by Anne Malcom
I looked up at the white ceiling and then moved my eyes around the room I was in. I didn’t get far when I saw Brock sitting on a chair close to my bedside, eyes closed. My eyes roved over him and I felt a pang in my heart. He had a rough growth of stubble on his chin which I wasn’t used to; he was always clean shaven. His hair was longer, tied into a loose ponytail. My gaze moved to his cut, then down his muscular arms. I stopped short when I saw the tube attached to his forearm. A tube that had red liquid coming from it.
I tried to sit up in a panic.
What had happened to him? Holy shit, did he get shot? Worry washed over me.
I followed the tube up to an IV stand that looked like it held a bag of blood. Ew. Only then did I realize the bag was running into another tube, one that was attached to my arm.
Brock shifted in his chair, eyes snapping open. “Sparky?”
He leapt from the chair, mindful of the tube and he grasped my hand. “How you feeling, babe? You scared the fuckin’ shit outta me, passin’ out not once but twice.” He looked relieved but still concerned.
I blinked at his manner, completely different than the last time I saw him. Granted, the last time I saw him I hadn’t been kidnapped and knocking on death’s door. I had been a screaming bitch.
“Um...” I started, unsure of what to say.
“Amy Abrams speechless?” he questioned, his eyes teasing. “I never thought I’d see my girl lost for words.”
His girl? When did this happen? I hadn’t seen him for almost a month. The last words I said to him had me convinced he would never want to speak to me again, let alone throw around phrases such as “my girl”.
“I think substantial blood loss is a viable excuse for the lack of my usual quick wit,” I countered, almost instinctively. My gaze flickered to the bag on the stand. “You trying to turn me into a vampire or something?” I joked lamely. “Trust me, things will not go well for you if you stand in the way of me getting my tan on.”
Brock’s face turned serious. His hand came up to push the hair out of my face with a tenderness that stabbed my heart. “Amy, you lost a shit ton of blood. I’ve never seen someone so pale in my life. You looked—” he stopped, almost choking on his words. “You looked...dead. You almost were.” He shook his head as if his was trying to shake away the image. I’d never seen him this rattled.
“I was ready to go all Eric Northman on your ass and feed you my fucking blood if that’s what it took,” he smiled grimly and I returned it, remembering my pestering for him to watch my favorite vampire TV show with me. Before.
“Luckily we were close to this place, a place where we had the right supplies.” His gaze flickered up to the bag again. “If we hadn’t I would’ve sliced open my arm right there, did whatever it took to get you looking rosy like I love.” His gaze softened. “Lucky I’m O negative. Universal donor.”
I sank back in my bed, feeling the wind knocked out of me. This was a lot to process after just waking up. The man who I was sure hated me, the man I was in love with, not only rescued me from what was sure to be a fate worse than death was now literally giving me his blood to survive.
“Abrams?” Brock looked concerned. “You feeling okay?”
“Peachy,” I replied, feeling like my brain had just consumed a quarter pounder heavy on the fries. I was emotionally bloated.
Brock’s gaze turned hard, almost pained. He paused for a second, letting us bathe in the silence before he spoke again.
“We…well, Hansen has been so caught up in getting blood back in you he hasn’t had time to check you over.” He paused again, clenching his fist. His eyes met mine and I almost flinched at the pain in them. “Where else are you hurt?” he asked quietly, sounding devastated.
I blinked, feeling confused for a second until the weight of his words sunk in. “You think I was raped,” I stated, and he flinched.
He nodded stiffly. “Baby—” His hand found mine. “Clark had cameras set up in the dining room.” His voice was soft but somehow laced with fury at the same time. It didn’t help that the way he was holding himself that it seemed if I tapped him he’d shatter.
“I know,” I responded.
He looked up, surprised. “You know?”
I nodded. “He told me on the first day. I told him my father wouldn’t do anything without proof of life and since he hadn’t posed me with a picture of the day’s newspaper I asked him how he was planning to do it. He pointed out the cameras,” I explained.
