by V. Theia
Honest to God, Texas’ fury disappeared in a second when from out of the corner of his peripheral he caught the slightest movement from the floor.
He went right on taunting the Russian, letting flow his emotions and poisoned thoughts.
And while he did, it gave Rider the moment he needed to pull a Jesus and rise from the goddamn grave, giving Texas a heart attack, though he kept his gaze on Grigori, didn’t give it away until Rider was on his feet behind the Russian and had the man in a headlock pressing his face into the desk.
Relief felt like burning in Texas’ chest.
Not dead.
Not fucking dead.
Jesus Christ.
He couldn’t let his legs go now, not when there was shit still to do.
He sounded very undead like when Rider hissed. “Word of advice, you dumbfuck. Always riddle the body on the floor with bullets to make sure they’re really dead, haven’t you seen a horror movie before? The body always fuckin’ rises. Surprise, bitch.”
If not for the situation, Texas would have rolled on the floor laughing.
“Tex. Gun.” Issued Rider, forcibly keeping the man down with his own heavy body while Russian slews flew and when Grigori attempted to scream out for help, Rider plugged his mouth with a hard fist, spurting blood.
Texas scooped up Rider’s gun from the floor and handed it over.
“Sick to fuckin’ death of hearing your Russian fuckin’ mouth. Oh, and one last thing, you’ll love this. This is from your boss the pakhan. Had a nice talk with that dying old man, once he knew you were skimming millions from his money, he asked me to finish you, as a nice favor. Fuckin’ perfect. He doesn’t know we set that up too. This is for my club, for my boy, Grinder. Bye, fucker. Told you before, I always win in the end, should have taken my warning as gospel.”
It all happened in 10ths of seconds, Texas’ eyes pinging from the door and the rushing of more feet to Rider putting the gun butt to Grigori’s temple to incapacitate him.
And then.
One bang and another enemy of the Renegade Souls MC was dead.
Not maybe dead, the brain matter and blood that splattered across the office was about as dead as dead came.
There was no time to celebrate. To breathe. To make sure Rider wasn’t really shot.
“Behind you,” warned Rider changing the angle of his gun to the doorway.
Three bulls. Weapons drawn.
A lot of bullets sprayed from them all.
Only Rider and Texas remained standing.
The last man to the door was already firing inside the office when Texas tried to aim, and found the weapon empty.
It was instinct born of friendship and loyalty that made him put himself in the way as the guy took aim at Rider’s head and fired.
Texas’ voice was loud when he screamed out one word, filled with both fear and anger. “No!”
He put himself directly in the firing line by throwing himself left and felt pain rip through his upper arm. That shit meant it cut through Texas’ flesh and bone but it also changed the course from hitting Rider’s skull.
It did hit Rider though; he found a second later once Rider had put a bullet in the last Russian. Texas turned to see Rider on the floor.
This time, blood coated his black clothes turning them wet and darker.
“Oh, fuck. You’re hit.”
“So are you,” chuckled Rider from his slumped position.
Texas got over to him to see the red stuff pouring out of him.
He couldn’t see if it was a through and through.
But it didn’t look good. Not with the way crimson started to pool on the floor.
“Thought… fuck, thought he got you, Ri. Thought that asshole got you clean through the chest.”
“Nah,” winced Rider and pulled up his shirt at the corner to show he was wearing a sleek-cut bulletproof body armor.
Relief was immense but it didn’t make Texas feel better.
His own upper arm pain was ignored as he tried to stop Rider’s blood, or at least hold it back while he fished out his phone to call for an ambulance.
“Get the club,” Rider issued just like a boss, even as his color was seeping out of his face and every moment hurt him.
Then he put a call through to the club.
“It’s Texas. 911.” He said giving the SOS code to Lawless on the other end. “Rider’s down, we’re at the porn warehouse, get the fuck here now.”
He didn’t wait for an answer, he was too busy holding the blood inside his friend’s body.
“Honest to fuck, you better not die right now.” he warned.
“Nah, I can’t, my Icy wants to go on a cruise this spring.” He chuckled then winced. “Knew, man. Knew all along you weren’t in league with that asshole.”
Texas’ eyes pinged up and met crystal blue. “What?”
“The Russian. Unlike you, you secretive fuck, who can’t share, Charlie Timmon’s let me know what you were up to.”
Relief again.
Texas inhaled his emotions like a chick watching a rom-com.
“You said…”
“Had to make him think I thought you were with him.”
“I was just trying…”
“Yeah,” Rider said. “Dangerous fuckin’ move, man, but I get it. Wanted to get clean by doing something good.”
“You fucking killed him,” he couldn’t help the pride in his voice.
“Too long in coming.”
The boys must have rode like bats out of hell, because the warehouse was stormed minutes later, even before the ambulance. Screams of Texas’ name was heard and he yelled back to let them know where they were.
They came through the doorway like a charging dark angel army, ready to shoot the place up.
The Butcher took over with Rider while Texas landed on his butt with relief.
“The women…” he rattled off to anyone who would listen, “they’re… drugged or something, help those women.”
