Fallen (Redemption Reigns MC Book 3)

by Juli Valenti

  God bless Teagan. She was talking a good game, trying to bring up her sweetie personality, her I’m-just-here-for-the-dick and the possible ride side. The one that had won so many. It hadn’t dawned on Sarah before just how much the girl had to have changed - she may be a sweetie in name, but in personality, not anymore. Not that she knew her before shit had gone down, but there was no way she was the same girl.

  “All right, bitch. You’re going to make this ... fun.”

  The man in front of them pulled a knife, Lean pulling his large machete from the sheath at his hip. He leered, the evil gleam in his eye chilling Sarah to the bone. They advanced, closing in on the girls’ personal space. And, in the blink of an eye, Sarah evaluated what was going down.

  It was clear, judging by their looks, they weren’t messing around. This wasn’t Sesame Street and Big Bird wasn’t going to jump out from behind the bushes ready to sing songs with Oscar the Grouch. No, this was the real deal. They were pinning them in, knowing there was little room for them to move, and if they didn’t do something it was going to cost them, and cost them dearly. Static Law wasn’t the usual MC; men in the MCs Sarah researched didn’t target women, they held them for information. They waited for the men to come rescue them, then killed the men. These guys weren’t going to play by that rule.

  Unnamed man in front of her never took his eyes off Sarah, and another light bulb came on in her mind. He’d never wanted answers - he didn’t care what they thought or what they said, not really. He was buying time, though she wasn’t sure for what. It was possible he was merely playing a cat-and-mouse game, a type to give the girls some sort of hope, for an out, but she wasn’t sure and she didn’t care. Sarah was done letting men push her around, pinning her into corners and trapping her. She’d declared that when everything had gone down with Vinny, and if this was the arena she’d need to use to prove it, she would.

  Quicker than she ever thought possible, Lean had Teagan by the elbow, lifting her out of the booth, his knife pressed against her throat. The other outlaw reached for Sarah but she moved faster, her grip firm as it pulled the sweetie’s weapon from the small of her back, using the other man’s actions in her favor. Her movements had her against the wall, and she lifted the weapon, willing herself to remain calm.

  The man arched an eyebrow at her, clearly not impressed though he didn’t advance farther. He opened his mouth to say something, but never got the chance; the front door to the restaurant burst open, several harsh-looking men storming inside. Without thinking, Sarah squeezed the trigger, her aim square on the man in front of her’s large chest. Spinning, she fired at another outlaw who’d entered, her bullet missing his chest and hitting his stomach instead, though still effectively slowing him.

  Annie was doing the same, her curls bouncing as she dodged behind one of the pillars. What about Teagan?

  “Shit,” she spat aloud as she ducked beneath the table and flipped it, hoping the wood was thick enough to act as a shield. From her squatting perch she could see the other girl’s boots, barely touching the ground and flailing, clearly trying to get free of the biker.

  Leaning to the opposite side, she shot toward the door once more, attempting to throw the men off to her plan. Almost immediately after she moved to the other and, peering out, she lifted the Ruger as high as she dared without being seen. And, praying her aim was true this time, she pulled the trigger.

  The large man’s hands went slack where they’d been struggling to hold onto Teagan and the girl finally found purchase on the hardwood floor. Sarah hesitantly got to her feet, her eyes taking in the sight around the restaurant, her ears on high alert. It was eerie, the lack of sound, the silence. Gunfire was deafening, or so she’d just learned.

  “...grab me again, you fucking asshole,” the sweetie’s voice rose above the ringing in her ears. Her buckled riding boots came down, stomping on the large man, the heel making blood squirt from the gun wound on his shoulder Sarah’d put there.

  Sarah’d put it there; she’d shot him. And, judging by the bodies on the floor, she’d done it to at the very least two others. Silently she counted the men on the floor - including “her” three, there were another four on the ground. Seven.

  “Is everyone okay,” she choked out, unable to gauge how loud she was speaking.

  “Fine, other than this fucking asshole trying to give me a bloody fucking smile, the stupid fucking biker bastard,” Teagan swore, kicking the body repeatedly.

