The Devil's Scars (The Road Devils MC Book 1)

by Marysol James

  He knew where I lived… he knew where Keira slept. What the hell else do I need to know? That’s enough to give me nightmares for years to come, thank you very much.

  Willa moaned now, turned her head, and Zoe gently squeezed her hand a bit. She wanted Willa to know that she wasn’t alone. Her friend’s beautiful blue eyes opened slowly, and a puzzled look crossed Willa’s face as she looked around the room.

  “Hey,” Zoe said. “It’s me. You’re OK. You’re safe.”

  Willa stared at her, then remembered everything in a rush. She took a shaky breath. “How long was I out?”

  “Since we last talked, you mean?” Zoe stroked her friend’s tumbled red hair off her pale cheeks, avoiding Willa’s black eye and bruising. “About five hours. It’s going on dinner time now.”

  “Did you stay here the whole time?”

  “No. I went to quickly check on Keira… and Scars.”

  “Has he woken up yet?”

  “No, hon, not really.” Zoe tried to keep her tone light, unconcerned about the fact that the man that she loved had been out cold for close to forty-three hours. Like she wasn’t a damn heaving mess of internal worry, like she wasn’t mentally in the fetal position and shrieking in panic and fear. “He comes to for a few seconds, then drops off again. I don’t think he’s seeing or understanding anything. The painkillers are strong enough to take out a T-rex.”

  “Damn, Zoe. I’m sorry.” Willa shifted on the bed, wincing as the nasty bruises on her back twinged. “And Keira?”

  “She’s good. Much better. They took the tube out an hour ago, and she’s breathing just fine on her own now.”

  “Who’s with her?” Willa asked. “Maria?”

  “Yeah. It’s OK, Willa. She’s OK.” Zoe smiled. “Maria’s not going anywhere, believe me, not until she gets kicked out by some burly security guard types, and even then, I’m not sure she’d go. Between me and her and the guys, we’ve got Keira covered every minute of the day and night, believe me.”

  “Thank God.” Willa sighed. “Jimmy?”

  “He landed an hour ago, and Wolf told me that Holt will pick him up from the airport. And of course, you guys are both staying at my place.”

  “Ohhh.” Willa’s eyes filled with tears. “God, Zoe… I can’t wait to see him. He’s spent the past two months thinking that I’d dumped him for some hot biker… he must have been so upset.”

  “I know, hon.” Zoe said, thinking that as bad as being dumped by text must have been, she was sure that Jimmy wasn’t the one who had been through hell on earth. That dubious honor was reserved for Willa. She hesitated, then opened her mouth again. “Willa?”

  Her friend looked up at her, and her blue gaze sharpened. “Don’t you dare.”

  “Don’t I dare – what?” Zoe faltered.

  “Don’t you dare apologize again.” Willa spoke crisply. “I don’t blame you. Jimmy doesn’t blame you. Wolf and his guys don’t blame you. Scars won’t, when he comes to and can put a sentence together, and Keira never will, because you rescued her from that disgusting man almost as soon as she was born. The only person blaming you, Zoe, is you. So just cut it out, before it eats you up inside, and I mean, right the hell now.”

  “I… I don’t know if I can do that,” Zoe said quietly. “So much hurt, so much pain, so much damage… and no, I didn’t do it, but I had a hand in it, even an unknowing and oblivious one. He was here because I’m here, because I brought Keira here. I’m not sure if I can ever really look at you again, look at your hand, and not feel totally responsible. You were – you went through so much, hon. I can’t forget that.”

  “You don’t have to forget it. I won’t. But it doesn’t have to be the only and first thing that we both think about, does it? Jimmy has already set up appointments for me with a therapist back in Fargo next month. He’s moving me into his house next weekend. He’s going to help me, Zoe, he’s going to love me and be whatever I need. I don’t know what that is right now, but I’ll figure it out.”

  Zoe blinked.”You’re so… I don’t know. Sane? Serene?”

  “Because I’m here, and I can see the sun shining, and I’m mostly OK. That monster who killed your sister and tried to kill your daughter is dead, and he can’t ever hurt anyone again. Your baby girl is going to be fine. Scars… well.” Willa paused. “From what you’ve told me, his vitals are strong and steady, and the burns aren’t infected. He’s a big, healthy guy, and he’s fighting, I’m sure.”