The cops would be here any second.
“Already seen,” one of the Souls boys said and went on to say the sets were abandoned, camera dudes must have escaped the building upon hearing those first shots.
“On it,” this from Tag.
Things moved fast after that, or maybe Texas just had enough blood loss to blink out for a while.
His wound wasn’t too bad, a through and through on his upper arm, as he watched them load Rider onto the ambulance rig and another medic tried to direct Texas to the second one, “He’ll be okay?” He caught the medic by the arm and the guy looked at him sympathetically. He needed to know. “We’ll do our best, sir. Come on, we need to get you to the hospital too.”
In the distance, he saw Tag carrying out the woman Marianna, then loaded her into the Souls’ cage backseat. Texas hoped she was okay. Poor bitch deserved better than this life.
Talks with the cops would come.
He didn’t know how they’d get out of this, or even if he cared.
He’d do jail time, maybe that was his penance after all.
But Rider had to live.
Every Souls guy there climbing on their bikes ready to escort the ambulance with Rider inside would agree.
The Prez had to live.
THIRTY-ONE
“The future is not clear … until it’s diamond clear.” - Zara
There were certain things Zara didn’t like to see.
One was when the cable went out and she couldn’t get Paw Patrol for Harper on the flat screen for hours. That meant she couldn’t get any housework done.
Like at all. Her girl was needy.
The TV and iPad, as any parent will tell you, are the best babysitters of all.
She couldn’t be guilted into thinking it was bad from do-gooder moms who probably had a team of nannies anyway, just because she sat her kid in front of the box. Hells no, that thing was a godsend and she would go into panic mode and demand Rider fix it if that thing ever went out, even for a minute.
She also didn’t like seeing clothes on the floor, it was one of those things she had to get used to living with a guy.
Rider was messy as hell.
Seriously, he would dump his clothes where he was.
She still didn’t like it, but they compromised because he contributed to their life 200% and more.
But the worst thing… the absolute worst thing of all was opening the door that day to see five of the Renegade Souls on her doorstep.
Solemn faces making her belly pull in a tight fist.
She knew without one of them having to say a word.
Any military or emergency services wife will tell you; they never ever want to see anyone from their partner’s work on the doorstep because it’s undoubtedly going to be bad news.
The same went for a MC.
A lot of bikers can turn up at the house at the same time, usually coming through the garage to see what’s on offer to eat. A heavy stream of them one at a time.
But seeing them en masse at the door, Zara’s heart nearly exploded out of her chest.
Each breath she’d ever inhaled in her life became a number; she counted the inhales as she met each set of eyes.
Preacher in front.
Hawk and Grinder at his left.
Capone and Arson on his right.
No.
No.
No.
“Say it fast,” she croaked gripping the door frame just to lock her knees in place, the noise was pain in her throat. She circled her neck with shaking fingers. “Say it fucking fast.”
Their eyes displayed sympathy and she couldn’t take it, her feet stepped back even before she realized.
Expecting Preacher to take the lead and talk first, it was Hawk’s gravel-like voice which got her attention.
“He’s going to be okay. But he’s shot, they’re operating on him now. We’ve come to take you to him.”
Shot.
That’s all she heard.
Rider was shot.
He couldn’t be shot, she wanted to scream. He didn’t go anywhere today to get shot, but her voice wouldn’t come.
“Darling, he’s going to be okay.” This from Preacher. “Ruby is gonna sit with the kids while you come with us, okay?”
“Okay. Alright.” She spun around knowing she needed to grab her shoes and a jacket because Rider always fussed at her to wear a jacket even if it was just the slightest bit chilly out. He’d go crazy if she walked out of the house and she didn’t have it.
Shot.
He was shot.
What would she do if he wasn’t around to nag her about wearing a coat? Her whole chest caved in and she stood rooted to the floor unable to move.
It was then she felt an arm around her waist. Preacher again. “You sit right here on the stairs, darling. I’m gonna get you something to put on your feet. He’s gonna be okay, believe it,” he said again as if reassuring them all.
“Alright. Okay.” She repeated, seeing all those eyes on her. “My babies.” She said. “I want my babies with me.”
“We can do that, Z-girl.” Grinder spoke and he stepped in, touched her on the shoulder and went to pack up the kids.
“Have you told Ajax and Annie?”
“They’re on their way now.”
“And Gia?”
“My Gia was near the hospital already so is meeting us there.” Hawk informed in his tight, gruff voice.
Okay, good. That’s good.
She knew he didn’t speak much at all, if it wasn’t to Rider or Gia, so she appreciated him for giving her the words she needed.
When they climbed into the big rig, Preacher was behind the wheel, Hawk next to him and Grinder and Capone climbed in either side of Zara in the back.
Arson followed them on his bike.
It was Capone who took her hand and held it the whole way there.
Zara was silent, she didn’t think she could speak other than to ask if he was okay and no one could tell her that until she put her eyes on her man.
She couldn’t even ask for details like why and where and how.
