Travis had agreed, but only if Dante could be there, too.
Peek gave his consent to that, knowing damn well and good it was a bad idea, but we had no other options.
I needed the help, and my sister’s life depended on it.
I’d do just about anything to keep my sister safe, to stop her suffering, even do something so unpleasant as to meet with the Hail brothers. Peek ended up having a schedule conflict and I had to go to the meet by myself.
“Here’s your receipt,” Deena handed me a paper, and I took it.
When I returned to the room, Raven was still arguing about her insurance.
“I’m telling you, I paid it this month. I paid it last month. I paid it the month before that. It’s current. Please, just try to run it again.”
I held my hand up and stopped Raven.
“It’s not going to work,” I told her.
Both women looked at me, and I handed the receipt over to show I’d paid.
“We’re paid up.”
The woman took it and read it, nodded once, and then left the room.
“What the hell, Wolf?” Raven asked, steam starting to rise out of the top of her head.
Well, if it were possible it would be.
She was that mad.
I held my hand up and stopped her.
“Let me explain before you go flipping out,” I told her.
“Knew I should’ve listened to Travis and Dante and not come with you,” Raven muttered darkly.
My insides clenched at her words.
“I was married to Travis and Dante’s sister,” I replied softly. “She died when a serial killer, who was targeting cops, shot both of us in the head. She died, I lived, and they blame me.”
Raven’s eyes went wide at my words.
“Abby?” she asked.
I nodded.
“Abby,” I confirmed.
“That’s terrible. I’m so sorry for your loss.” She touched my arm with her good hand, and her eyes softened.
“Abby and I were having problems. We were on the verge of a divorce, and Abby was pregnant with my child at the time of her death. Dante and Travis blame me, and therefore dislike my club as well. They’d do just about anything to never have to see me again,” I informed her. “If I didn’t need the help, I would’ve never shown my face to them. I know it hurts them to see me. But, I have very few options at this point, and my sister’s life, as well as yours, now that I realize what is going on, are in danger.”
“Why?” Raven asked with confusion. “I haven’t done anything.”
“Oh, but to him, you have. You testified and put away two of his top producers,” I replied.
“Shit,” Raven growled. “Why can’t I just fucking live my life? I swear, every time I find my footing, something else comes around the corner and knocks me down to my ass again.”
I looked over at her and smiled.
“Welcome to the shit club where life is always hard, and you never know what to expect before life knocks you down again,” I responded to her outburst.
Raven’s smile was forced as she hopped back on the bed, her broken arm cradled to her chest.
“Well, let’s go,” she said, picking up her things off the bed before she slid back down and started heading to the door.
I grabbed the receipt and followed behind her, nodding to the doctor who’d been taking care of Raven.
He nodded back and I kept pace behind Raven as we made our way out to the front lobby of the ER.
“Hold on,” I ordered, stopping her before she could make it to the bank of windows at the very front.
She stopped and turned, looking at me in question.
“What?” she asked.
“Let me check it out before you go out there,” I replied, walking ahead of her.
Raven sighed at my back but stayed where she was as I went ahead of her and took a look around.
After seeing nothing remarkable, I walked back inside and gestured her outside with my hand.
She followed, her eyes going to my bike across the parking lot.
“I’m not riding on that,” she said.
I looked at her like she was crazy.
“Why not?” I questioned her as I took hold of her good hand and led her to my bike. “Are you scared?”
Her back straightened so fast and hard that I worried for the state of her spine. She didn’t resist, and I had to smile as she clutched my hand.
She didn’t answer.
It was obvious she didn’t like riding. It scared her.
When we rode here, I wasn’t sure if she was actually scared of the bike or in pain from the broken arm. Now, I could clearly tell that it was because she feared riding.
“When I was seventeen, I was following behind a motorcycle,” she said the moment we reached my bike.
I turned and studied her, wondering where she was going with her line of conversation, but I had a feeling in the back of my mind that what she was about to tell me changed her life.
And not in a positive way.
She was staring at the bike for so long that I wasn’t sure she was going to finish, but she shook her head and looked at me before quickly looking away.
“A car pulled out in front of him, and he slammed into the car. Went through the car’s windows, and straight into a guardrail that severed him in half at the waist.” She shivered at the memory. “He died, all because some woman wasn’t paying attention to what she was doing and pulled out in front of him.”
“Bikes are less visible on the road, yes,” I confirmed. “I’ve had over twenty-two years of motorcycle riding experience, and I know how to handle my bike. Trust me when I say that, while you’re on the back of my bike, no harm will come to you.”
She gave me a dry look.
“You can’t control the actions of others,” she informed me, walking up to the bike and lifting her leg to straddle it.
“I can’t,” I told her, mounting the bike in front of her. “But if it’s within my power to control, I’ll make it so.”
She hummed and scooted back, giving me some room to move back as well.
When I was comfortable, I started the bike and leaned to the side, kicking the stand up on the bike, before walking it out of the parking spot.
