by Joy Blood
“I…don’t…know…I….” she stutters, and I decide to put her out of her misery and start moving again, pulling small gasps from her with each stroke.
“Answer me later. Right now, I need to finish fucking you properly.” And I do, making her scream my name and come at least three times before I let go myself. She doesn’t need to answer me. I know she will. She’s mine. Always fucking will be.
Forty-Two
Grace
I’m still reeling from the orgasms and the loaded question when yelling from down the hall pulls out attention. “The hell?” Gin says, pulling his jeans over his hips, barely buttoning them before he opens the door to figure out what the noise is. I can already tell, though. It’s Reek and Ari. I recognize the voices, but these are louder than their usual arguments.
I scramble off the bed and put my clothes back on to join Gin in the hallway where Reek has abandoned his wheelchair and has Ari pinned to the wall. “Don’t you dare fucking tell me we weren’t,” he yells into her face. I’m still too far away to hear what’s said next, but by the time I get close enough, Ari has already pushed him away and is storming off to her room.
“The fucking hell, Reek?” Gin’s voice has an edge to it that even makes me flinch.
“Nothing,” Reek grits out, and slams back down into his chair, wincing while he maneuvers to get comfortable. “Same shit,” he says before he rolls away.
“What happened?” I ask Gin as Reek’s door slams.
“Don’t know. Those two are always fighting. Never seen him go after her like that, though.”
“He wouldn’t hurt her, would he?”
“Fuck no. Not physically. He’s a prick to the girl, though. Maybe go check on her in a bit?” he asks, and I nod. “Good. She might need someone to talk to. Let’s get back out there and have some fun. I want to see if Kimi can get you drunk enough to dance on the table.” I smack his arm and stop him as he starts to walk toward the door.
“Answering your question…” I say, and he stops to look at me.
“Yeah?” he prompts.
“I will,” I tell him with the biggest, most genuine smile.
“Yeah?” he asks again, and I can only nod this time. “Good. We’ll do it next week,” he states simply.
“What? Next week?” I gape at him.
“Yeah. Got the appointment all set up at the courthouse. Thursday at two-fifteen.”
“Two-fifteen,” I echo. “What if I had said no?”
“Wasn’t happening. You’re mine, babe. Ain’t going to wait longer than I need to make it official.” He leans in and plants a hard kiss on my lips before pulling away, then drags me outside.
He wastes no time shouting our engagement to the crowd of Riders and their families.
“Want a ring?” he asks me later that evening while I’m seated comfortably on his lap. He’s holding a beer in one hand and a ring in the other. A simple band of gold with the words “Property of Gin” engraved on the outside.
“Property of Gin?” I ask sarcastically, laughing at his declaration.
“Hell yeah, babe.” He takes my hand and puts the band on my finger. “Didn’t think I needed to bother with the diamonds and shit, but I got this one too. Just in case.” His hard body shifts under me, then he produces another ring. Band of the same color, but this one has a large diamond surrounded by a cluster of smaller ones.
“Oh my gosh. This is beautiful.”
“Kimi helped me pick it out. Figured you would need something a little flashier to draw attention to the ‘Property of Gin’ one,” he jokes, then presses his mouth to mine.
“That’s enough of that shit,” Sage calls out, standing from his seat at the table. We are all gathered outside while the fire burns high, having a wonderful night filled with family and friends. “Now that you are going to be getting hitched to our former pres, I think it’s time you heard the story as to why his name is Gin,” he says, and Gin stiffens under me.
“Fuck you, Sage. You tell that story and I will rip your balls off through your throat,” Gin calls out. There is no playfulness in his tone. He is completely serious.
“Only fair, brother. No secrets in marriages and all that shit.”
Gin grumbles some more, then lifts me from his lap.
“So, back before we were full-fledged Riders…” Sage starts, but Gin is already advancing on him, making Sage take off from the crowd.
“That fucker has a death wish if he’s planning on telling that story,” Rock laughs out, along with the rest of the Riders.
I never would have thought my father had a family like this. I wish I would have met him, but being here now is enough. Knowing he had this and all the stories I’ve heard about him from everyone here, I feel closer to him. He was a good man and did right by me, even if it meant leaving me where I was when he found me. He had always been there for me even if I didn’t know it. Then, when he wasn’t, he made sure someone was.
I watch Gin as he comes walking back toward me and take him in, the tall muscled man who looks like a giant bear. I send up a thank you to Fuzz, the father I never got to meet, for sending me Gin.
Epilogue
Rico
My arms are extended up over my head, chained to the ceiling as the prick pounds in hit after hit to my ribs like it’s a sport. This is my fourth session with Rocky Balboa here. Before this, it was me tied to a chair. My days are becoming routine. I’m tossed into “the well,” then they fill it with water, and fully submerge me before flushing the water out. This goes on and on throughout the night without a pattern. I think it’s just at the whim of the guards. Then, after the countless forced baths, I’m brought up from “the well” and used as a punching bag. No questions have been asked, I’m just here for the simple fact that I’m being punished.
