by Debra Kayn
He glanced at the clock in the car and opened one of the prescription bottles the hospital sent home with him. After popping two pain pills in his mouth, dry swallowing them, he pulled out of the parking lot. He'd be at the club in fifteen minutes, way before the edge started working to take care of his discomfort.
His body hurt like a son of a bitch. He'd rather go through a club fight drunk than take another bullet. His whole body ached, and every position seemed awkward and uncomfortable.
Crystal and her magic hands would have him feeling better in no time. Once he sunk himself deep into her body, the world seized to exist and he'd once again feel invincible. Remnants of the horror written all over her face the last time he saw her at the garage remained with him. All he wanted to do was find her and reassure himself she was okay.
The whole attack happened fast.
After Garcia's shot went off, he reeled back from the hit, but he'd gotten his own shot off, hitting his target in a deadly zone. He'd tried to get up and find Crystal, to assure him she'd be okay, but the injury took more out of him than he realized at the time. It wasn't until they'd set his ass on the gurney that it sunk in that he'd lost her in the crowd.
He had no one looking out for her. He'd sent the Lagsturns members away, sent Tango away, and set her up to handle watching everything go down by herself. He drove out of the parking lot and entered Sixteenth Street heading north. He should've prepared her more, or made adjustments in his plans.
Sergeant Petersgrove mentioned Crystal held her own. He grimaced taking the corner behind the club. He was damn proud of his woman.
He pulled in front of the motorcycle club. Scott walked up to the car, peered inside and broke out in a smile. Raul lifted his chin. "Gonna open the gate or gawk, kid?"
"Ah, I'll open, Prez." Scott jogged over, pushed the Cyclone gate wide open, and yelled, "Welcome home."
He chuckled. A little young at twenty-two years old to make decisions for the rest of his life, Scott was headed to being a full pledged member in six months or so if he kept his head on straight.
He parked across from the motorcycles lined up along the back fence and shut off the engine. A crowd gathered behind the club, obviously Duck told them he'd be arriving today. He gazed at them all, searching through the members for Crystal and not finding her. He shoved his medicine in the pocket of his cut, left his discharge papers on the seat, and snatched the storage ticket to have someone pick up his motorcycle for him early tomorrow morning.
He exited the car and stood, letting his legs stop shaking. His family moved in, and swept him forward with insults, digs, and typical show of love. Attuned to the mood, he read their faces. The speculations and mistrust over the turn of events he expected to find were absent. He gazed over everyone's shoulder. He still couldn't find Crystal.
His chest tightened, causing his shoulder to throb more. "Where's Crystal?" he asked old man Nichols.
"She came back without you, told us what happened with you getting caught in the crossfire and one of the Bronstowns trying to take you out when they hijacked the truck loaded with blow. She assured us you had the money, and got out of there before the pigs came." Nichols leaned in closer. "Girls tore up, said she needed space to think, and made sure we all promised to take care of you when you got back."
His blood pounded in his ears, drowning out the noise. "Where's Tango?"
"Sleeping, I suppose. He's popping Vicodin on the hour," Nichols said, opening the back door to the club.
"What the hell happened to him?" he asked.
Nichols stopped walking and faced him. "Knifed. Barely missed a lung from what he said. One of the Bronstowns did him in before taking the damn truck and trailer. I thought you knew."
He rubbed the back of his neck with his good arm. "Yeah, yeah, I remember. Damn pain pills are making me spaced."
What the fuck?
Tango walked out of the hospital room yesterday after visiting and had no injuries. He'd made sure Tango swore on his life to watch over Crystal, and the asshole let her go?
"I'm going up to my room. Need to lie down." Raul slapped the papers for his motorcycle storage on Nichols chest. "Do me a favor and send one of the guys over to pick up my bike."
He walked away with no plans to sleep, because he needed to find out what in the hell happened to his woman. He took the stairs two at a time and stalked to the end room on the right. Not in the mood to knock, he kicked the flimsy lock out of the wall, and stormed into the room.
