Before I Wake: A Kimber S. Dawn MC Novel

by Kimber S. Dawn

  When he bolts from the chair, it slides back a good two feet. “Dreads!” He hollers as he points to the patch on his cut. The one in the upper left corner.

  It’s got some wear on the edges. Meaning it’s probably been ten damn years at least since it was sewn on.

  “I’m not a fucking prospect anymore. Respect. Show me some while I show you the damn answers you want so badly. You want to know what I do? You want some help? Quit biting my head off every time I try and talk to you!” After he adjusts his chair, he takes the seat again. Only now four feet away from my hospital bed. “It’s not good. I don’t know shit about Ben, and we can’t trust Rox as far as we can throw her. Not even that far. Half that far. She packed up or said something along those lines to you. I know Eve felt pretty strongly that you wouldn’t just up and leave her for Rox that night. I also know Roxy spouted some shit to some of the other brothers’ old ladies. As far as we know, she’s on Ben’s side. So don’t listen to shit she says. As for the shit with your vagabond—”

  I go to stand, mainly because I need him to slow down. But also because I need him to stop him. Right fucking there. But, when my knees buckle under my weight, I’m forced to sit my ass directly back down. Damn the luck, and this being the first time I’ve attempted to stand without my nurse. Or my physical therapist.

  “Shit,” I mutter, cursing for many, many different reasons. But the top contender? My physical weakness. And my mental. Okay, all of my weaknesses are pissing me off. “Who the fuck is this vagabond you keep speaking of? And why does it feel like you have some stock in who they are?” I accuse. “Because I can’t recall a ‘vagabond.’” I make air quotes around the last word as if it’s offensive. “And why won’t you answer me about my damned uncle?!”

  “Vagabond is King O’Malley’s kid daughter, Eve. The girl that’s missing—Ilsa’s kid? The one the authorities keep coming and trying to question you about.” He blankly stares at me, and I wonder where the emotions that were just on his sleeve went.

  “Okay? And?!” I motion for him to continue. “How the fuck do we know her? And why are you calling her ‘Vagabond’?” I ask before remembering the important question. “And where the fuck is my unc?”

  A knock on the door interrupts us, and I swear to mother Mary herself I’m going to be doing Hail Marys for next damn twelve years if I can’t get some consecutive constructive answers from this goddamn conversation.

  That or I’ll start strangling people when I get my strength back. But, first, I’ll have to work on my strength. Fuck!

  “That’s why I need to fucking find Ben. He’s the key here, bro. That’s what I keep trying to tell you. Your unc was found shot in the face. And it could be No Colors behind it. I like that assumption more than it being Ben who killed his own flesh and blood. Either way, he was found in O’Malley’s back yard. King, not the girl. And I’m not the motherfucker calling her Vagabond. Or Pipsqueak. I never have been. Those are your damn pet names for her. Not mine. I’m just as fucking lost here as you. All I’m doing is trying to relay information the best way I can. Don’t kill the messenger, bro.”

  When the doctor steps in, he smiles first towards Daniel ‘Dreads’ Burgh, the only person besides Ben I guess I can trust at this point. I mentally stop my thoughts and glance back at the prospect and only other brother who’ll respectfully talk to me about the shit that’s going on instead of talking around me. Then I look him up and down. From his pale-blond dreadlocks to his light-brown eyes and his pale complexion in between.

  “Thank you, Dreads. For your loyalty. Stick around. I’ll have Doc come and find you when he’s done looking at my stitches and scanning over my chart. This conversation isn’t over as far as I’m concerned,” I tell the younger man, who looks the age I feel. “How fucking old am I?” I chuckle asking him.

  But my doctor speaks up, answering for him. “You’ll be thirty-seven. Next month.” The old man smiles, but I can’t. Because he may as well have just kicked me in the gut.

  “Thirty-what?” I ask before swallowing the now-larger lump lodged in my throat.

