“Smoke, I'm not a damn paramedic, I can't put her back together,” she says, her calm voice grates on me like sandpaper across my knuckles.
“Neither can I,” I whisper.
Frankie was the one who had gathered up all the scattered pieces, all the jagged shards of me and painstakingly, piece by piece, put me back together.
My despair turns to anger as my throat closes.
I can't do the same for her.
“Why is that little shit taking so long!” I roar.
I look back to Rage, she's eyeing me cautiously. She's not frantic, but that's not her style. Never was. She twirls the end of her long blonde ponytail between her fingers.
“He's coming. I called him. He knows better than to stand me up.”
There is no doubt in my mind that that's true. Any man, ship, or person would be insane to skip out on Rage. And although I know she's changed in so many ways, I'm glad that she still can command the kind of fear that has men bending to her will.
That fear may very well save Frankie's life. After all the shit that’s gone down with this crew inside of hospitals, they aren’t trusted. Plus, they’ve got the best of the best medics and surgeons on their fucking payroll, so hospitals be damned.
My insides hurt like someone has flayed me open from neck to dick. I’m dying. I know I am. I'm dying right along with her because there is no way I can live if Frankie isn't gonna make it.
I lean down and place my ear against her chest to listen for a heartbeat, and my own seizes when I can’t hear hers over the blood rushing through my ears.
“Here, let me." Rage says, kneeling beside me. She presses the side of her head to Frankie's chest. When she lifts her head, she places her index finger under Frankie's nose. “It's shallow, but it's there."
I take a breath, and suddenly, I can feel the pounding of my heart in my chest, like just knowing Frankie was breathing was also bringing me back to life.
The medic runs in and pushes us aside. He works on Frankie quickly, tearing at her clothes and stabbing her with an IV. It’s all over in a flash. I’m looking over his shoulder because one wrong move and this fucker will be the one needing a coroner.
“Now, we wait. We’ll know more if she wakes up in the next few hours.” He runs out just as quickly as he came.
I rest my forehead on Frankie’s shoulder. She stirs, and I watch without breathing for so long I cough because my heart skips a beat.
I don’t know how long I sit there with her, but it’s a long time.
I assume Rage has been long gone until she speaks.
“You love her?” she points to Frankie who stirs again.
This time Frankie’s eyes flutter open. I’m greeted with a beautiful but strained smile that I can’t help but return. Crouching down, I take her hands in mine and press them to my lips. I don’t take my eyes off her while I answer Rage’s question.
“Yeah, I do. I fucking love her.” I kiss her hand. “So very fucking much.”
Chapter Fifty-Nine
“You got a second to talk?” Nolan asks, knocking on the open door. I knew this was coming eventually, and it might as well be while Frankie’s asleep. I pocket the flash drive and remind myself to ask Frankie about it later.
“I think I’ve had enough talking for a fucking lifetime, but sure, why the fuck not.” I slap my hands on my thighs and stand. I follow him from the room into the courtyard and shut the door quietly behind me so Frankie doesn’t wake up.
I stand in front of Nolan and cross my arms over my chest. I may be bigger than him but our fight isn’t about size. If the fucker wanted to kill me, I’d get it. Fuck, there was a time I’d have handed him the fucking gun.
The man was tied up and beaten and was forced to watch with one non-swollen eye open while I was made to fuck his girl at gunpoint.
“Rage told me about earlier. What her and Frankie did.” He shakes his head. “Those girls. Sometimes, I think Rage’s got bigger balls than me.”
“I KNOW her balls are bigger than yours,” I say.
Nolan adjusts his Wolf Warriors cut. I remind myself to ask Rage later why the fuck she didn’t join up with her man’s MC and joined The Lawless instead.
“I know you’ve kept your distance. I just wanted to let you know I appreciate that. I also wanted to let you know that I appreciate you saving my life. You didn’t owe me shit, but you did it anyway,” Nolan says.
“I did it for Rage,” I correct him.
“I know. And that’s why you don’t have a fucking bullet in your head right now,” he says with a smile.
“Fuck,” I say, taking a step closer. “You’re even starting to act like her,” I can’t help the laugh that escapes me. “You’re doing that thing she does where she says something really fucked up but with a smile on her face like she told you she’s running out for fucking frozen yogurt.”
Nolan glances at the mirror then back to me, dropping the smile. “Fuck, I am doing it,” he says.
We both laugh.
“What happened out there that night? That wasn’t your fault. None of it was,” Nolan says.
“I know that,” I say. “Now.”
“I wanted to kill you,” Nolan cracks his knuckles.
“I would have killed you,” I say. “You’re a better man than me.”
“But I came here for a reason. I got something to say. Something important.”
I sigh. “What?”
“You don’t gotta leave again. You can stick around without worry. In fact, after talking to Rage, she brought something up, but she didn’t want to ask you so I’m gonna, and just so you know, the answer is yes because I’m not going to be the one to tell her otherwise.”
“What is it?”
“It’s for her.”
“Just fucking spit it out already!” I groan.
“We’re getting married,” Nolan says.
“Holy shit,” I say, a smile spreading across my face.