  “Bastards got me in the arm, but other than that I’m good,” Annie said, leaning against what was left of the pillar she’d been hiding behind. Even from where she was standing, Sarah could see blood dripping from the girl’s shoulder, trailing down her arm and off her fingers.

  Her adrenaline wearing off, she could feel her own body shaking. Pulling her cell phone out of her pocket, she dialed Fallen’s number, despairing when she got his voicemail.

  “Hey, baby ... big problem. Oh my god,” she murmured, her arms moving around her stomach, trying to hold herself together. “I shot someone. More than one. Christ, where are you?”

  Sarah hung up, remembering he was on a run and wasn’t planning to be back until she was off work; this was supposed to have been a breakfast date with one of the girls, not a blood bath. And it was ... a fucking blood bath. Pools of it lay all over the hardwood. She could only imagine what the hell they’d tell cops.

  Oh my God, cops. “Cops,” she croaked, but Annie shook her head.

  “Nope, not here. This is my restaurant and Craze pays well, very well, to keep them away, regardless of what’s heard. The bodies will be a problem, but the club will take care of them.”

  With that, the woman pulled her own phone out of the pocket of her apron, shaking her head when she found the screen busted. Her good hand extended toward Sarah and, despite herself, she flinched before realizing the other girl wanted to borrow hers. She handed it over and let herself fall into a chair that magically remained upright in the scuffle.

  Realistically, she knew there were things she should be doing. She needed to check Annie’s arm, to get out the slug casing and stop the bleeding. She needed to make sure Teagan was okay mentally, that the biker hadn’t thrust her back six months in her mind. But, for the moment, she was content to let herself fall apart. Tears trailed down her cheeks, ones she hadn’t known were even coming, and she put her head between her legs.

  Her pride wanted her to get up and shake it off. Her conscience was shaking, for a completely different reason. Well ... I guess I’d asked to be a part of Fallen’s world. Hell of a welcoming party.

  Chapter Twelve

  By the time the boys from Bishops Reign showed up, the roar of their bikes sounding like a parade of military tanks, Sarah had finally gotten herself together. She was no longer crying or shaking, which was a good thing, since she was currently fingers deep in Annie’s shoulder.

  One of the bullets the Static Law boys hit her with went deep, burying itself into muscle, and, since the girl refused to go to the hospital, she was having to make do with primitive materials to try and dig it out. A spoon on one side of the wound with Teagan putting pressure on it; the girl was also significantly helpful with napkins and washcloths, wiping away new blood as it ran freely down Annie’s arm, dark and staining the white material. Sarah, herself, was using a seafood fork, one of the super little ones with small tines, as an explorer.

  “Jesus H. Christ!” a male voice boomed from the doorway, one she didn’t recognize, but was sure the other two girls did. At least, she hoped so. Sarah didn’t bother to look up, keeping her focus zeroed in on the small woman’s arm, keeping faith that they’d seen all they would of Static for the day. “You three were supposed to get information, not go Hiroshima on the fucking place. Crazy fucking bitches.”

  None of the women spoke - Sarah and Teagan occupied with bloody wound control, and, judging by the face Annie was making, she was barely keeping her pain from consuming her. Part of Sarah felt bad for the woman - it
couldn’t be easy having two girls digging into skin and muscle, searching for a bullet, with no anesthesia or numbing agents; grown men would crumble trying to do so - she knew, she’d seen it. Yet, at the same time, the pain could’ve been controlled had she not been so damned stubborn. The small fork scraped against something hard, but not bone, pulling her from her thoughts, and she narrowed her eyes.

  “Almost got it,” she told her absently, more out of hospital habit than anything else. She wasn’t one to really talk through procedures, but when nearing the end it was something everyone seemed to do - let the patient know they were close to the finish line, as if to reward them for their pain and suffering.

  “Do one of you want to explain this?” the man’s voice spoke again, loudly, like the girls were deaf and stupid, not momentarily ignoring him.