  Roxy left later that night. Soon after, I figured out the rules and regulations of the new game I currently find myself in these days. And I haven’t seen much of Roxy Bell since. Actually, I haven’t seen her once in the last six months since I’ve been shoved in this godforsaken hellhole. But I have heard her voice upstairs. Twice. And Ben threatens that he’ll sic her on me if I don’t eat and take my vitamins. Or shower. Or speak.

  I’ve pretty much revolted against him and stopped performing any and all requests he’s made of me. Not just ’cause of this new damn nausea, either. And even if his requests seem for my own good. I wasn’t doing it. No way in Hell. Especially since he won’t let me use the phone. Or let me fucking go!

  But, most importantly, because he freaking kidnapped me. And I hate him. That and he killed my sister.

  I don’t know if you know this or not, but there’s only so long a girl like me can be effectively locked in a basement before I learn my way out. And there’s only so much I can take before I’ll figure my way out after I get caught the first time. And with every time after that? As far as I’m concerned, if he’s not killed me, then my odds are only getting better. I’m a Taurus; we don’t give up. Because we can’t—it’s not in our goddamn nature. And, at some point, I’ve got to catch him slipping. I don’t have any other choice, because quitting isn’t an option for me. And I won’t live the rest of my life in this room, trying to escape Ben damn Cain. I don’t give a shit what I have to do. I won’t be living my life like this.

  “Bennyyyy!” I call out, slamming the plastic cup he serves me with every meal tray against the door at the top of the wooden stairs of the basement.

  And believe me: These stairs have seen some better days. From the stunts I’ve pulled—okay, the nails I’ve pulled from the wood—and my pacing up and down the damn things? It’s a wonder they’re still standing. I’m just saying.

  “Benny, I’m not eating this shit. I’m all for the finger-food trend we’ve got going here for my nausea, but chicken nuggets four days in a row is a bit much. Even for my poor, white-trash ass. Is it too much to ask for a burger? Can we shake it up and get some Chinese takeout? Or are you too much of a pussy to chance me alerting our little delivery boy? Again?! You fucking pussy!” I stopped blushing at the words I use to taunt him months ago. “Where are you? Huh? Answer the damn door already!” I try to up the ante by further insulting him.

  Then I hear it. And I know now that I heard it in the first place. When I was making my way up the stairs before I’d started taunting my captor, I thought I heard someone on the other side of the locked door between me and the rest of the world. I stop. Slowing my breathing, I listen as hard as I can over my heart loudly thundering against my chest.

  There is a noise.

  No. There’s someone knocking on the front fucking door!

  Without thought of repercussion and without having a single fuck to give if Ben or Roxy hears me, just as long as the person knocking on the other side of the door does too, I take the tray and chunk the nuggets and the fries to the floor. Then I bang on the wooden door with all of my might with the tray in one hand and my plastic cup in the other.

  “HELP!” I scream as loud as I can. I scream. Oh my God, do I scream! Then I pound against the old door.

  I scream and pound so hard that tears flood my eyes.

  “PLEASE! HELP!” I slam the tray and the cup until one falls from my grasp and the other enables my other pounding fist to connect with the door as effectively as the one now without it. Then, using both of my empty hands, I pound my fists on that fucking door. Then I shoulder it between breaths, and when I gather my composure after I’ve almost spent all of my energy...I pray. Around the tears and the sobs breaking their way from my chapped lips, I pray as my heart thuds against the crucifix hanging around my neck.

  Now, I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord my soul to keep. May angels stay
with me through the night. And wake me with the morning light. But, if I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.

  Again, for reasons unknown, I find an unusual amount of strength in the prayer. And I use it. As much as I can.

  Through pursed lips, though it takes me a moment, I finally catch my breath. And then, despite the ribbons I’ve already made of my throat from screaming only seconds before, I begin screaming again. Even louder. This time with a new purpose. One bigger than saving my own ass. And one bigger than any of us.

  What, exactly? I don’t know. I just fucking know that everything depends on it. On screaming. As loud as I fucking can. So I do. I scream.

  I’m screaming around pounding and kicking; I’m screaming with everything I have.