Nolan returns my smile looking downright proud of himself. “And I only had to ask her about sixty times before she said yes.”
“I’m impressed,” I say, because I am impressed. Rage of all people. Married?
“What do you want from me?”
“I ain’t gonna ask your permission or nothin’ because she’s my girl, and I don’t need your fucking permission, just let me say that first.”
I nod.
“But, I do want to ask you if you’ll give her away.”
“What about her dad?” Rage is the only killer I know who’s in tight with her mom and pop.
“We’re doing a little backyard ceremony for them. Just the four of us. She doesn’t want to bring them around this world, and I don’t blame her. But we’re gonna do something here right after. At the club. And in that part of it she wants you to give her away.”
I’m so stunned by the request that I don’t speak for a while.
“And?” Nolan waves his hand in the air, waiting for me to answer.
“And I’m really surprised there aren’t bullet holes in the wall right now, and that we’re really talking about this,” I say, making Nolan laugh.
“Me, too, motherfucker. Me, too,” Nolan says. “So, you’ll do it?”
I look across the courtyard and catch Rage watching us. She turns around and pretends to be picking something up off the floor like she wasn’t listening and watching us the entire time.
“Yeah, man. I’ll do it.”
Nolan nods. “Good.” He turns to leave but stops again. “There’s one more thing. The Wolf Warriors are merging with Lawless. I’m going to be Bear’s new second in command. I talked it over with Bear, and this is yours if you want it.” He kicks a bag at his feet that I didn’t even notice he’d brought in, then leaves.
I get up and empty the bag onto the bed. A new smelling leather cut falls out.
The back has The Lawless MC with their logo and on the front, is my name and a new patch underneath. LIFE MEMBER.
I sit.
They want me to be a part of something. Something bigger than myself. I shrug off the worn leather cut from my shoulders. The blank one that tells no stories and no lies. And I shrug on the new one. I pause in the mirror as I turn around and inspect the new logo on my back. I expect to feel overwhelmed. Suffocated.
But I don’t. I feel warm. Comfortable. I can breathe again; the same way Frankie makes me feel I can breathe again.
I feel like I belong. To these people. To the club.
To Frankie.
After thirty some odd years adrift, I’ve found my place in the world.
Who’d a fucking thought.
Chapter Sixty
Three weeks later
“Sit,” he demands, and I’m too tired to fight so I take a seat at the edge of the mattress.
Recovering is exhausting.
Smoke hands me a manila file. “I have something for you.”
“What’s this?” I ask.
Smoke takes off his cut and hangs it over the back of a nearby chair. “Something didn’t add up to me about your father, who was an accountant and a money launderer, suddenly taking up something like human trafficking. One doesn’t exactly lead to the other. So, I had Nine look into it for me.”
I open the file and gasp because at first, I think it’s a picture of me I’m staring at, but it’s not me. It’s my mother. “What is this?” I ask scanning my eyes down the page. It’s like an HR file, but it’s not about her work, it’s a resume about her life. Smoke points to the bottom of the page where it says in big red bold letters. DECEASED May 13th, 2012 in Mumbai India.
May 13th was two days before I found my father’s body in the basement.
“That’s wrong.” I say shaking my head. “She didn’t die in India. She was here. And the date’s wrong. She died when I was a toddler.”
Smoke shook his head. “No, she died in India three weeks after being kidnapped coming home from work at the dentist’s office…by Griff’s men.”
Panic hits me in the chest like I’d been struck with an arrow. Sharp and deep. I look to Smoke, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s looking down at me cautiously like he’s waiting for whatever it is he’s trying to tell me to sink in. Finally, it does. But sinking isn’t just the feeling I get when the information hits my brain, it’s my heart and soul shriveling up, pitting in the bottom of my stomach.
“She was sold into human trafficking,” I say on a whisper as the bile rises in my throat, and I can actually feel the tearing of my heart as it pulls apart. I sink down, but Smoke catches me before I hit the floor, pulling me onto his lap.
“Look at me,” he demands, turning me to face him.
I look up at him. The file falls from my hand to the floor and papers flutter all around the carpet as my arms fall limply to my sides. I search Smoke’s eyes, but I don’t feel anything but a sickening awareness of what had been done to my mother.
“Why are you telling me this now?” I ask, my voice a weak rasp.
I search for anything in his expression that will tell me that he’s trying to intentionally hurt me, but there’s nothing but stern calmness. A well-built ship navigating stormy seas.
“Yes, your mother was sold into slavery. We don’t know the details of what or who killed her, but we know her body was found off a road connecting two towns.”
“I don’t…” I start, but Smoke isn’t finished.
“Frankie, your father knew. He found out she’d been taken and the reasons why.”
“I still don’t understand.”
“Frankie, your old man still did all the bad shit. He transferred all the money for Griff. He contributed to a lot of deaths and his share of despair. That much is true. But the reason why he did it wasn’t greed,” Smoke says. “He was trying to find her. Your mom.”
“Oh my god,” I say as his words sink it. I press my face into Smoke’s chest and my tears are absorbed into his shirt. “He was looking for her. But he still hurt so many others.”
