RIGID (Biker MC Romance Book 4)

by Scott Hildreth

  “It was beside the man who attacked her. It must have been his.”

  He nodded. “And you picked it up?”

  “I did.”

  “Did you command that he stop assaulting her?”

  I shook my head. “He wasn’t assaulting her. He was beating her with his fists. And bashing her head on the concrete.”

  “The report states that you commanded that he stop. Is that correct?”

  “I did.”

  “And, when he didn’t, you feared for your life, your unborn baby’s life, and the life of your step-daughter? Correct?”

  I liked him already. “Yes, Sir.”

  He looked at his notes, and then some printed reports. “At what point did he brandish the knife?”

  “Knife?”

  He nodded and held up a report. “Yes. The knife that was found on his person.”

  “I’m uhhm. I’m confused.”

  “I’m sure you are, Miss West. Not to bore you with details, but California Penal Code 198.5, otherwise known as the Castle Doctrine, allows you to defend yourself when you fear that your life is in danger in your home. The home, by definition, extends to include your yard, driveway, etcetera.”

  “Okay.”

  “Words like I feared for my life, he reached for the knife, or he reached for his waistband? They’re all phrases that are historically used in support of the aforementioned penal code.”

  I nodded. “Okay.”

  “So, where were we? He had a knife and there was a pistil at his side, correct?”

  Shoot first, make up a story to cover your ass later.

  I took a deep breath and then let it out. “I came outside. He had a knife in his hand. I yelled for him to stop. He didn’t. He hit her over and over. I rushed to help, and there was a pistol beside them on the driveway. He raised his hand, and the knife was in it. I thought he’d kill Eddie for sure. So, I picked up the pistol and yelled for him to stop. He looked right at me, then he started to drive his fist downward. I feared for my life, and the life of my children. I closed my eyes, and pulled the trigger. Then, I blacked out until I got to the police station.”

  He grinned and nodded his head. “Can you recite that exact statement?”

  “I think so.”

  “No matter who asks you, that is exactly what happened. You do not recall any more. And, certainly do not exclude any details.”

  “Okay. Can I talk to Smokey? I need to know if Eddie’s okay.”

  “Who might Smokey be?”

  “Eddie’s father. My boyfriend.”

  “Sure. Do you know his telephone number?”

  I didn’t. Not by memory.

  “I guess not.”

  “Did you have your phone in your possession?”

  “No. I don’t know where I left it. It’s in the house.”

  He glanced at his notes. “Well, typically at night, and especially on a Saturday, there’s no court, and no available judges or prosecutor’s. In this particular case, however, I suspect they’ll need to make some special arrangements.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Miss West, you’ve committed no crime. I’m going to leave here for a moment, and I’m going to call Judge Wardmeier at home, and explain the situation. If they do not release you, without charges, I will file suit against the department, the city, the arresting officers, the prosecutor, and the judge.”

  “What does that mean for me? Can I talk to Smokey soon?”

  “Let me make that call, Miss West. I should have you out of here within the hour.”

  “Do you know what time it is?”

  He looked at his watch. “2:05.”

  I hadn’t called Smokey in three hours.

  He was going to be worried for sure.

  I lowered my head. “Okay.”

  ***

  “Miss West, this is detective Watson. He’s got a few things to say, and then you’re free to go.”

  “Miss West. I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but we simply needed to question you. There may or may not be questions that need to be answered in the future. If they come up, I’ll contact Mr. Parsons, and we’ll go from there. Again, sorry for the inconvenience.”

  I looked at Mr. Parsons.

  He grinned.

  I couldn’t believe it. To describe everything that had happened as surreal wouldn’t even come close.

  I looked at detective Watson. “Okay.”

  “No hard feelings?”

  I shook my head and forced myself to grin. “No. Can you tell me where Eddie is?”

  “Scripps Mercy,” he said.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re quite welcome.”

  He took the handcuffs, and then left the room.

  “That was without incident,” Mr. Parsons said. “You’re free to go.”

  “Can I get a ride?”

  “Absolutely,” he said. “Where?”

  “Scripps Mercy?”

  “Certainly.”

  ***

  Traveling well in excess of 100 miles an hour, we sped down highway 5, toward Scripps Mercy in San Diego. Through Mr. Parsons persuasive tactics, I’d learned that Eddie was scheduled to have surgery at 3:00 am.

  At 2:45 in the morning, traffic was sparse. On the highway ahead of us, a long line of taillights from two lines of motorcycles stood out against the otherwise dark stretch of road.

  Mr. Parsons changed lanes.

  As we passed the bikers, I looked at each of them. I had hoped one might be Smokey, but realized it was wishful thinking.

  I was sure he’d been contacted by the hospital, and was probably there already. Five or so minutes later, we came up behind four more motorcycles. Naturally, I looked out the window as we approached them.

  “These guys are really moving,” Mr. Parsons said. “I’m going 120.”

  “Holy crap,” I said.

  Traveling at roughly the same speed, we slowly crept past them. One of the bikers, who was riding an old-school shitty Harley, reminded me of Smokey.

  I did a double take.