  Past the pain I feel. Past the pain of my fists pounding against the door. And I can’t tell you how much time has passed. I just know I’ve been pounding and screaming. And I can’t feel my fucking hands anymore.

  I don’t have a voice by the time a pair of arms I don’t recognize surrounds me.

  I can’t even see past the tears. I barely realize I’m hiccupping before I look up into a very unfamiliar familiar face.

  “Vagabond? You Eve O'Malley, yeah? Da one Jacques Cain calls 'Vagabond,' yeah?” he asks me.

  But I can’t see him. All I’m able to hear is the deep timbre of his smooth voice as my eyes follow it, searching for the owner. And all I can manage to do is blink through my tears.

  He’s dark. Darker than my mother. That’s for sure. Definitely Cajun. Definitely.

  “Are you Eve Of’May O’Malley? Is this the residence of Ben Cain? Or any of his affiliates?”

  A cell phone rings, cutting off the older gentleman’s concerned words.

  I silently watch and finally blink my tears away. I watch as the man in front of me answers his phone.

  “This is King. We’re in.” His dark, almost black eyes scan me from head to toe. “I can’t tell. Cher bebe may be eighty pounds wet and wearing boots. Hell, she kinda looks like the picture. Any tattoos a père could look for? I said could, yeah? Not that I will,” he barks to the person on the other end of the line while assessing me like I’m either a possible threat or a finally found hidden treasure.

  “I’m Eve,” I end up mouthing, and then I tap my chest with my finger before whispering around not having a voice, “Eve. I’m Eve.” I nod and bring my hands up to my face before wiping the tears from my cheeks.

  When the man smiles and moves to stand, bringing me with him, I almost lose it and start crying all over again. Almost. But, thankfully, his Cajun words distract me.

  “Eve. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I believe it’s been a long time coming, too. My name is Renee. Renee O’Malley. But you can call me Pops. Or père.” His smile falters, but he still blushes. “I’ve always dreamed, but never hoped…” He quickly laughs, cutting his words off. Then he looks around and continues speaking into the phone. “Dreads, we got our girl. Safe and sound. Scratch what I said. I know my own kid when I meet her. She may have her mother’s fire, but she’s got my eyes. Or at least the shape of them. Tell Clutch I’m bringing her back to the MC.”

  After I glance down the stairs and then around King—or my father—I move to stand up. I haven’t figured out names or what I’m going to call him yet. I’m trying to find my voice. Or my common sense. Not decide on Pops or père.

  But, before I can stop again, gather my thoughts, or figure out what in the freaking hell, I am dragged outside into what feels like blinding sun.

  Which is absurd, because it’s freaking raining. I know it is ’cause I feel it splatter on my skin before it rolls over my shoulders and down my arms. Then, suddenly, it sounds like someone is speaking directly beside my ear but through a megaphone. When I notice that it’s a voice laced with the same French-Cajun lilt, I blink towards the other man with a dark complexion, trying to clear my vision and see him better.

  “No sign of Ben Cain, boss. Not one. Two are staying behind to run surveillance. The rest have already pulled out. Did so on your command. This her?”

  I can’t see who is discussing me around the rain falling in my eyes. And it’s starting to piss me off. What with the tears and the anger and the seeing red, the rain isn’t making this any damn better.

  “Stop fucking talking—” When my words are whispers barely heard over any peep, I slam my mouth shut and glare between both men. “Talk. To. Me. Not at. Not around. To me. Understood?” I keep my words chopped as I punctuate each one.

  I’m ninety-nine percent certain they understood me. Especially after the two men look between each other and then back at me. Guilty. The both of them. It’s all over their faces.

  “We’re gonna take you back to SOS.”

  I feel the other, younger guy step forward at the same time my father steps forward and quickly embraces me. And, I think it’s at this point I realize my father is no longer on the phone.

  “Okay.” I nod.

  That’s fine. That’s not exactly where I want to go. But I can’t think of a safer spot to be right this moment. Maybe with Ty. Or L. But, other than that, no one. And, in all honesty, Ty and Lauryn couldn’t keep me as safe as any of these people.