  “I hope so.”

  “So, beat yourself up if you want to, OK? Feel terrible and responsible forever. Go ahead. And watch every relationship that you care about just shrivel up and die, Zoe, because they will. I won’t put up with you telling me what happened to me is your fault – I just won’t, so don’t try to make me. I love you, you’re incredibly important to me, but I won’t cater to your self-abuse and bullshit.”

  “Wow. Ummm.” Zoe didn’t quite know where to look. “You’re so – fierce.”

  “And you’re not!” Willa told her. “You’re sitting around telling everyone how sorry you are, over and over. And we’ve told you to stop that, over and over. Your refusal to do so is just wallowing in your own self-pity now, and that is not the Zoe that I know. The Zoe that I know would be fierce and furious. Instead, you’re all weepy and weak. Stop. It. Now. If it were my kid that Gil had come after, or Wolf’s kid, or Scars’ kid, and you’d gotten hurt somehow, you’d never hold it against us. You’d tell us that assholes are gonna asshole, and you’d order us to stop holding ourselves responsible for the sick actions of a pathetic dickhead. So – do that, Zoe. Do it now.”

  “Jesus, Willa. Tell me what you really think.”

  “There she is!” Willa beamed. “Back in smart-ass mode is a good sign.”

  Zoe laughed, and was amazed at how good that felt. “OK, OK. Point made, you bossy bitch.”

  “Awesome.”

  Just then, Willa’s doctor entered, and the women looked up at her.

  “Hey,” Willa said. “Can I get out of here?”

  “Plotting your escape, huh?” Doctor Locke said wryly. “Well, you’re in luck, because you get to go home tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Yeah?” Willa said. “For real?”

  “For real. Your finger has healed up incredibly well, and your body can heal just as well on a sofa in front of the TV as it can here. So long as you’re never left alone, just because you need help moving around, you’re free to run as fast as those legs can carry you.”

  “It’s snail-speed, but I don’t care,” Willa said. “My boyfriend just flew in, and he won’t let me out of his sight, believe me.”

  “Good man.” Doctor Locke smiled. “So… eat a good meal tonight and tomorrow morning, and if you can do that, I’ll sign off on your release.”

  “Deal!”

  “Perfect timing,” Doctor Locke said as the food cart stopped outside the room. “ And it smells like chicken with potatoes and mushy peas! Yum.”

  “Argh.” Willa sank back onto her pillows. “Mushy peas. Why did it have to be mushy peas?”

  “It’s always mushy peas,” Doctor Locke said cheerfully. “We’re not very creative around here.”

  “Bah,” Willa huffed. “But if eating them gets my butt out of here tomorrow, I’ll choke them down.”

  “Do you mind if I go check on Keira?” Zoe asked her as the nurse brought the tray over. “And on Scars?”

  “Go.” Willa waved her left hand, the hand holding the fork. She was right-handed, and Zoe knew that she’d struggle a bit with feeding herself wrong-handed until the bandage came off. “You don’t need to see mushy peas all down my face as I miss my mouth more than I hit it, believe me.”

  “Sooo true.” Zoe gave her a kiss on the top of her head. “Mushy bananas dripping off a one-year-old are bad enough, God knows.”

  “Welcome back, you
snarky bitch,” Willa said happily. “Took your time getting here, but you’re definitely here now.”

  **

  Wolf was sitting in Scars’ room reading a text from Kansas (who was standing in the police station getting an update from the cop assigned to the Blue Dragon case), when a long, low groan came from the bed. Scars had been making sounds of pain for the past two days, of course, but this one sounded different. More aware.

  Quickly, Wolf pocketed his phone, leaned over the bed. “Scars? Hey man, you there?”

  “What the actual fuck?” Scars grated out and Wolf grinned. As the first words uttered after a resurrection, he’d take them. “Wolf?”

  “Yeah.” He leaned down farther to meet Scars’ fuzzy gaze, then gently grasped his Vice-President’s arm when he tried to turn over to face Wolf better. “Stay on your stomach, man. You’re attached to an IV and your back is – injured.”