Brock shook his head, smiling despite himself. “Sometimes I forget just how sharp you really are, Sparky.” His expression turned somber again. I was getting whiplash from the changing of his emotions.
“We saw the footage,” he began and I nodded. “We saw the footage from two nights ago” he expanded, voice tight.
Dread washed over me. Duh. Of course. The entire slice Amy up stunt was done for the benefit of the cameras and for Rafe’s sick pleasure although I suspected that was just a bonus.
“You mean you saw Rafe go all Freddy Krueger on my pins?” I asked quietly.
I wasn’t ashamed; it’s not like it was my fault the crazy motherfucker decided to slice me up. No matter how Brock felt about me he was a protective guy. Seeing his ex-whatever I was get tortured must have been hard.
Brock’s jaw was hard. “No, the footage cut off after Clark ordered you to open your legs.” His voice way low, almost a snarl. “Then it cut to you being carried off with blood dripping down your thighs.”
The look in his eyes scared me for a moment. He looked like a wild animal ready to go on a killing spree. His eyes focused on me and they softened quickly. They were full of pity and regret. I opened my mouth to reassure him that I hadn’t been raped but the door opened before I could.
“Good to see you’re awake and looking a bit more rosy,” Hansen greeted as he approached my bedside.
I glanced at Brock’s stiff frame for a moment longer then turned my attention to Hansen. I didn’t recognize him, which wasn’t saying much considering I avoided the club like it was Barney’s on Black Friday. He was attractive, not that I was surprised; most of the guys in the club were. It was like there was an unspoken rule you must be cut and panty-droppingly attractive in order to join. Oh, and be a serious badass. This guy was all three. Tall and muscly? Check. Amazing bone structure complemented by a bald head? Check. Not many men could pull that off. A sense about the way he held himself that made you not want to meet him in dark alley? Check.
“Well, I think that’s thanks to my blood donor over here.” I gestured to Brock with my head, noticing he was dangerously still.
Hansen followed my gaze, frowning. “Yeah, well, I think it’s time to stop the transfusion, considering it’s highly unorthodox anyway.” He started to fiddle with the bag. “But considering you were dangerously low on blood and we didn’t have any blood bags lying around it was our only option. Brock would have attempted the procedure himself if I didn’t do it.” He smiled at me. Boy, what a smile.
Brock’s muscly arm grabbed onto Hansen’s equally impressive one. “She needs more,” he clipped, eyes on me.
Hansen glanced down at the hold Brock had on his arm. “Brother she’s good. If we take much more from you you’re the one that’s gonna need a transfusion.”
Brock glared at him. “I don’t give a fuck what I need. I care about what she needs.”
I felt a pang at that statement.
“You need to trust me when I tell you she’s good. She’s out of the woods—her body will take care of itself now.”
Brock paused, then let go of Hansen’s arm. “You’ll be fuckin’ sorry if you’re wrong.”
Hansen chuckled. “I’m never wrong.”
I shook myself out of the daze I had been in over Brock’s behavior. “As much as I would love to watch you guys increase your testosterone levels, I kind of want some answers,” I interrupted, feeling the eyes of two attractive men on me. If only this was a different situation that would be a good thing.
I suspected I was far from looking my best though. Blood loss would do that to a girl. “Where are we?” I asked.
It looked like we were in a hospital room, or more like someone’s bedroom that had been turned into a makeshift hospital room. The bed was comfortable and had a warm quilt on in. Brock sat in a homey-looking armchair, and the walls were decorated with pictures and paintings. There were also cabinets filled with medical supplies.
“In the compound of the New Mexico chapter,” Brock answered, rubbing his arm where Hansen had just taken out the tube.
I winced slightly when he did the same to me. Brock’s eyes narrowed at this.
“You guys have a New Mexico chapter?” I asked, surprised.
I don’t know why I was surprised; I knew precious little about the club. Well, apart from what Garrett had found out all those months ago. My only connection was the fact my best friend happened to be married to the now president of the Sons of Templar MC. Oh yeah, and I was in love with the sergeant in arms.