  “Good,” I whisper around my busted voice box.

  My gaze shoots back up to my father’s when I feel the needle slide into my vein. And I can’t help it. I can’t speak. Even if I weren’t in shock, even if the pain of his betrayal weren’t violently surging through me, I still wouldn’t be able to speak.

  “Sorry, Pipsqueak. He said two vials. He doesn’t want anything happening to you. And neither do I. Don’t hate me. Just wait...allow me to explain, yeah? When you wake up. Before hating me straight out the gate. I promise, once you know everything. Because I don’t, cher bebe. I don’t.”

  His voice, when he started speaking, was clear. Clear as a bell. But the longer he goes on, the more his words echo. And, now, I can’t even not hear him, but I can’t hear my own thoughts.

  So, instead, I just watch his mouth move as the sound of his voice drowns out of my subconscious thoughts. Then I blink over and over ’cause I feel like I’m falling.

  And not long after that, everything goes dark. Still and dark.

  When I come to, I can only assume two things. One, that I’m in a hospital. From the sterile smell of the room and the crispness of the sheets beneath me. And two, that Jacques Cain is in the room.

  I know the last part because I hear him speaking.

  “Okay, so aside from dehydration, what’s keeping me from being able to question her? I’m confused? She has the answers. The ones I need. So wake her the fuck up. And let me get them. Please,” he growls.

  Growls. Before someone clears their throat.

  “Yes, dehydration. Mr. Cain, do you remember your circumstances? Not what? Four months ago? You look to be doing much better. And I’m for one glad to see it.”

  The room is quiet for a second. I try so hard to orient myself and my thoughts that I slowly count my even breaths. Count and find an even beat. Breathe.

  In. Then out. In. Then out. While trying to calmly listen to my surroundings before reacting. There’s no need for another knee-jerk reaction on my part. Not at this point in the story.

  I lie there as still as possible, doing nothing but breathing as evenly as I’m able to while the male voices continue speaking around me.

  “Yes, sir. Much better. Thanks to my old lady. Roxy’s been there every step of the way. By my side. Even through the thick. And the thin. Ain’t that right, baby?”

  I hear Jacques. I hear his voice saying the ridiculous shit, and I gotta tell ya: I lose count of my breaths.

  What. Wait. What the fuck did he just say?

  I try to peek my eyes open, but all I’m met with is resistance. Almost like my lids are taped together.

  “But we’re not here to talk about me and my rehab. I need info on this one.”

  My arch nemesis, Roxy, speaks
up for the first time. “I’m gonna step outside. Jacques, you need anything?”

  And I can’t really tell you what’s said after that or in response to that. I can’t make shit out of the rest of their conversation, aside from the escalating beeping of the heart monitors next to my head.

  “Shh. We may need to also step out,” an older, unfamiliar voice—the doctor, I assume—suggests to the others in the room.

  And, after that, I don’t hear much. I mean, I hear what sounds like boots stepping closer to me. And that explains the light behind my eyelids dimming. If Jacques were to step closer to me, it could block the sunlight out. But, when the hair beside my face stirs in the wake of his sweet breath before he speaks against my ear, I can’t help it. Involuntarily, I shudder. Utterly and completely against my very own will, I shudder. Then attempt once again to go as still as I can.

  “Vagabond... Hey, baby. I need you to wake up.” His words, his tone—they dig at parts of me that shouldn’t still be alive. Not after all of this time and all of this hurt. “Tell the nice doctor he can say whatever he needs to say in front of me. Tell him you want me to stay.”

  I start cursing myself. Hating myself. But cursing and hating Jacques Cain even more with every word that falls from his beautiful mouth. When I finally am able to peek through my lashes, I catch the last few words as the only man I’ve ever loved whispers them to me. When his gaze flicks up to mine, they narrow. And I know, he knows I’m conscious. Then he smirks.

  “It’s time to wake your ass up!” he suddenly shouts directly into my ear. “Set this shit straight. And right fucking now! Am I understood!? NOW, GET UP!” His booming voice is so loud it causes my ears to violently ring.