“Do bikes not have reverse?” she yelled over the loud hum of the motor.
I turned until I was facing forward, and then looked at her over my shoulder.
“Most bikes are light enough that the person riding them can push them where they need to be. They also have a tight turning radius, so once it’s backed up, even a little bit, we can turn out of the spot,” I answered her back, nearly yelling to be heard over the roar of the motor.
She patted my shoulder and I took that as my sign to go, revving the motorcycle’s engine and accelerating out of the parking lot.
Luckily, the ride to The Uncertain Saints clubhouse was uneventful, and I pulled into the driveway as far as I could before I had to get off and walk. We could no longer access the house from the parking lot due to the flooding. The boat ramp adjacent to the house was under water also, so we had a makeshift area that we docked our river transportation.
“Whoa,” Raven said once the motor died. “How do you get up there?”
I chuckled as I dismounted, holding my hand out to her.
“Boat,” I replied. “That one.”
I pointed to the one tied to a stake that Peek, the president of The Uncertain Saints MC, and I had pounded into the wet earth. Normally, there were four flat bottom boats tied there, but with three of them gone, and three bikes in the driveway next to mine, it meant that we weren’t going to be alone when we got there.
Which was likely good for me.
I didn’t need any more distractions than I already had.
The five foot three distraction, with auburn hair and dark blue eyes, was definitely one that would be more of a diversion than most.
“Hop in,” I ordered.
She looked at the boat, studied its integrity for a few long moments, and then nodded her head.
“If I die, nobody will care,” she mumbled to herself.
I untied the boat and pushed off, the boat scooting across the water toward the stairs on its own volition.
“If I die, somebody will care. They’ll look for me and find you,” I teased her.
She shot her angry eyes up to mine.
“Shut up.”
I grinned down at the water as I picked up the paddle and rowed us to the stairs.
“Grab the railing,” I ordered.
She did as directed, grabbed it with her good arm, and immediately climbed out of the boat to the stairs.
In doing so, she lost hold of the boat and I soared past the stairs.
“Shithead,” I muttered, rowing back to the stairs.
This time I grabbed the railing and hauled myself up, tying the boat next to all the others that were there before heading up the stairs toward where Raven was waiting.
“I think I should’ve changed,” she muttered, looking down at her pants that were stained with dirt from when I’d pushed her to the ground earlier.
“You’re fine,” I told her. “At least your clothes don’t have blood on them like mine do.”
I pointed to the back of my arm where a piece of rock had ricocheted and gouged into the meat right above my elbow, and her eyes widened.
“You’ve been shot!” she screeched.
So loudly, in fact, that the front door opened and three men filled the doorway, guns in hand.
Raven jumped and flew backwards, going down two steps to crowd behind my back, her cute little face peeking out over my shoulder.
“It’s okay, Raven,” I patted her hip. “They’re not going to hurt you.”
“I never said that they were,” she muttered.
“Then why are you hiding behind me?” I asked her.
“Ummm,” she hesitated, her voice high and unsure. “Because they have guns?”
I snorted.
“That’s a pretty darn good read,” Casten offered as he replaced his gun in the holster underneath his arm.
I grinned at him and took a hold of Raven’s hand, pulling her inside with me.
“Dante and Travis here yet?” I asked them as I walked inside, relief hitting me when I didn’t automatically see them staring at me with those cold eyes.
“No,” Peek said from behind us as he closed the door. “They haven’t made it yet.”
“Good,” I muttered, dropping Raven’s hand and pointing to the kitchen table that was directly across the room from us. “Go take a seat. I’m going to clean this arm up and be right back.”
“You can’t even reach your arm,” Raven countered as she refused to sit. “I’ll come help you.”
I looked at her, studied her determined face, and then shrugged. “Whatever.”
Peek, Mig, Casten and Griffin, my fellow Uncertain Saint members watched us leave with varying degrees of uneasiness following our retreat, and I made a mental note to ask them what crawled up their asses when Raven wasn’t in the room.
Something was wrong, and they wouldn’t be talking with a stranger in their midst.
“Where’s the first-aid kit?” she asked the moment we arrived at the hall bathroom.
She elbowed her way inside, then started to open cabinets without waiting for me to tell her where it was.
“Top shelf, first cabinet,” I pointed to the one directly across the room, and she nodded as she hustled toward it.
She pulled it open as I started to unbutton the shirt I was wearing.
Once the last button was undone, I hung my cut up on the back of the bathroom door, then tossed my flannel shirt in the corner of the bathroom by the door before pulling my t-shirt up over my head.
I tossed it on the floor, too, and turned around and held my arm up to get my first good look at the wound.
“Glass,” I told her. “There’s still some in it. Just a small cut.”
“How do you know?” she asked as she pushed up beside me and squinted at the mirror.
I grinned at her and twisted so she could look at the wound itself, instead of the mirror, causing her to moan in pain at the sight of my cut.