“Yeah, Sparky, thought you would have known that. Thought you’d have the location of all the US chapters in your little file,” he replied lightly, reminding me of the first night we met.
I grinned . “It wasn’t the New Mexico chapter I was worried about.”
Hansen cleared his throat. “Now that we’ve got the most important thing out of the way, that is making sure you didn’t die from blood loss—” Brock growled but Hansen ignored this. I liked the guy already. “I want to give you a proper exam and check you are physically okay everywhere else.”
Brock went statue still at this. “You’ll be doing nothing of the fucking sort. If anyone’s givin’ her an exam it’ll be a goddamn doctor. A female doctor,” he growled, standing.
The men stood toe to toe glaring at each other. “You know I’m a doctor, Brock, evidenced by the fact I just saved your old lady’s life,” Hansen said calmly, but he held himself stiffly.
I really hoped they didn’t have a punch up. I didn’t completely have my wits about me, and I felt like I wouldn’t fully be able to appreciate it. Plus they didn’t have their shirts off.
“You boys gonna kiss or what?” a teasing voice asked from the door.
“Lucky!” I sat up, grinning at the attractive man leaning against the doorway. Lucky was the funniest biker I knew. He was goofy and loveable as well as deadly and alpha, a combination only he could pull off.
He sauntered into the room followed by Cade and Bull, who didn’t share his carefree smile. Both of them glanced at Brock and Hansen then focused on me, concern evident. I directed my grin at them, hoping to appease them.
Lucky skirted past the two men who had broken their stare off to come and kiss my head gently. “Now, I know I said things were more exciting with you around, but let’s tone it down a bit, huh, kid? I think you gave me a couple o’ greys with the fainting stunt you pulled.” He ran his hand over his smooth head. Even though he was smiling it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
I punched him, shocked at how weak my limbs felt. “Who are you calling kid, Junior? I’m pretty sure I’ve got three years on you.”
“Oh sorry, would you rather I called you ma’am?” he teased, eyes twinkling.
“You wouldn’t if you wanted to procreate,” I retorted snarkily.
He chuckled. “Good to see getting kidnapped hasn’t taken your spice.”
His statement was meant to be joking but the air felt heavy.
Cade approached my bed and he pushed my hair back. “Hey darlin.”
“Hey Cade,” I spoke quietly, my teasing tone gone.
“How you holdin’ up?” he asked, glancing down at me as if he expected me to reveal a bullet wound.
“I’m okay. It takes more than a punctured artery to get me down,” I replied lightly. Cade’s face stayed grim.
“Does Gwen know?” I asked quietly, worried about my best friend’s state of mind. She had a new baby to worry about, not to mention the events that happened directly before Belle’s birth. She didn’t need this shit on her mind as well.
“No. I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop her from coming up here with us, and I didn’t want her going out of her mind with worry until we got you back. I’m gonna call her in a couple o’ minutes.”
I couldn’t help but smile knowing my best friend’s reaction. “You’re in for one hell of a tongue lashing.”
Cade’s face was blank. “Don’t I know it.”
I moved my thoughts away from that situation, knowing I would be getting my fair share of cursing from Gwen. I knew I had a lot to answer for.
“What happened to Clark? I’m guessing he didn’t take too kindly to you guys dropping in.” My question hung in the air for a moment.
“Fucker’s still breathing—he preoccupied us with his laughable security,” Cade finally answered, running his hand through his hair in frustration. “He wasn’t our first priority going in, but after seeing what the psychopath did I am regretting not sticking around to get properly acquainted with the old man.” His voice dripped with fury.
“Thank you,” I said quietly, not just to Cade but to all the men in the room. “I should have said this straight away. But thank you for coming, for saving me. I’m sorry you had to risk your lives coming in to clean up my father’s mess.”
Cade’s face softened. “You don’t have to thank us, darlin’, and you sure as shit aren’t apologizing to us. You’re family. We take care of our family.” His tone was firm and it brought tears to my eyes.