  “Teagan, press hard - no, there, yes,” Sarah directed, gritting her teeth, her left hand moving to the bottom of the wound and pressing upward for leverage. Annie gasped as her pain increased, but Sarah only pushed harder. Using her thumb, along with the help from Teagan, she felt the tines finally slip underneath the metal slug and she tugged at an angle. The bullet surfaced enough for her to see it and Sarah used her fingers, digging them into the other woman’s arm, forcing it out. This time, her patient couldn’t swallow her sounds, and an extended yelp escaped her throat before she bit down on her lip.

  Sarah dropped the bloody object into an empty glass on the table before taking the washcloth from Teagan, pressing hard on the hole to slow the bleeding. “Find me something to sew her up with, please.”

  “I will repeat myself one. More. Time. I asked, do one of you want to explain what the fuck happened in here?” Sarah finally turned her attention to the biker in question, one she’d never seen before. His face was reddened, his patience clearly waning, his cut clearly proclaiming his status as Sergeant of Arms for Bishops Reign. More, there were other Bishops, whom she hadn’t realized had come inside yet, stepping around bodies and glass.

  “Craze, please,” came Annie’s voice, just above a whisper, breathless, “chill the fuck out.”

  “What!? Did you really just tell me to chill the fuck out? Woman, there are bodies on the goddamned floor, all of them bleeding but not a one of them breathing. You, my fucking wife, are fucking bleeding, and barely breathing, through a fucking slug recovery mission. The three of you look like you just survived a terrorist attack - I want to know what the fuck happened.”

  “I can only find an emergency mending kit ... will it work?” Teagan asked, appearing at her side. Sarah nodded, pulling a needle and black thread from the small pouch. It wasn’t much to work with; the thin string wasn’t going to be the sturdiest, and the needle was going to hurt like hell, but it was what it was.

  “Bottle of Jack,” Annie requested, her eyes flashing largely, clearly anticipating exactly what Sarah was thinking. Teagan nodded, disappearing and returning swiftly with a bottle, pulling the pour spout out before handing it to the other woman.

  “What happened, Sergeant,” Sarah finally spoke in even, clinical tones, having thread the needle and, after Annie nodded, began sewing. She ignored the other woman’s expression and pained gasps, instead choosing to occupy herself with an explanation before the other man went postal, and her needlework. “Is we were apparently here to gather information - not that I was told any of this, mind you. Of course, Murphy’s Law, shit hit the fan. They demanded to know the clubs’ plans, and when we gave them nothing, they started threatening.”

  “And, pray tell, that turned to this ... how?”

  “Well,” she continued, pausing as Annie pulled a long swig from the liquor bottle before settling once again, “threats turned to more, and when one of the bastards had Teagan at knife-point, I pulled down, we faced off, and that turned to this. End of story time.”

  Sarah was sure the Bishop continued talking, more than likely asking more questions, but she tuned him out - allowing the other girls to answer. Her eyes stayed on the wound and the stitches she made, doing her best to keep them as straight and neat as possible. They were crude at best, but they’d have to do. Not for the first time, she wished she’d had a sterile environment, with sterile equipment and cleansers and alcohol to avoid infection.

  As she was finishing up, using a clean washcloth, water, and vodka from behind the bar to clean her arm, Hells Redemption showed up. The Bishop crew was already elbows deep in cleanup, and the prospects of HR nodded in greeting to the men before jumping in to help.

  The uneasy alliance between the two motorcycle clubs was, from what Sarah understood, something new, but seemed balanced. Rivalry always ran strong between all clubs, though HR was respected as one of the stronger and larger clubs in the New Mexico area. Yet, from what she understood, despite any beef they’d had in the past, the two clubs tended to band together on most political issues, especially against Diablos Hermanos, though they’d never been tight or friends. After Poet and Titan got together, however, that changed. The presidents’ relationship seemed to bind the two clubs together, while still keeping individual club business private. This situation, seeing as it was the three girls from both clubs recruited for the job, was clearly one where both were involved.