His pistol cleared his jeans and met the soft side of Tango's chin before the man could raise his head to see what caused the noise. He flicked off the safety, the barrel already cocked.
He growled. "Where is she?"
"Jesus, man." Tango stared up at the ceiling. "Let's talk."
"Tell. Me. Where my woman is?" He put more pressure on Tango's neck.
"6121 Northeast Delaney Street. Two blocks past the Minit Mart." Tango's Adam's apple spasmed. "She's safe. I have two Lagsturns staked outside. Big Joe and Duck."
He lowered the pistol. His strength ran out five minutes ago. He stumbled backward and luckily hit the wooden chair in the room. "Talk."
Tango sat up on the bed and ran his hands through his hair. "Hell of a way to find out we work for the same team—he held up his hands—I wasn't even sure my hunch was right until I saw you pull out your pistol on Garcia and recognized a trained sharpshooter. Anyway, Crystal went crazy, running around the scene, screaming your name. Damn woman has no fear when it comes to you, you know?"
"Go on," he said, acid turning in his stomach making him nauseous.
"She fought me. To keep her quiet, I moved her to the back of the garage and showed her you were okay. From there…you saw how she reacted. It was like her heart had been ripped out of her chest. I had to get her away before she gave you away. We went in for questioning together," Tango said.
"Did you stay with her, let her know you worked for the FBI?" He couldn't keep the contempt out of his voice.
Tango shook his head. "Hell no. We were separated during interrogations. I have no idea what she said, but they finally let her go. I was in and out in less than two hours. They kept her there for forty-eight. When I picked her up, she asked me to find her somewhere away from the club to stay. I couldn't get her to talk to me at all. I set her up at Big Joe's cousin's rental, because it was empty, and set guards on her. Whatever the bureau did inside that room with her hurt her deep, man. I've tried to talk to her every day when I've checked on her, but she's not saying a word. She thanks me for stopping by, says she's okay, and shuts the door."
"Fuck," he whispered.
Sergeant Petergrove gave him nothing to go on in their meeting. They'd let Crystal walk away so whatever story she told, they believed her. He stood up and swayed on his feet.
"Hey." Tango stood and grabbed his arm. "Maybe get some sleep, and then go see her tomorrow. I promise, she's fine and she's safe."
"I'll find that out myself." He shrugged Tango off.
He walked out of the room and straight downstairs where he ignored the party going on, and continued until he slid into the driver's seat of the rental. Feeling like shit, he wasn't going to let anyone keep him from Crystal.
If Tango told him Crystal fought and argued the entire time he was at the hospital, he would've relaxed. But to hear she'd clammed up and kept herself hidden away from the club killed him, he knew something was wrong. His woman was a fighter.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The clock on the wall in the quaint two-bedroom cottage house chimed. Crystal laid her phone in her lap and let her head fall back on the cushion of the couch. She counted to eight.
Eight chimes.
Eight reminders that she hadn't moved in an hour.
Eight hours since she had the idea to resurrect herself to the world as Pastor Keith Donaldson's daughter, and end the hell she'd gotten herself into.
Every second she put off making the call also kept Raul from moving on with hi
s life. He deserved to get out from under the Lagsturns and have normalcy. He had a job waiting for him, and a family who missed him. She closed her eyes. A family.
The officer in charge of questioning her after the takedown told her the truth. Those that loved Raul missed him, and she could make sure he reunited with his family. At first, she was surprised that they were giving her pertinent information about his real life and confirming his background of who he really was, but after all those hours in the holding cell and not giving anything away, they'd nearly broken her.
The FBI wanted him back, and they knew she was the one tying him to the club. He'd never leave without her going with him, and she couldn't make herself become a public spectacle by entering society again. He'd have enough attention and paranoia, trying to walk away from the only lifestyle he'd known for the last eight years. He'd be pushed into the limelight with her, and she'd get him killed by the people he trusted…the Lagsturns MC.