  Those blue eyes blinked, sharpened, focused, and suddenly, it was Scars Innis looking up at him. Fully present and alert. And worried.

  “Keira?” Scars said, his voice rough. “Zoe? The guys? The parlor?”

  Wolf grabbed the glass of water on the bedside table. He adjusted the straw, extended the drink to Scars, who drank it down slowly.

  “Tell me,” Scars said, his voice stronger, clearer. “Tell me everything.”

  “You got it.” Wolf sat down again, moved the chair closer so Scars could see his face. “First, Keira is fine. Really OK. You got her out, man. Minimal damage.”

  “Burned?” Scars was terrified that that sweet little girl was going to have to go through life carrying the marks forever. “Scarred?”

  “No. Some trouble breathing from smoke inhalation, but she’s doin’ good now. Nothin’ permanent. She can probably go home in two or three days.”

  “Thank Christ. Zoe?”

  “Not sleepin’ and barely eatin’ but she’s game. Been in and out of here about ninety times a day to check on you. You’ve been out for two days, and she’s gettin’ fed up with your unconscious man routine.”

  Scars cracked a tiny smile. “Anyone else hurt?”

  “Wait up… I need to go get Zee.” Wolf stood up. “She needs to know you’re awake. And I need to tell the doc, he was just here toppin’ up your pain meds, so I know he’s around…”

  “No!” Scars’ whole body jumped with the vehemence of that single word, and he moaned in pain. “No… Wolf. No.”

  “Hey, hey.” Wolf was alarmed. “OK, alright. Stay calm. No movin’.”

  “I won’t move if you don’t go get Zoe.”

  “But – she needs to know. She’s been goin’ out of her mind with worry.”

  “Not yet. Please. Look, like you said, I have enough painkillers, so I’m not in any pain, right? And I need to know some stuff.”

  “Ohhh-kaaaay.” Wolf’s unshaven face crinkled in confusion, but he respected his brother’s wishes and sat again. Right away, Scars visibly relaxed. “Ummm. What did you want to know?”

  “The guys? Are they all OK? And the parlor?”

  “Oh, yeah. A few burns on Saint’s arms, but that’s it. And as for the parlor, what fuckin’ parlor? Gone, man. Burned to the ground, pretty much. We have to tear it down and start again from scratch.”

  “How the hell did this happen, Wolf? Was it an accident?” Scars’ blue eyes widened as memory started to return all of a sudden, like the sun breaking through a thick haze of gray. “Wait, wait… there was a voice. A man’s voice. He – he was talking to Keira, and we were running back to the parlor, and then the explosion… he did this. He did, right? The guy in Zoe’s office.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Who the hell was he?”

  “Gil Purdie. Keira’s Dad.”

  Scars did a double-take. “The guy who killed Zoe’s sister? The guy on the run in Mexico?”

  “One and the same.”

  “And… wait.” Something else was swimming on the edges of Scars’ memory now. “There was… there was a guy. In the back room, on the floor. That was him? Gil?”

  “Yep. The police are still figurin’ it out, but it looks like he had some kind of homemade explosive that went wrong somehow. Maybe he set it off early, maybe it was faulty. They’ll have answers in a few weeks, probably. But seein’ as the guy is dead, it ain’t really a major priority, since nobody’s on the run or anythin’ like that.”

  “Was he dead when I grabbed Keira and walked away from him? When I left him in the fire?”

  Wolf studied his friend. “You really want to know?”

  “Yes.”

  “No. He was still alive.”

  “So…” Scars closed his eyes. “So… he died later. After I ran.”

  “The coroner said from what she could see from the state of his lungs, he died of smoke inhalation.”

  “Right.”

  “How you feelin’ about that?”

  “About what, exactly?” Scars opened his eyes again, and Wolf saw pure steel. “About choosing an innocent baby and myself over a murderer? About leaving him there to choke to death on the fire and smoke of his own creation? About making him pay fair and square for his actions? About basically killing him by choosing not to help him?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I feel fine about it, Wolf. I feel good. I can look at myself in the mirror, and I won’t be losing sleep.”