Smoke nods again. “He did,” he admits, holding my face in his large rough hands. “He hurt a lot of people. People died because of him. Women. Men.” The sinking feeling returns. “But you can’t blame him. He was willing to turn Heaven and Hell over searching for your mom. He was willing to kill everyone standing between him and her.” He leaned in close and brushed his lips lightly over mine. “I know the feeling, hellion.”
My chilled blood warms. Smoke had just given me the greatest gift I’d ever received. He’d given me my family back. My father.
Who didn’t die of a heart attack, but of a broken heart.
The door creaks open. “Got a minute?” Nine asks.
I look up from Smoke to Nine who gives me a thumbs up.
“I…I have something for you, too,” I say with a sniffle.
Smoke’s eyes grow wide. He turns around slowly as the most beautiful sound in the world floats through the open door from the courtyard.
Toddler giggles.
Epilogue
THREE MONTHS LATER
We’ve taken up permanent residence in The Warden’s cottage. After working day and night for months, I finally have a set-up with an internet speed measured in a unit faster than the time it takes an ox to plow a field, and the room with all the storage is now a princess room for Smoke’s daughter who Nine found using the files from Griff’s server I’d sent him before Griff put a bullet in my gut.
Her name is Morgan, and she is Smoke. Dark hair. Dark eyes and a total brute. I’m completely in love with the both of them.
We’re a team now. The three of us.
I continue saving lives, but with Nine’s help, I’ve become completely untraceable. Smoke’s been spending more time with King, Bear, and Preppy, but he’s bonded with Nine most of all.
Smoke has yet to put on the cut, officially that is. Even though I know he wants to. Bear said it’s his decision, and he can take his time. I’ll know when he’s ready because the cut will no longer be hanging off the chair in the corner of the living room.
He won’t let me hang it up. I think he likes to know it’s there. Not just the cut. The option. The club. The people. Bear, King, Preppy, Rage, Nine. They all stuck their necks out for him.
For me.
I don’t think he can put on the cut until he gets used to the idea that once he does, people are going to be sticking their necks out for him all the time. No questions asked.
“That should do it,” I say to myself, climbing down from the ladder.
“Wow,” Smoke says behind me. I join him in the center of the room. Together, we admire the place above the mantel where I’ve chosen to display my most favorite painting. My very FIRST painting.
“I’m not sure that’s the place for it,” Smoke says. His forehead is wrinkled in thought.
“Why? I thought it was perfect. Don’t you like it?” I ask.
“It’s fucking beautiful, but it’s too... I don’t know. I’m not really sure what to think of it,” Smoke says.
“It’s from a dream I had,” I tell him.
“You don’t think it’s too morbid for above the mantle?” Smoke asks, wrapping his arms around me from behind.
“YOU of all people think it might be too morbid?” I tease.
“I don’t know. Maybe, it hits too close to home is all.”
“Art is all about perception. What it makes you feel. Everyone sees art differently,” I say, and that’s when I smell it.
Leather. New leather.
I glance out of the corner of my eye to the chair.
The empty chair.
I can’t help the smile spreading across my face.
“What I see is me carrying you into Hell,” Smoke says. There’s a sadness in his voice that makes my heart hurt.
I turn and stand on my tip-toes, wrapping my arms around his neck. “No, you’re not carrying me through Hell.” I press a soft kiss to his lips and look deeply into his dark eyes. “You’re carrying me out of it.”
THE END
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Bonus Scene
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All The Rage from Rage’s perspective
I’m in the middle of the fucking woods, and I don’t want to be here. All I want to do is kill the piece of shit I came out here to kill and fucking leave. I’m tired. More tired than I’ve ever been, and I feel it weaving its way through my muscle and bones.
I’m standing across from Mugs, a member of the Beach Bastards MC, and I wish to fuck I wasn’t. I work alone. Always have. But there’s a reason why Mugs is there, and I aim to get the fucking job done and get the fuck out of there.
Mugs is a fucking mess. Greasy blond hair flat on his head and a crooked smile on his face as he chews on yet another fucking toothpick, which is about as thick as his twig legs. He’s holding a shovel casually across his shoulders, having just finished digging the hole I ordered him to dig.
One of the reasons why we are even in the woods to begin with is because of the other man in front of me. Jerry. The one with his mouth duct taped shut and his wrists tied behind his back. He pissed himself. I smell the urine before I see it. The motherfucker lived like a coward, and now he’s gonna die like one.
I aim my gun at his head. “You thought you could fuck with us and get away with it, Jerry?” Jerry can’t answer, but I don’t fucking care. I cock the gun. Jerry was a job assigned to me by Bear, the VP of the Beach Bastards MC, after Jerry raped and practically disfigured the daughter of one of his brothers.
“No…no, Smoke. Don’t do this. I promise, I didn’t mean to hurt her,” Jerry whines. There’s nothin’ I hate more than a fucking whiner. Especially someone who whines while begging for his life.
I chuckle. “You didn’t mean to hurt her? She was a kid, motherfucker. You raped her, sliced up her virgin cunt, and gave her a fucking concussion. So, don’t fucking tell me you didn’t mean to fucking hurt her just so you can spare your own life, you weak piece of shit! It’s too late for that now.”
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