He had to leave on his own, go out quietly, and stay hidden. He could start over with another motorcycle club or fly to the other end of the world and work. Somewhere that he'd be safe and keep his nose clean.
He couldn't keep a low profile with her by his side.
Two rapid, loud bangs came from the front door, jolting her off the couch. She dropped her phone and pressed her hand to her chest. Damn them.
Every couple of hours either Duck or Big Joe came around asking how she was doing. Neither one of them had ever heard of using a doorbell like a normal person. Each time they asked her if she was okay, and if they could get her anything. Every single time, she gave them both the same answer. She was fine.
Why couldn't men understand that the word fine meant they needed to leave her the hell alone?
She walked across the living room, unlocked the deadbolt, and swung open the door, ready to give the guards their answer and get back to sitting on the couch. But the man on the other side of the door wasn't one of the guards.
Raul stood in front of her. His dark hair, straggly and knotted, lay haphazardly as if he'd purposely messed it up. She took in the extra padding under his T-shirt on his shoulder and reached out, but stopped herself from pulling up his sleeve and looking for herself at his gunshot wound. Her knees gave out and she hung on to the door handle. He'd been shot. He could've died, and she'd never again tell him she loved him.
He walked forward. She stepped back. Going from the hardness around his mouth and eyes, she knew better than to tell him she wasn't ready to see him. She was more than ready. She just wasn't ready to talk with him yet.
He continued walking into the house until he reached the couch. "Shut the door."
She did what he asked without taking her gaze off him. He moved unsteadily. Usually he was confident and stable, much like a rock wall.
"Are you okay?" she asked softly, afraid of his answer.
He sat down and grimaced. "No."
"What can I do?" She hurried to his side.
He hooked his finger around her finger and pulled her down. She braced herself on his knee. "I'll hurt you."
"Impossible. Hearts broken," he mumbled, pulling her more until she had no choice but to sit in his lap. "Hold on to me, mi vida."
"I'm afraid I'll hurt you," she said.
He tugged her closer. "Never."
She carefully slid her arms around his chest and laid her head on his uninjured shoulder. His body trembled or maybe it was hers, she couldn't tell. She only knew that she felt more complete than she had since finding out Garcia shot him.
His hand moved up into her hair at the back of her head. He fisted the strands, holding her the best he could with one arm. The gentle tug comforted her and her body melted against him. All the reassurances that he was alive and well, in her arms, settled her mind.
Afraid to ask what was wrong in case it was more than almost dying, she closed her eyes and inhaled. The familiar mix of leather and smoke filled her nostrils. Her stomach quivered and she held him a little tighter. He'd broken down and smoked.
"Damn, I missed you," he whispered against her hair.
She kissed his neck in reply. "Your shoulder?"
"It'll heal. Bullet went clear through." He sighed heavily. "Medication is kicking my ass right now or I'd take you on the couch and show you how much I need you."
She rose, taking his hand, and stood in front of him. "Let me get you into bed. You can sleep here tonight."
He allowed her to pull him to his feet and yawned. "Missed sleeping with you too."
"You have me tonight," she said.
She made no promises for the future. He was in no condition to listen to her unload everything she'd decided tonight. He could barely keep his eyes open. She'd never seen him this way.
Always strong and relentless, he'd go days working with the club, riding hundreds of miles in one stretch, and still have the energy to devote attention to her. This new vulnerability in him made her want to take care of him.
She sat him down on the edge of the bed and kneeled on the floor. She unlaced his black boots, weakening her resolve to push him back to his family when she saw he was barefooted. He hadn't even taken the time to put socks on before coming to her.
"Sorry, mi vida," he muttered.
She lifted her gaze. He sat, shoulders slumped, eyes closed, but still conscious of being with her. She set his boots to the side and stood. He mumbled something else, but she couldn't understand what he was saying.