  “Yeah. I can tell.”

  “So. Anything else?”

  Wolf hesitated, decided not to say anything about Willa right now. That could wait, it was a lot of information, and anyway, Wolf wanted to talk about something else first.

  “It’s pretty incredible, but the only person who got hurt bad was you, Innis. You – you must have felt the fire on you as the ceiling came down on your back. Did you? Do you remember?”

  “Yeah.” Scars took a deep and steadying breath, winced as the skin on his back pulled. “Tell me how bad it is. No sugar-coating.”

  “Subtle ain’t exactly my style,” Wolf said. “I’m lackin’ in that gene, big time.” He sighed a bit, then launched into it:

  “You’ve got third-degree burns on your back, and mostly second-degree on the backs of your legs. Your hair was on fire too, but the boys got that out before anythin’ too bad happened. So you got a haircut, and a few scorch marks, and you got a few new scars on your head, but nothin’ too bad on your face.”

  “Nothing more than I already have, you mean.” Scars made a feeble joke, though the last thing that he felt like doing was laughing. “Anything else?”

  “Yeah. Well…” Wolf paused. “Your head and face are OK, considerin’ everythin’, but your back and legs are a whole different story. You – you went straight into shock right there in the parkin’ lot, and you – you seized in the ambulance.”

  “I did what?”

  “You went into cardiac arrest. You – your body couldn’t handle it, Scars. Your brother said that extreme burns like the ones on your back do that, pretty often. Burns are like… they’re just so damn hard on the human body. But it’s not like I’m tellin’ you anythin’ that you don’t already know…”

  “Sam,” Scars whispered, horrified, suddenly seeing yet another nightmare scenario in full technicolor. “Please tell me that he wasn’t working the E.R. when I was brought in…”

  “No. He’d just finished his shift and was in the cafeteria havin’ a coffee and relaxin’. He got the call from the head nurse and by the time he got to you, a team was already workin’ on you, so Sam stepped back and let them get on with it.”

  “Is he – how is he?”

  “Pissed at you for bein’ a hero and dashin’ into fire yet again, so brace yourself for that conversation, boy.”

  Scars laughed, a real laugh this time. “I’ll look forward to it.”

  “I bet.” Wolf smiled back. “So… that’s it, really.
Can I get Zee now?”

  “No. When can I go home?”

  Wolf stared. “You – home? Scars… you have weeks and weeks of treatment here before you can go anywhere.”

  “The fuck you say.”

  “No lie, man.” Wolf was mystified at how the seriousness of his condition had totally escaped Scars; maybe he wasn’t as mentally aware as Wolf had assumed? He broke the bad news as gently as he could now. “You need skin grafts on sixty percent of your back, and on about half the backs of your legs… the wounds are still open under all those bandages, and they’re still healin’.”

  “How many rounds of skin grafts?”

  “Sam says at least three on your back, to build up the layers right. Your legs… I dunno. Maybe two? I mean – you’re lookin’ at months lyin’ on your front, Scars. Weeks in hospital, gettin’ a graft and then recoverin’ from it and buildin’ up resistance and checkin’ that your body doesn’t reject the new skin, because most of it can’t come from your own body and there’s a risk that you’ll reject donor skin. Then if that’s all OK, then you go into the next graft round and do it all over again. It’s – ” Wolf shook his dark head. “We’re in this for the long haul, man. You’re here to stay, for a while anyway. Well, here or another place that specializes in burns that Sam mentioned, over in California somewhere.”

  Reality smacked Scars in the face right about then, suddenly and hard. Even drifting in and out of consciousness, on a blissful wave of morphine for the past forty-eight hours, he’d known that his back was bad – the pain was familiar, after all, and he well remembered what his arms, chest, and face had looked like before the skin grafts. Even all these years later, he remembered it like it was yesterday.

  Some things never fade from memory, and when a nightmare comes to life, you don’t shake it. You learn to live with it, maybe, if you’re lucky. You build up emotional calluses, so that your raw, exposed feelings stop constantly rubbing against each other, stop keeping you up at night as your mind spins and whirls.