“Rico, you were a good solider. Too bad I have to do this. If you weren’t stupid enough to throw your lot in with that traitor,” the Dean’s voice comes into the room—a voice I know all too well. My eyes are swollen shut, a result of my first night in captivity. “But all good things...” he drifts off, waiting for Rocky Balboa to finish his pounding before continuing. “Cut him down,” the Dean instructs, and I instantly drop to the floor, my joints jarring in pain at the force of my defeated body.
“Time...for another...swim?” I pant, trying but failing to get the words out in one fluid sentence.
“No. I believe we are done with that. I’ve made a deal. I want this to be done. My son has caused enough of a stink over a woman—again—and I’m done with it.” Someone pulls me to my feet, and trying my hardest, I get one of my eyelids cracked open enough to make out his face before a swift punch to my gut has me doubling over. Lurching forward, I gasp for air, and in my weakness, my palms hit the cold concrete floor with a heavy slap. “Get your last licks in. Then put him in the truck,” the Dean instructs before his footsteps leave the room.
There’s a sickening scraping noise, then something hard slams down onto my back, sending sharp pains shooting up and down my spine. Whatever it is comes down five more times before I lose count and pass out.
When I come to, bright light is trying hard to sink through my lids, and the pain is right there along with it. Blinding pain each time I’m picked up by my shoulders and tossed to the ground with a harsh thud. I can barely make out the words spoken by men hovering over me in a haze. Then, the pain takes over again, and I’m out.
I wake again to the beeping of hospital monitors. The pain is still there, but it’s dulled slightly. My eyes open easier this time when I try, and I realize the only reason they would do that is because they’ve had time to heal. How much time?
“Reek?” That voice. I know that voice. “Hey, man.”
“Hey,” I try to say, but I don’t get much sound out due to the dryness of my throat.
“Yeah. Don’t talk yet. You’ve had a tube shoved down your throat. You just got out of surgery,” Jake informs me, and instinctively, I try to assess myself with my hands, w
hich are immobile. Slowly, I try my hardest to rise just enough to see the damage. My hands look like they have gone through a meat processor. Pins go straight through them, holding the shattered bones in place. “Doc said your hands were broken in several places and they had to operate on your knees too. They were all fucked up.” Each word he says grates at my nerves, along with every bone in my body, protesting each time I try to breathe. The thing I take note of is the fact that I can feel my legs. They are in screaming pain, but I can feel them. Has to be something, right? But that’s nothing compared to the pain in my back. Like someone is taking a red-hot poker and slowly twisting it into my lower spine. “Sorry, man. But I need to get going. I think Vin is about to play cowboy and go into the mansion guns blazing,” he tells me, then rises to his feet. It’s only then I remember why I’m here and who I was trying to protect.
“Ellie?” I ask, making him pause.
“The Dean said Avil was gone, so Vin is storming the castle. Alone. Club elected not to help.” He shrugs. “Get better, man. Don’t worry about us. You know we’ll be good.” Then, with his pretty boy smile, he’s out the door, leaving me to the doctor who comes in shortly after to tell me in more detail how fucked my broken body is.
* * *
The words malpractice and spinal reconstruction flash over in my mind like a bad commercial that comes on during each break of your favorite TV show. I can’t seem to escape them.
I was scheduled for a long road of surgeries involving my knees. The damage to my back had been minimal, or so they said. Only when I got full use of my legs back and I started doing PT did I go in for a second opinion. The next person in a white lab coat told me my back was broken and didn’t heal properly and the inflammation build up over the several weeks had caused severe damage. Permanent fucking damage.
The next asshole I talked to was a lawyer, hence the malpractice. I sued the hospital and then some, making sure the doctor who had overlooked my broken back never practiced medicine again. Not in the legal sense anyway. This is Chicago, though. He’ll more than likely find some mob boss to work for, no doubt. Or drink himself to death because of his guilt. I’m hoping for the latter.
Vin was able to get Ellie back and they took off to Cental to go live happily ever after, as far as I knew, but only a few months of that, the cockroach who is Avil Cantrell came crawling out of the woodwork and laid down a big, “Fuck you,” to the Hell’s Riders. I had been in my last surgery that day and didn’t find out about the massacre until the day after. By that time, there was nothing I could do—not that I could actually do anything while being held in a hospital bed.
A couple years later, numerous calls, and a visit from Rock is what it took for me to decide to take him up on his offer. To ditch Chicago in my rearview and head to Cental. He wanted me to patch into the club, become a Rider, but I just couldn’t fathom his request. I couldn’t even ride a bike. The only thing I could ride was my modified wheelchair. I could walk, but long periods of time were out of the question. The drugs the doctors tried to pump me full of made me feel like shit, so I stuck to pot. It kept the edge off and gave my back some function. Albeit, slow function, but function nonetheless.
I was content. I could live with the pain. I accepted the pain. Relished it some days. Until one fucking day—the fucking day she walked into the clubhouse. All perky and shit. Instantly pissing me off and making me hard at the same time. She was a conundrum and quite possibly the hottest fucking thing on two perfectly shaped legs.
Ari.
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