"Sh. Just sleep." She helped him lay back on the bed, pulling the pillow under his head and loosening his belt.
She covered him up with the quilt folded on a nearby chair and smoothed his hair back from his face. Even half-dead to the world, he called to her.
The wrinkles around his eyes remained, and she smiled in memory of laughing in bed late one night as she'd tried to smooth the worry out of his skin. He'd laughed at her failed attempt. The lines were permanent, and part of him.
She loved everything about him, but especially his eyes. Dark and intent, they flared when his emotions ran deep. Warmed and softened when making love. Spoke to her when words were unnecessary.
Dropping her hand to her side, she turned away from the bed. His hand wrapped around her wrist. "Don't leave me."
She moved closer, bent over, and kissed his lips. "I'm going to shut off the lights in the other room. I'll be back."
"Fuck the lights," he whispered. "Come to bed."
Her chest warmed. Impatient like always, he'd be fine once he healed.
"Okay," she whispered back.
She crawled into bed beside him. He pulled her tight against him with his good arm. She laid her leg over his, resting her head in the crook of his arm on his chest. Dressed in yoga pants and a tank, she was comfortable enough to sleep. However, she knew she wouldn't get any rest. Tomorrow, she'd have to talk with him and send him back to the club alone.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Crystal carried a hot mug of coffee into the living room. She passed the cup to Raul, and sat on the couch beside him. She wasn't drinking her morning caffeine, because she feared her stomach would bring the liquid back up.
She couldn't put off explaining why she had to let him go any longer. From his attitude this morning, he had no idea she'd made decisions without him. He expected her to go back to the club with him today.
"Do you need me to send one of the guys over for your pain medication?" she asked, selfishly stalling for more time with him.
He shook his head, drank, and said, "No. I'll be okay until later. Last night's sleep helped the most. I haven't rested well since I started the job for Garcia."
Understandable, because she knew how important the case was too him, and her safety. She rubbed her hands along her thighs. "I haven't thanked you for protecting me from the Mafia. I don't know what—"
"It's over, mi vida." He leaned forward and set his cup on the coffee table, and then took her hand. "His wanting you was personal. That's the end. Nobody is going to hurt you more. I'll a
lways be with you."
She nodded. "I know."
He lifted her hand and kissed the back of her fingers. "Something else is on your mind though."
She moistened her lips. "Yeah."
"Tell me," he said.
She glanced at him before lowering her gaze to their linked hands. "After everything that has happened, I've been thinking about my own life and the direction I'm headed. I've decided to go back home to Nevada. I'm ready for everyone to learn that I'm not in fact dead like my parents have led the world to believe."
"Okay." He squeezed her hand. "We'll leave as soon as I'm able to ride."
She shook her head. "I need to do this alone."
"What are you saying?" He frowned. "I'll be ready in a couple of weeks, maybe sooner. Nevada is an easy ride from here. It'll give us time to get away, be together after all the shit we've been through lately."
She slipped her hand from his grasp and stood. "I know we talked about making our relationship permanent, but—"
"Making? It's damn well permanent now."
She swallowed hard. "Your case is over. You need to go back to your job, your family."
"Are you shitting me?" He stood. "I've turned in my resignation. I'm out."
"It's not safe for you to stay with the club," she said.
"They have no clue I was a Fed. We can continue being part of the club. Everyone associated with the Mafia or Bronstowns, who were there that day, are dead or in prison. Most of all, everyone at the scene watched me be handcuffed and taken away. As far as they're concerned, they shipped me out of state. We have guys in the pen who'll protect me. Our connection with the Mafia is over. The guys can continue stripping cars or whatever they want to do. I'll get a real job. Hell, I don't even need to work to support us. We can live off what the government puts in my bank account every month." He stopped and inhaled a lungful of air. "What happened to the woman who promised me we'd make this work?"
She gazed at the ceiling helplessly. How could she make him understand without killing everything they had together? Was it even possible to send him away, thinking she'd be okay as long as he was happy?