  In the dark, and with him wearing a helmet and glasses, it was hard to tell. But, it could have been his twin. He even had flowery hand tattoos.

  As much as I liked to tell myself I was okay, I wasn’t. I was still out of it, and in somewhat of a trance-like state.

  I’d been through a lot, and suspected it might even take months for me to recover from the trauma.

  “Uhhm. Can you slow down? I want to see those bikers again.”

  “Do you think one of them might be your boyfriend?”

  “I don’t know.”

  We were only a few feet ahead of them, and when he slowed down, they promptly caught up with us.

  I turned, pressed my hands to the glass, and stared.

  Illuminated by what little light came from behind them, I could clearly see the back of their kuttes. One said Hells Angels, and the other three said Filthy Fuckers.

  My heart raced. I unbuckled my seatbelt and slapped my hands against the glass.

  Oh my God.

  “It’s him!”

  My heart surged.

  I waved my hands frantically. After a moment, the Hells Angel, who was closest to me, looked in my direction.

  “Smokey!” I screamed.

  I was sure he couldn’t hear me. Nonetheless, I yelled again. And then, again.

  The Hells Angel decelerated. Beside him, on a shitty motorcycle, was Smokey.

  I filled with emotion, and within a few seconds, tears streamed down my face.

  The Hells Angel gave a hand signal, and Smokey glanced toward me.

  I grinned, pointed at the road ahead, and mouthed the word hospital.

  He nodded and fixed his eyes on the road.

  “I won’t need to call Smokey now,” I said. “He’s beside us. Can we uhhm. Can we just stay right here? Beside them?”

  He nodded. “Sure. We’ll be there in five minutes.”

  They were the longest five minutes of my
life.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Smokey

  The bond between a parent and their child is beyond compare. Flat on her back with her head wrapped tight in bandages, there was no doubt that Eddie was in pain.

  She couldn’t tell me how much she was hurting.

  Therefore, the pain I felt for her was excruciating.

  My knee was bouncing up and down at an impossible rate.

  Side by side, Sandy and I sat on a small loveseat beside the bed. After a moment, her hand rested against my thigh, and, at least for that instant, the bouncing stopped. I looked at her and did my best to smile. She did the same, but she couldn’t hide her fear. Neither of us could.

  Eddie’s operation was cancelled after a specialist reviewed her condition. All we could do was wait for the swelling to go down. In a drug-induced coma, the only sign of life she provided were the consistent beeps from the overhead monitor, each of which fueled me to draw my next breath.

  Confused, I blinked and then glanced around the room. Sandy’s crying woke me from a moment’s sleep. I pulled her into my chest and held her tight. Her pain, just as Eddie’s had, became mine.

  I swept her hair from her face and looked her in the eyes. “Don’t cry. She’ll wake up soon.”

  “Five minutes,” she said through the tears. “If I could have just got there five minutes earlier.”

  I traced my fingers along the outline of her jaw. “Shhh. I’m proud of you, baby. You saved her life.”

  She bit into her lip and nodded an ever so slight repeated nod. Then, her eyes fell closed.

  Mine soon followed.

  Beep.

  Beep.

  Beep.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Sandy

  Eddie wasn’t my child, but after what I’d been through, I certainly looked at her no differently than if she were. I’d come to realize in the 36 hours following the events of that night that I wasn’t falling in love with Smokey, I loved him.

  It may have been slight, and over time I was sure that it might grow, but it was love. I was sure of it.

  Everything I wanted in a man, he possessed. It was seeing him as a caring father, however, that seemed to cause me to realize that my love for him was real.

  The fact that he was kind, passionate, caring, sexy, humorous, and intelligent mattered, but they were not all that mattered. His ability to be an outstanding father was much more important than any of his other qualities.

  Smokey folded his arms over his chest. “Let me ask you a question, Doc.”

  The doctor, man in his early forties, and not the doctor from the previous day, let out a sigh.

  Smokey shot him a shitty look. “You bored, Doc?”

  “No.” He glanced at his watch and then looked up. “You had a question?”

  Smokey’s eyes narrowed. “You need to be somewhere?”

  “I’ve got…I have several patients that I need to--”

  Smokey motioned to the loveseat with his eyes. “Have a seat Doc.” He looked at me. “Shut the door, Sandy.”

  Oh shit.

  “I really…I need to--” the doctor stammered.

  I pushed the door closed and walked back into the room.

  “Have a seat, Doc,” Smokey said in a stern tone.

  Nervously, the doctor sat down.

  Smokey dropped his voice to a calm tone. “Talk to me, Doc. Do you have kids?”

  “I do.”

  “If this was your daughter, what would you do?”

  “As parents, we’re forced to make decisions for our minor children. The decisions we make--”

  “Stop the textbook bullshit, motherfucker. You gave me two options. Keep her on the meds, or take her off them. What would you do? Honest fucking response is all I want. Your daughter is in that bed. You need to make a decision, and you’ve got five seconds to do it.”

  “One.”

  “Two.”

  “Three.”

  The doctor cleared his throat. “I’d take her off the medication.”

  Smokey’s head cocked to the side. “Why’d you recommend we leave her on them?”

