by K. L. Savage
“It’s Sunnie,” Knives blurts then slides his eyes over to Tool who takes a step forward. “We overheard Dr. White. She found out hours ago, but you’ve been resting, and we didn’t want to bother you. The rehab center can’t find Sunnie.”
I pull the pulse monitor off of my finger when the machine starts to beep with the rise of my heart. “What the fuck are you talking about, they can’t find her? She’s there. She has to be.”
“I don’t know. Dr. White will be in soon. You can talk to her about it,” Tool says, spinning the wedding band on his left ring finger. I bet he’s glad he isn’t me right now. He knows where his woman is. She’s slinging drinks at the bar and singing her pretty heart out.
Mine could have escaped rehab, be relapsing, or with her father.
“I’m getting out of here.” I remove the sensors taped to my chest, wincing from the hair that goes with it.
“Woah, what are you doing? No. You can’t leave the hospital. Reaper’s orders.” Tool attempts to place the sensors on my chest again, but I knock his hands away, steal the screwdriver from the top of his ear and press against the pulsating vein of his throat.
“Brother or not, you try to keep me here, and I’ll use this tool. I swear to fucking god I’ll use it. “You know damn well what you would do if this was Juliette. You’d go through hell and high water if it meant getting her back.”
“You’re right, but the difference between you and me? I’m healthy.”
“Then I’ll die trying to get her back. What else am I supposed to do? Lay here? Wait? Fuck you if you think that’s what I’m going to do to.” I push him away and throw his screwdriver to him.
I move slow at first, my side twinging a bit as I stand. I pop my neck, stretch my arms over my head, and get some feeling back in my bones. I’ve been laying around too long. “Did anyone bring me clothes by any chance?”
“Sarah did. She thought you’d like your own stuff to wear.” Tool points to the duffle bag on the table nestled near the wall.
“Damn, that woman. She’s the best,” I say.
Tool and Knives flank me as I walk, holding out their arms to prepare themselves if I fall. “I can walk just fine on my own, guys. I’m fine, okay? I’ll tell you when or if it’s too much and if I can’t handle it.” My mind is on Sunnie. Something in my gut is telling me something is wrong, and if she is in the hands of her dad, Tom, whatever the fuck he is, I’m going to enjoy killing him. Probably a little too much.
Unless she wants to do it, then I won’t stop her.
“We will come with you,” Tool tells me as I untie the hospital gown. It drops to the floor and I hear the guys hiss a breath of disgust. “Aw, what the fuck man?” Tool complains.
“Jesus Christ, that is one white ass. Warn a guy next time,” Knives adds.
“Well, don’t fucking look, and you won’t have that problem.” I slip on my jeans and love how they feel against my skin. So much better than the hospital gown or sweatpants. Don’t get me wrong, I love lounging around, but wearing them all the time, I feel useless and lazy. Next, I slip on a plain black t-shirt, socks, and lace up my boots. “Okay, you guys ready?”
“We have to let Reaper know what we are up to. He’ll be pissed if he finds out otherwise.” Tool drags out his cell phone from his pocket and presses a few buttons.
I’m not going to wait around. “Okay, let’s go. I don’t know where everyone is parked…”
“You are not riding bitch on my seat,” Knives grouches.
“Too fucking bad. I don’t have my bike, shit won’t probably start anyway, and I need to get to the rehab center as soon possible. You wouldn’t happen to have a gun in your saddlebags, would you?”
Knives rolls his eyes and deadpans me. “Of course, I do. I know ninja stars will run out at times. I always have a back-up plan.”
“Good. I’ll be needing it.”
As we head down the hall, Tool’s footsteps are behind us which makes me feel more reassured. I know leaving the hospital is a risk, but I’m dying anyway. I might as well try to see where Sunnie is, even if it kills me.
We come to the front desk, a U−shape that nearly takes up the entire middle section of the floor. Dr. White is there, writing something down on her clipboard, but when she looks up from what she’s doing and she sees me, I expect anger and a tantrum. Instead, she lays her pen down in a smooth manner.
