blue-eyed—asked, brows knitting.
"I need to see Andi."
"Sir, I'm afraid you need to have an appointment."
"Listen, I need to see her. You can tell me where she is, or I can start yelling. Your choice."
"She's not here."
"And—" I started to yell, drawing the attention of the couple in the waiting room who were shushing their roaring cat in its carrier.
"She's not here," the woman insisted, standing. "She leaves early on Wednesdays since she does late shifts on Tuesdays and Thursdays. She's not here."
"Fuck," I snapped, turning to make my way to the door.
"I can leave a mess—"
I was already back out on the street, on my bike, peeling off toward her apartment building.
"I'm starting to think maybe I should call the police when I see you here," Andi's neighbor decided when I got in front of her door, pounding my fists on it.
"Do what you gotta do," I snapped, pounding harder, cursing under my breath.
"Is she home?" I asked.
There was a long moment of silence as she looked at me, trying to gauge my threat-level. In the end, she must have seen the worry, the panic in my face, because she sighed.
"Yeah. I mean...yeah."
"What aren't you telling me?"
"I'm worried about her. She seems, I don't know, depressed. Purple circles, always clutching coffee cups..."
"She doesn't drink coffee."
"Well, she does now. And she doesn't even cute-talk to little Nugget anymore. She just seems off."
"Do you have a key to her door?" I asked, watching as the truth flashed across her face. Yes, she did. But she wasn't going to give it to me. And if I broke it down, she'd be calling the cops on me for sure.
"Listen, Andi and I have been best friends since we were in diapers. I helped her save Nugget from a half-frozen river. I kept him for her during college."
"Then why do I never see you here? Except when you're acting like a crazy person?"
"Because I fucked up and she's mad at me. But if she needs me, I have to be here. And I think she needs me. If she doesn't want me, I will call her parents. But I need to know she's okay. You can even come in," I offered.
She chewed her lip for a moment before going back inside her apartment, coming back with keys on a sunflower lanyard... and a baseball bat.
"My mom told me never to trust a biker," she told me, shrugging.
"Probably good advice," I agreed, taking the key, unlocking the door.
The apartment itself was a blur as I rushed inside, barely even registering Nugget's happy greeting as I broke into the bedroom and found her curled up under a pile of blankets on the bed.
"Andi," I called, voice tentative, unsure, as I watched the blankets, making sure they were rising and falling. "Andi!" I called again, louder, hearing a whimper.
"You can't be here."
"What?" I asked, moving closer, grabbing at her hip, flipping her onto her back.
"You can't. You need to go. Now," she said, reaching up to scrub the sleeves of her sweatshirt over her wet cheeks.
"Baby, I'm not going anywhere," I told her, seeing that the neighbor was right. She looked like she hadn't slept in a week. Her eyes were red and swollen, her cheeks raw from her tears. "I need to talk to you."
"You can't. You have to go."
"Andi, Toll woke up," I said, watching as terror moved across her face, eyes going huge, lips parting. "I know," I added, voice low.
"No," she said, shaking her head frantically. "No, you don't. You don't know anything. You can't know anything, okay? You have to go. It's not sa—" she started, glancing over at her neighbor.
"Ah, you guys maybe need to talk, yeah?" she asked, looking to Andi for clarification.
"Yeah," I agreed even as Andi gave her a small nod.
"Okay. Well. I am going to be across the hall. In silence. Listening by my door. Just in case," she added, waving the bat at me as a silent threat, then retreating out of the apartment, closing the front door with a quiet click.
"Andi..."
"You have to go," she half demanded, half pleaded, her voice cracking.
"I can't go," I said, shaking my head as I kicked out of my shoes, moving onto the edge of the bed, sitting up against the headboard, reaching down to reach for her like I'd done many-a-time in our friendship, p
ulling her up beside me, tucking her against my chest. "I can't leave you like this, you know that," I added, arm wrapping around her tight.
"You have to," she insisted, trying to weakly push me off the bed, but not managing to budge me at all. That defeat just seemed to make whatever control she had snap, her forehead falling onto my shoulder, a choked sob escaping her.
"It's okay. You're alright," I insisted, giving her body a squeeze.
"No," she objected, shaking her head.
"I know you've been through something, baby. But it's over."
"It's not over. It's not. You don't understand."
"You're right," I agreed, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her head, not caring about the promise I made to myself not to put my hands on her again. "I don't. But I want to. Tell me."
"They... I can't. That's the point. I can't."
"They threatened you," I guessed, stomach twisting. "They said if you said anything, something would happen to someone you love. Your mom," I figured.
"Mom. And Hope. But... but mostly you."
Me.
That made sense. If they figured out who I was, what club I belonged to. A club that could be a major threat to them. A club that could and would exact swift revenge for any hair of hers that they blew out of place.
"No one can hurt me," I assured her in the cocky way I had done back in our teens, getting a snorting laugh out of her.
"Yes, they can."
"Tell me what happened," I demanded, my hand starting to drift up and down her spine, trying to calm her down as I felt her start to tense.
"They shot Toll," she said, voice catching.
"They did," I agreed. "But he's fine. Full of piss and vinegar and worried about you. Danny said it was the first thing he said when he woke up. That she needed to get me. So I could get you."
"Is he really hurt?"
"I don't know."
"How can you not know?" she asked, pushing up to look at me, her concern for a hurt being outweighing her fear.
"I was more worried about what he had to say about you."
"Did he look okay?" she insisted, making my stomach knot, that damn jealousy coursing through me again.
"He looked a little pale. He was in a coma. But he's fine. I need to know what happened after Toll was shot, baby."
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