  “It’s the safest thing to do, but there are risks inherent to--”

  “Stop. If we take her off, what happens?”

  “She may wake up. She may not. In the drug-induced state, however, we can only monitor what we believe to be her conditions. In this state, one would never know the improvements that might be made without the medication. It’s simply impossible to tell.”

  Smokey looked at me.

  I shrugged.

  “Help me out here, baby.”

  “I think. She’s strong. She’s just like you, Smokey. She’s a little bitty you. She’s a fighter. I say take her off and let her come out of it. I think she’ll--”

  He looked at the doctor. “Take her off the meds.”

  “Smokey,” I gasped. “I don’t want you to do anything--”

  “We made this decision, baby. You and me.” He shot the doctor a look. “Can we get this done sometime today, Doc?”

  Smokey’s sarcastic tone caused the doctor to jump from his seat. “I’ll. We’ll get that process underway.”

  “Thanks Doc.”

  As the doctor fled the room, Smokey took me in his arms.

  I’d made a parental decision, and as much as I wanted it to, it didn’t feel good.

  In fact, it hurt.

  As we stood in each other’s arms at the foot of the bed, he began to hum. The dull drone from his chest provided a comfort I hadn’t felt in days. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to drift away.

  Soon, the swaying turned into a slow dance.

  It was the slowest of dances, but it was a dance nonetheless.

  Eddie’s medication stopped, but the dancing continued. Driven by a tune that only Smokey was hearing, we shuffled gracefully across the floor.

  And, I fell a little further in love with Grayson Wallace.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Smokey

  My eyes shot open.

  I glanced around the room, certain something had happened.

  I could feel my heart beating in my throat.

  “Sandy,” I whispered. “Wake up.”

  She opened her eyes. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know. I thought I heard something.”

  She looked in either direction, and then at me. “There’s nobody here. It was probably a dream.”

  I looked at the monitor. Everything looked the same. It hadn’t changed in three days.

  Frustrated, I stood.

  “It’s late, get some rest,” she said.”

  I shook my head. “I can’t sleep. I need a cup of coffee.”

  Beep.

  Beep. Beep.

  Beep.

  I spun around.

  Beep. Beep.

  Beep.

  Beep. Beep.

  I rushed to the side of the bed and looked at her.

  She opened her eyes, blinked, and then opened them again.

  My heart shot to my throat. I rushed to the edge of the bed and took her hand in mine. “I’m here, Lumpy. Daddy’s here.”

  Tears came, flowing down my cheeks like a river. My bottom lip quivered uncontrollably.

  “Sandy,” I said, my voice nothing more than a gasp for breath. “She’s,,,she’s awake.”

  “I’m here,” she said from the other side of the bed.

  I looked at her and then at Eddie.

  With her face still bandaged, and nothing but her swollen eyes, and the tops of her cheeks exposed, she looked like a mummy.

  A beautiful mummy.

  A tube in her throat prevented her from speaking.

  “I…I love…you,” I said.

  She blinked.

  “Eddie? I love you, too,” Sandy said.

  She blinked again.

  As the doctors and nurses rushed in, I reluctantly stepped aside. Sandy rushed to me, and wrapped her arms around me.

  Together, we shed a tear.

  Bu
t this time they were tears of joy.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Sandy

  They had just taken the tubes out of her throat, and although her bandages hadn’t changed, she could at least speak. According to the doctors, she would be taken out of ICU by the end of the day. Eager to hear everything she had to say, Smokey and I stood on opposites sides of the bed and waited with baited breath.

  He fed her a few more ice chips. “Does it hurt?”

  She blinked.

  “Can you talk?”

  She widened her eyes.

  “Maybe,” she whispered. “I love…” Her eyes rolled in my direction. She blinked and then looked at Smokey. “Both of you.”

  “We love you, too.”

  “I uhhm. I can’t remember…”

  Smokey looked at me, and then at Eddie. “Don’t worry about what happened that night. You need to get better so we can get you out of here.”

  I hoped she’d never be able to remember what happened. I feared I’d never forget it, but to think of her recalling the events of that night made me feel ill.

  “My arm hurts,” she whispered.

  Smokey sighed. “It’s broken.”

  “That sucks.”

  “Could be a lot worse.”

  She blinked a few times, and then looked at the cup of ice. After Smokey gave her a few more ice chips, she continued.

  “I want pie. Apple pie.”

  Smokey laughed. “I’ll check with the doctor. Maybe in a few days.”

  “Someone was. A guy tried to. Where’s my ring?” she stammered.

  I held up my hand. “Right here, waiting for you to wake up.”

  She blinked.

  Smokey looked up. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

  I turned toward the door. Dressed in a burgundy set of scrubs and a new pair of tennis shoes, P-Nut sauntered into the room.

  “Someone order a sexy nurse?” he asked.

  “What in the absolute hell are you doing, Nut?”

  “They wouldn’t let me up here for three days. Fellas downstairs said she woke up, so I went and bought these. Had to do something.”

  “You crazy prick.” Smokey looked him up and down, and then shook his head. “What’s covering your tattoos?”

  I hadn’t noticed until Smokey said so, but the tattoos that covered P-Nut’s forearms were gone.