“And where are you heading off to looking like a guy who needs a liver transplant?”
Knives and Tool chuckle and try to cover it with a cough.
“I need to go find Sunnie. I’ll come back when I do,” I say. I can tell she wants to argue with me by how she purses her lips and taps her nails against the counter. “Nothing you say is going to stop me.”
“I know. You men are all the same.” She picks her pen up and takes a pad from her pocket. “You need these medications. You cannot skip them. You have to have them. You’re functioning because of these pills. I’ll call you if one of your friends is a match to you. If so, we will schedule immediate surgery. Eighteen years does a lot of damage on the liver.” She scribbles on the prescription pad and rips the paper from the bind. “Here. Go to the pharmacy before you leave the hospital.”
“Thanks, Dr. White.”
“I hope to see you back soon, Patrick.” She hands me the little piece of paper that holds the ability to save my life, and I take it from her, slipping it into my pocket.
“You will. I just need to go get Sunnie.”
“You’d risk your life for her?”
I nod. “I’d risk everyone’s life for hers.” On those words, I walk away, following the signs to the pharmacy. I can’t remember the last time I was in a hospital. It had to have been when my sister died, and the ambulance took us to the hospital. After so many years, you’d think they would find a way to make a hospital more inviting, but the colors are just as pale and the smells have not changed.
Sterile with a hint of death.
Not my favorite.
When the guy at the pharmacy sees me, Knives, and Tool standing at the front of his desk, he backs up a few feet. I slap the paper on the counter. “I need these.”
“Better make it quick too,” Knives says, slamming a ninja star into the counter.
Always so dramatic.
“Sure.” The guy backs up and disappears down the medicine aisle, rows upon rows of the stuff. Someone with an opiate addiction would be having a tough time right about now, but not me. I don’t even have the craving for alcohol. I don’t know if it’s because I’m tired and unwell, or if I’m over it.
I highly doubt I’m over it.
Five minutes later and a bag full of pills, I’m heading out the door.
“Don’t fucking look all cuddly and shit when you’re on the back of my bike,” Knives warns. “I swear, needing a new liver or not, I’ll throw you off while we are going sixty miles an hour down the highway.”
“Damn, no sympathy for the dying, huh? That’s messed up, Knives. What if I don’t have the strength to hold on?” I tease him, and as he hops on his sleek red and chrome Harley Davidson, his brows crinkle together.
I throw my leg over the back of the bike and lean against the backrest and bark out a slew of laughter. “It’s fine, Knives. Just go. I need to get to Sunnie.”
“Reaper says don’t do anything stupid,” Tool informs us of our Prez’s order as he clicks on his deep purple bucket helmet that says, “Property of Juliette.” She got it made for him as a joke, but Tool wears the damn thing every time he rides. I’m pretty sure he gets laid every time too.
Ah, so that’s why he wears it.
“I’ll do what I need to do,” I say, staring straight ahead toward the Vegas sunset. The heat waves are strong and ripple through the air like a water’s current. I never noticed how pretty it was before. Another thing I’ll have to make sure I do more is watch the sunsets.
Knives’ bike pulls out of the parking lot with Tool hot on his tail. The engines are loud,
a wolf’s growl locked into the pistons. Knives lets it rip on the highway, and the bike lurches forward, eating up the miles between me and Sunnie.
I close my eyes and let myself relish in the breeze against my face. It’s been so fucking long since I’ve rode, that I’ve forgotten the feeling of being free. I spread my arms out and tilt my head back, doing my best not to get emotional in the bitch seat behind Knives. I’ll never hear the end of it, but now that I know my life is on the clock, I always want to feel this good.
All this time I’ve been alive, but now that I’m dying, I know what it’s like to truly live. I regret every choice I made to bring alcohol to my lips, but at the same time, I don’t know if I’d be here, appreciating something as simple as the wind in my goddamn hair.
I’m such a fucking little bitch.
That’s okay.
I’ll take the secret with me to the grave.