She prayed so hard. She pleaded and bartered.
The smell of hospitals to most people turned their stomach.
Not Zara’s.
She welcomed that smell because it meant she was in a place where people knew what they were doing. They could take someone broken and fix them.
Right now people in this hospital were helping the love of her life and she couldn’t be more grateful that she was here smelling that awful antiseptic sanitation.
They rushed down hallways, Preacher gave Rider’s name and they were directed into a waiting room.
It was there she saw Rider’s parents and it was Annie who came forward and pulled Zara into a tight hug.
“Sweet girl, he’s going to be fine, you know that boy of mine is tougher than old boots.”
“He’s going to be okay,” she echoed back, in hopes of giving Rider’s mom some reassurance too.
Zara so desperately wanted to go down to her knees and cry her eyes out but she wouldn’t allow that weakness.
If she crumbled to the rushing pain, it was as good as admitting she thought Rider wouldn’t be okay.
And Rider not being okay was unthinkable.
Believing defeat was not the Rider Marinos way and neither was it his woman’s.
There was no second of time in that hospital waiting room where she entertained the thought of what she would do without him, because without Rider, meant her world would collapse.
He was the center of her and their kids worlds, so with that fact, she knew he would fight Satan himself to stay with them.
This was the MC life, she knew that more than most, she’d lived it, but in all this time, nothing had touched her Rider.
Her beautiful invincible man.
She exchanged a tight hug with her sister in law before Gia went into her husband’s chest and stayed there.
The wait was horrendous and of course her kids didn’t understand the direness of the situation or why they were in this strange place.
Grinder took Knox and sat across the room with her quiet baby boy.
He was always so good.
And Harper, her little hellion in pigtails, ran around the small area until Arson grabbed her little butt and sat her on his knee, playing patty cake with her.
Every one of the boys were crammed in, some of their old ladies too.
Uncle Jed looked like he’d aged a decade. He loved Rider like his own son.
Zara was grateful for every single person squashed into that waiting room, but there was only one she wanted to see.
She watched Ajax quietly taking care of his wife, with his arm around her shoulder and his lips occasionally at her temple and his quietly spoken “Latria mou.” Whatever fragile relationship Rider had with his dad, and it was slowly rebuilding itself, there was no mistaking how Ajax worshipped his wife.
Finally—God, finally someone came out and gave the news she’d been praying for, he’d come through just fine and Rider was in recovery.
The cops came a few hours earlier, it was left to Preacher and Hawk to deal with Charlie Timmons, she’d back up whatever lie the boys told, but she had no words right then while she tried desperately to hold all her pieces together.
All the what ifs and things she should have said and done running rampant through her mind.
It was only when she finally got eyes on her man that her composure disintegrated and it was Ajax who held her up in his arms while she sobbed as Rider laid out in the bed, oblivious to the mass wave of relief going through everyone.
“See, little nýfi,” He’d called her that for months and one day she had to ask Annie what it meant. Ajax was calling her daughter in law. “That boy of mine is tough. Dry your eyes so he doesn’t see you upset or he’ll climb out of that bed.”
Zara gave a watery laugh. Rider would too.
She learned the bullet nicked an artery and he’d needed a transfusion.
If not for the quick thinking of the Butcher to use his belt to cut off the bleeding, Rider would be dead.
She hugged Tad so hard when he came through the door, dry blood soaking his clothes.
For the next hours, the boys streamed in and out.
Rider’s parents and uncle stayed.
Gia and Hawk stayed. Hawk quietly talking to Gia on his lap.
Zara kept vigil by Rider’s bed, holding his hand to her lips.
Breathing life into her biker-man.
No life at all without him, so he didn’t have a choice but to recover.
As his queen of his MC as he liked to call her, she was unyielding on this.
* * *
Down the hall, not in a private room like the prez, Tag took himself along the corridor for a minute and pushed his head around the door. The woman looked tiny on the bed covered over with the peach blanket.
He knew these hallways well; he’d been here often enough when he had to bring his dad in for excessive drinking years ago. The smell was the same.
Exhaustion, malnourished and drugs in her system the nurse outside told him when he let her know he was the one who found her, he didn’t tell the nurse the circumstances that this chick was held in a sex ring. The bruises all over her too thin body told those stories.
Approaching the bed, she didn’t wake, she hardly made a noise at all if not for her chest rising, he would be sure she was dead.
Marianna, her name, he found that out from the nurse too. He couldn’t pronounce her surname and wouldn’t try to.
She was pretty, he knew that much.
Not understated. Her prettiness was in your face, even with her pale pallor and scraped back black hair. She had full lips and long, long lashes that coasted over her cheeks.
He knew her eyes were almost silver.
He couldn’t fathom what she’d been through, only that he’d helped her, but when she’d blinked open her drug filled eyes as he carried her out, they were nearly glowing silver.
Some of the women who were in better states had fled before the cops turned up. Most of them were transported to the hospital.
She’d clung to him tight and desperate with her nails in his shoulder blades as if terrified he’d throw her away, begged in broken English for him to help her.