“It’s not a cut, it’s a fucking gunshot wound,” she growled.
“No, it’s not,” I said. “It’s likely some sort of ricochet that I received while I was covering you,” I informed her.
Dropping down until I could get my elbow under the faucet’s water flow, I washed it none too gently with soap and water.
“I’m not sure that’s the way it’s supposed to be done,” she watched me. “You’re getting your boobs wet.”
“I don’t have boobs,” I retorted.
She grinned.
“You have pecs. Man breasts,” she chattered as she watched me clean my wound.
It was then I realized she was nervous with me.
Whether it was because of the wound I’d sustained, or the fact that she was in a locked, close quarters space was beyond me.
Likely, it was a little bit of both.
I wasn’t sure, but I stepped back to give her room anyway, just in case she was feeling trapped.
The moment I stepped backwards, her eyes snapped from her contemplation of the granite countertop to my eyes, then immediately went to work on my arm.
“Turn around,” she ordered, twisting her finger around to help me understand what she wanted to do.
I grinned and gave her my back, placing my hand out onto the counter to give her easier access without her having to lean into me.
“It looks like it hurts,” she muttered as she poked at it. “Does it hurt?”
I gritted my teeth. “Not at all.”
She laughed at me as she pulled out the alcohol as well as the cotton balls.
“Shit,” she said. “I just dropped half of them on the ground. Do you think they’re okay to pick back up and shove back in the bag?”
I shook my head. “No. Just throw them away. We have more.”
Well, not on me, but I knew I could get some if I needed them. I’d seen Peek’s wife, Alison, doing her nails the other day and she’d had a bag next to her the size of a white kitchen trash bag.
Apparently, she’d gotten the massive package on sale at a wholesale shop, and she hadn’t had to buy cotton balls in the last year and a half since she’d bought it.
“Okay,” Raven agreed, not bothering to bend down and pick them up. “This might sting.”
My belly tightened at the feel of that cool liquid touching my skin, followed shortly by the burning fire that always shadowed the coolness.
“All done. Do you think a big Band-aid will cover it, or should I use the four by four gauze pads?” she asked.
Then she went on to cover it with the pads without waiting for my reply, and I halfway wondered why she’d even bothered to ask if she wasn’t going to wait for my reply.
“Tape,” she said, holding her hand out.
I picked up the white tape from the box, then handed it to her over my shoulder.
She took it and ripped a piece off using her teeth.
The act was surprisingly sexy, and I found myself watching her movements as she attended to me.
Her fingers were light on the back of my arm, and my whole body started to sing as I felt her breathing on my shoulder.
Her tongue was caught between her top and bottom teeth, her blue eyes so focused on the task before her that she didn’t notice me watching her.
The longer I watched, the more I believed that she’d probably be better off without me.
Raven had gone through some incredibly difficult events in the past year and she’d had a hard life growing up. The poor woman didn’t deserve to have all of my fucked up mess in her life. She’d already gone through enough.
With determination i
n my voice I said, “Are you done yet?”
She nodded, running her finger around the outer edge of the gauze to ensure it stuck.
“Done,” she announced. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”
Only my cock, but I doubt you’d be willing to take care of that for me.
Instead of saying that, though, I went with, “No.”
She smiled at me and stepped back, immediately bringing her arm to her belly.
“Your arm hurting you?” I asked as I turned around.
“No,” she lied.
I rolled my eyes and opened the bathroom door without bothering to dress completely. “Come on. I think we have some community pain pills that we all share.”
“Isn’t that kind of illegal?” she asked as she followed me closely back through the hallway and out into the main room of the seven-bedroom lake house we called the clubhouse.
All five of the original members of The Uncertain Saints had gone in to buy this place. With each of us donating a hundred thousand dollars, we’d been able to buy prime lakefront property on the beautiful Caddo Lake.
We’d also purchased about fifty acres that surrounded our lake house, giving us the privacy we needed to ensure that no one walked onto our property and witnessed any of our activities. Activities that were sometimes legal, and sometimes not so legal.
“Not illegal,” I lied to her. “Each of us has had a script for some at one point in time. Now we have a common area where we keep them in case we need one.”
I took her into the kitchen and led her to the Scooby Doo cookie jar that was sitting on the counter, lifted the lid, and reached in for a white pill.
Raven’s eyes had widened at seeing that cookie jar filled nearly to the top.
“What the hell?” she breathed. “Why do y’all have that much?”
“Last year, Griffin fractured his hand in an…altercation,” Alison said from behind us as she walked to the coffee pot and refilled her cup. “Then, just last month, Peek had his jaw fractured during another altercation.” She smiled as she recalled the memory. “And during that same altercation, Mig twisted his knee and it blew up to the size of a watermelon.” Alison grinned. “Each time they were prescribed pain meds. When they’re done, instead of throwing the bottle out, they get dumped into there. I’d avoid the blue ones, though. Those are a joke.”
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