All too soon, the bike is slowing down, and the loss of momentum has me opening my eyes, seeing the sun is quickly fading and night is cloaking its place. Pulling into the newly paved parking lot, Knives and Tool park in a spot next to one another.
I hop off from behind Knives and look at the house. I never got a good look at it before, but it’s something out of a book. It’s more like a hotel than a home. It has a Victorian Gothic look to it, a few towers, stone sides, and a large wooden door.
Actually, the more I look at it, the more it looks like a castle; especially with the bars on the windows. No, not a castle.
A fucking prison.
I growl and charge forward, but I’m cut short when Tool grabs my arm, holding me back. “Listen, I know you’re all ‘let’s kick some ass’ but you’ve never done this before, okay? You’ve been down for the count for eighteen years. That isn’t a jab at you, but you have to think with a clear head. You can’t go in there guns blazing,” Tool whispers, glancing around to make sure we are alone just as Knives places a nine-millimeter in my hand.
I turn it in my hand, gauging the weight of it, and notice the serial number has been filed off. I cock the weapon and drop my arm to my side. “The hell I can’t,” I say to Tool.
Giving them my back as I march toward the entrance, Tool curses while Knives laughs. A few ninja stars zip by me and land with a soft thud against one of the trees.
Someone is getting excited.
When we get to the doors, Knives pulls his stars out of the tree and dances them across his fingers. His hands are scarred to shit from those things, always practicing with them as if he has a death wish.
“Goddamn it, what’s the plan?” Tool whispers as I open up the door.
“Just follow my lead.”
“That’s real fucking comforting, Pirate.”
I ignore his lack of faith in me and step through the lobby, gun out and at the ready. It’s quiet. Too quiet.
If anything, there should be a constant flow of cussing coming from somewhere because of Loch.
High-heels clink down the hall. “I don’t care. Tom would agree. I want everyone drugged. I don’t want to deal with them. I said do it!”
“Shit, go, go, go!” I usher them to the side, and we run to a set of four beams connecting to the floor from the ceiling and hide behind them.
“This is not a plan,” Tool hisses at me.
I lay my finger against my lips, and a wave of exhaustion hits me out of nowhere.
“So sick of these type of people.”
Patricia.
Now that comes as a surprise.
“Tell Tom everyone is ready for pickup.” Her giggle sets my teeth on age. “Oh, yeah? Maybe you can prove it to me later.”
No wonder the place is dead. According to her conversation, everyone is drugged up. I peek around the corner and watch Patricia end the call and slip the phone into her pocket. She struts into the entry of the reception area, and I follow.
If the guys follow me, great. If not, great. I don’t really care. I don’t have options. I keep my steps light and hug my back against the wall. I bring the gun in the air, readying it to aim, when Patricia walks out again.
I don’t hesitate.
The gun settles perfectly against her temple, and she stops in her tracks. Knives circles her like a shark, cackling as he fakes lunging at her and watching her flinch. Tool is standing at my side, waiting to see what I’ll do.
Patricia turns to look at the person holding a gun to her head, making the placement of the barrel change. It’s in the middle of her forehead now. Her brown eyes get large when they notice me and then it wears off, her psychopathic tendencies coming forward. “Well, looks like you somehow crawled out of the grave you dug for yourself, Patrick,” she says as sleek and smooth as silk.
“I’m not here to pillow talk. Tell me, where’s Sunnie?” I’ll give it to Patricia, she has a spine of steel, which is something I didn’t expect, given her demeanor while treating us.
A few strands of her silver laced hair falls from the bun on the top of her head as she shakes her head. “Why are you so dumb? Why can’t you find yourself a god-loving woman? One who won’t take you down a dark road again. You can be better than her.”
“There’s no one better than her,” I say, dropping the gun to her mouth. “Don’t make me make you gag on this barrel, bitch. Tell me where the fuck Sunnie is.”
“You’re just like all the other addicts,” she mumbles around the barrel.
“Knives,” the way I say his name gives him the order I want him to do.