  And, as if on cue, Fallen walked through what was left of the restaurant’s glass doors. His face was harsh, hooded, angry, his hawk-like eyes scanning the people of the room. His gaze traveled over the debris covering the floor, the blood and bodies and bikers; he took in the pictures knocked off the walls, the tables and chairs overturned, weapons abandoned. When he finally caught sight of Sarah, relief flooded his face, the creases on his forehead and around his eyes easing before returning as confusion and question.

  As for herself, Sarah wasn’t sure how she felt seeing her man. Initially, after the incident happened, she’d wanted nothing more than to crawl into his arms and cry, to disappear and have him hold her. But that was before ... It was before she’d dug a slug out of another woman’s arm using a fucking fork and her fingers. It was before she’d had to use a large, insanely sharp sewing needle and shitty thread to stitch her wound to keep her from bleeding. It was before she’d gotten over the fact she’d shot men, men who’d tried to seriously hurt the girls and herself.

  Now, she was sure she was more than likely numb, but she didn’t need the man walking toward her. Instead, it was more that she was relieved he was relieved. It felt good to know he worried about her, that he didn’t want her hurt; just as she always worried about him when he went on club runs.

  Talk about a one-eighty in situations, she thought idly, and it was true. Many nights she’d sat in her apartment, phone in hand, waiting and begging for it to light up, to ring, to know that he was safe - and then, he’d never give her details, so her mind ran rampant. He could have been running to the grocery store for milk, but if she thought it was for the club, he may as well have been breaking into a gun convention with a knife and trying to take on every person there. Each seemed equally as dangerous as the next. It was his turn this time.

  “Baby,” he breathed as he reached her, kneeling beside the chair she’d allowed herself to fall back in. His arms snaked around her waist, his hands moving up and down her back, either in an effort to provide comfort or to check for wounds, she wasn’t sure. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded. “I’m fine. Annie got the worst of it.”

  “You’re not okay ... you’re bleeding,” he said, his finger trailing a cut on her forearm, one she hadn’t noticed. Glancing at it, it was easy to tell one of the Static’s bullets had grazed her - breaking skin, but not embedding, which was good. It wasn’t bad enough to need stitches, and it hadn’t even hurt until he’d brought attention to it.

  Sarah shook his hand off. “It’s just a graze. I’m cool.”

  Fallen leaned back, his face concerned as his eyes met hers. “Jesus, Sarah. I’m sorry. I didn’t think this would be anything more than food and info - that’s all it was supposed to be. I never would’ve even
thought about letting you go if it wasn’t.”

  “I don’t like decisions being made for me, Lukas. You know me well enough to know that for sure. Honestly, it pisses me off that you’d throw me into a dangerous situation, without consulting me or even informing me; how the fuck am I supposed to begin to defend myself if I don’t know I have to? That’s bullshit,” she said, her voice rising on its own accord. In truth, she hadn’t known just how angry it made her until that moment.

  “I know —”

  “No, you don’t,” she interrupted him, holding a hand up. “You don’t know what it’s like to be thrown into the deep end, told to swim, and then not told that there are a ton of goddamned sharks in the water just ready to tear you the fuck apart.”

  The Sergeant’s expression changed - obviously taken aback by the things she’d said. His mouth opened, closed, then opened before he finally spoke, his voice soft but his eyes sharp, the muscles in his jaw flexing.

  “I’ve apologized, Sarah, and I meant it. And, you’re right, I don’t know how you feel at this moment in time; I’ll let you explain it all to me later. But do not, and I mean, do not, ever raise your voice to me in a situation with other club members lower than me. I am ranked in this club and, while in private I will let you scold me until your heart’s content, that will not happen in public. You will respect me as I will respect you. Is that understood?”

  Fallen’s words brokered no room for argument, stern while remaining polite. He wasn’t rude or mean, though he’d put her in her place. A flicker of chagrin flashed through her; he was right. Respect and rank meant more in this world than a lot of other things, and she knew it.

  His hand lifted, his thumb caressing across her chin, his gesture taking some of the sting out of the things he’d said. She nodded sheepishly, and he placed a gentle kiss across her lips. “So, are you okay?” he tried again, his words a whisper.