“What happens now though?” I asked, thinking pragmatically. “I’m guessing this isn’t the end of it. Clark doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who will just shrug this off. It puts the club in danger.” My stomach dropped, thinking of any of my adopted family in Amber getting affected by this. “My fucking father. I swear to god I am going to drag him by the collar of his Armani suit to come and sort this out,” I declared passionately.
I heard Lucky and Hansen’s chuckle at this. I even thought I saw the corner of Bull’s mouth twitch. Cade and Brock were the only ones that remained stoic.
“Clark’s fuckin’ dead,” Bull declared passionately.
Cade nodded stiffly. “We’re taking care of him, Amy.”
My anger bloomed. “It’s not your job to take care of him. Don’t get me wrong, I’m tickled pink you guys executed the rescue mission when you did but this isn’t your responsibility. Plus this guy seems to be seriously high on the organized crime food chain. You will be putting yourselves in danger for something that has nothing to do with you.”
Brock stepped forward beside Cade. “They took you, Amy. They hurt you. You belong to the Sons. You belong to me. That sure as shit has something to do with us. No one messes with us. And they sure as shit don’t hurt what’s ours,” he declared passionately.
I refrained an eye roll due to the severity of the situation. “Okay, we’re going to circle back to the whole ‘Amy as a possession’ statement, but for now let’s focus on the big stuff. This is dangerous. You guys could get hurt.”
“There’s no more discussion. What they did to you, Ames—” Cade paused. “They’re dead.”
I gauged the atmosphere in the room plus the grim looks that had settled back on the men’s faces, grins gone. My gaze settled on Bull’s haunted expression for a beat.
“Okay, first I need to set something straight,” I addressed the room. “I wasn’t raped.”
I let that statement hang in the air and could hardly breathe due to the fact oxygen had been replaced with testosterone. These guys were beyond protective. Not that I could blame them. Gwen had been kidnapped last year by a rival gang, then held at gunpoint while she was in labor. Plus she had to shoot the guy. Before we got on the scene Bull’s old lady had been raped and murdered by the same gang that kidnapped Gwen. Violence on women was a sore spot for these men and something that was not tolerated.
“I know you saw the footage, and I can imagine what it was staged to look like.” I paused, meeting Brock�
�s hard stare. “But I wasn’t raped. Rafe considers knifeplay to be foreplay and apparently so does Clark. I’m telling the truth when I’m saying that the only thing that touched me was a blade.” I thought back to my gross kiss with Rafe. That didn’t count, I decided. “Although I don’t like to guess what else would have happened if you guys hadn’t arrived.” The same loaded silence followed my declaration before Cade filled it.
“You don’t know how fuckin’ relieved I am to hear that, Amy,” he said. By the look on his face I could guess. “But that still doesn’t stop the fact they held you for six days,” he continued through gritted teeth. “The fact they cut you up like that—” His voice was a hiss. “Bull’s right. They’re dead.” At that moment, this wasn’t my best friend’s husband speaking. This wasn’t the man who doted over his two-month-old baby girl. No, this was the president of a motorcycle club. A deadly one, at that.
CHAPTER TEN
After Cade’s declaration Hansen had insisted the men leave so he could check me out, despite my protests. When he had suggested Brock wait outside Brock gave him a look that could set concrete and no other word was spoken. He gave me a once over, and after declaring I was slightly dehydrated he was happy to leave me be. I was to be put on iron pills and to expect extreme tiredness for the next few weeks. Great.
He also told me I needed to be horizontal for at least twenty-four hours to help my legs heal, due to the fact my body was too weak to be moving around. I had mentally groaned at this; I had been held captive for a week. I wanted to go and make the most of my newfound freedom, frolic in some meadows, go and buy a Chanel handbag, but it looked like I was stuck for another day at least. Not that the company sucked. Brock had set up camp in the armchair beside my bed. I felt safe with him there no matter how dangerous it was for my heart.
I had wanted to speak to him after the doc’s checkup, my brush with death making some things come into perspective, but exhaustion had overwhelmed me and I drifted off before I could.