With a flick of the wrist, the ninja star singes the air and lands in the meat of her shoulder. Patricia cries out and lifts her hand to pull it out when Knives throws another one, landing it in her other shoulder. “I’m not fucking around; do you see that? I asked where Sunnie is, bitch. Tell me before I blow your fucking brains out.”
“Go to Hell. She’s better where she’s at anyway. She’s doing what she knows. What she loves. What she’s trained to do. Leave her alone. Move on with your life.”
“Tool.” What this cunt doesn’t realize is that I’m giving her two chances before getting to me.
Tool steps forward and slips the screwdriver from his ear. Patricia snorts a bout of laughter. “You’re serious? A screwdriver? You bikers are whack—” She’s driven to silence when Tool shoves the Phillip’s head in her thigh. He yanks it out, and blood dips down her legs, staining her panty-hose.
She screams into the empty space, and I laugh. “There’s no one here to help you, Patricia. I bet you wish you had one of us addicts right about now to help you. Maybe you would, if you didn’t drug them. I’m going to ask you one more time. Where. Is. Sunnie?” I bite off the question with the little restraint I have resisting against pulling the trigger.
“You’ll never find her,” she laughs, sounding more drunk from the pain as she falls to her knees.
I squat down to be on her level and rip a star from her shoulder. She lets out another painful wail, but I’ve just begun. She hasn’t known pain. “You better hope I do, or I’ll come after everyone you give a damn about it.” I place the tip of the star against her cheek and slice her flesh open. The skin pulls apart, showing muscle and blood.
“Stop! Stop, oh, God, please.” A tear drips from the corner of her eye, and it lands on the silver of the star. I readjust my position and place the tip against the other cheek. “I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you everything. Please, stop.”
“We don’t usually hurt women,” I say to her, trying to make her feel better. “But I think you’re just like a lot of men out there. You’re dangerous.”
Her eyes narrow at me, and she sniffles, the tears quickly drying against her caked-on makeup. “I’m a businesswoman. Sunnie is just business.”
“No, you’re business. She’s my future. Tell me where she is. I won’t repeat myself.”
She drops her shoulders and hangs her head. “Tom, Ross, and Lundon came to get her. That’s all I know,” she says.
I stand to my full height and think about how the hell I’
m going to find her, but three people is enough. Badge can get a trace on them, and someone will be able to lead me to her. I rub my nose with my hand and nod. “Thank you for telling me,” I say kindly, then aim the gun to her forehead. “But the world is better off without people like you.”
My ears ring from the gunshot, and blood splatters against my jeans and clothes. Her eyes are open, and a trail of blood flows down her nose to her lips. There’s skull and brain matter against the wall, and the barrel is smoking from the heat of the bullet.
“Bitch,” Knives says.
“Had no idea either.” She played me like a fool. “Shit, I wonder how Gale is. I hope Patricia didn’t do anything to her.”
“Who is Gale?” Tool asks.
“A nurse who gave a shit about me and my healing process. She cares about me getting through my addiction. I swear if Patricia did anything to her, I’ll kill her all over again.”
“What the fuck?” Reaper bellows from the entrance along with Tongue, Badge, and the rest of the crew. “Seriously? Are you kidding me? Your ass needs to be in bed preparing for a liver transplant, and you’re going around shooting people!”
He’s a little mad.
“She was a lying bitch who drugged all my friends. It’s why it’s so quiet. She’s the reason Sunnie isn’t here.”
“Oh.” Reaper sighs on a breath of relief. “Okay. That makes sense. Tongue, take care of the body.”
Tongue slithers his way through the crowd and whips out his knife, staring at Patricia as if he’s about to carve her into pieces and like it. Me, Tools, and Knives take a collective step back from Tongue. He gets weird when it comes to bodies.
“Can I cut her tongue out and send it to NOLA? My gators have to be hungry.”
Everyone groans, and Reaper rubs his temples. His face is red. He looks like he might explode. “Tongue, I don’t care what you do. Feed your gators. I don’t know how you’ll get it there, but have at it. I don’t have the mental capacity,” he rumbles, tapping the side of his head roughly, “to give a shit.”