Wring: Road Kill MC #5

by Marata Eros

  His eyes search her face.

  “Yes,” she admits in the barest thread of a whisper.

  “See?” he lifts his shoulders, releasing her chin.

  Rose grips the collar of his cut, crunching the leather. “Don't, Noose. Shannon went with them so we wouldn't be hurt.”

  “And what kind of man would I be if I didn't go and get her back—Wring?”

  She looks at me. “I'm so sorry.”

  I shake my head. “I just need to get to Shannon, and the rest of them will fall.”

  Noose nods. “Simple.”

  “It's never simple.” Rose reaches for Aria.

  “You're not going to drop the kid, are ya? Seem kinda shaky.” Noose's chin jerks back.

  Rose takes an unsteady breath. “I think I'll be okay.”

  She grabs the kid and checks her over. She presses the baby's head against her shoulder. “I can't believe they'd hurt her.”

  Noose just shakes his head. The violence is coiled inside him like a cobra.

  I see it. Lariat and Snare sure as fuck do.

  “Can't hurt women and children when you're not breathing.”

  Then Rose stands on tiptoe, leaning forward and tells him something.

  Chapter 18

  Lopez's hand on my nape is brutal and insistent. He shoves me through a door, kicking it closed behind him.

  I skid to my knees, hissing through the impact. Slowly, I raise my head.

  Mom is on a cot.

  Her eyes are closed. I can't see her chest rise and fall with her breathing.

  Is she breathing?

  I struggle to a standing position, wince at the pain, and walk slowly to where Mom lies. I need to know if she's already gone.

  Dreading it, I check her visually. She is breathing. But her lips are blue.

  I don't know enough about medical stuff to know what happened between the time they took her and now.

  There are no meds.

  I sink to my haunches, devastated.

  There is no tea or water.

  I pick up her hand, soothing myself with the familiar motion of petting her fingers with my own. I lay my cheek against her fragile skin.

  Sobs suck out of me. Mom doesn't need my tears and hysteria. She needs my strength.

  Her eyes open. “Darling.”

  “Oh God, Mom—did they hurt you?” I wipe my eyes.

  Her smile is small. “Not really. Though I don't think they were especially patient with my issues.”

  I dump my head on the side of her cot and cry.

  Mom puts her hand on my head and strokes my hair like she used to when I was little. “I always knew I would die sooner than later, Shannon.”

  I lift my face, and her bulbous knuckles scrape the wet sadness that courses down my face. “Don't cry.” Lying on her side, reaching up, she cradles my face with her hands. “They hope to use me as leverage to force my beautiful daughter to do ugly things.”

  I nod because there's no other answer.

  She knows it. I know it.

  Suddenly her smile turns wicked. “I dialed 9-1-1, darling. When I heard the first thug break through the door, I dialed. Then I told the wonderful girl on the other end to be quiet.”

  I blink. “You what?”

  Slowly, she extracts my tired prepaid phone out of her lounge pants pocket.

  “They didn't see this?”

  She shakes her head.

  I grab the phone and sit back on my butt. There are no minutes left. The battery power has one bar.

  “How much?” I hit the cell on my forehead. Think, Shannon. “How long were you connected to 9-1-1 dispatch?”

  Mom lifts one shoulder, grimaces in discomfort, and lets her arm fall softly to her side. She takes a slight breath and lets it out.

  She shuts her eyes as though too tired to keep them open. “Perhaps long enough.”

  Her eyelids open, revealing bright eyes, armed in the fierce intelligence she's always had. “I'm dying.”

  I grip her hands as tightly as I dare. “No, Mom.”

  Noise bursts from outside the door, and we cringe.

  Mom answers quietly, “Yes, Shannon. At my last doctor's appointment… well, I refused hospice.”

  “Oh, Mom!” I cry in a hoarse whisper, scooping her against me, but she gently pushes me away.

  Searching my eyes, she says, “I thought it would be easier on you if my imminent demise occurred naturally rather than all the big build up and drama of a foretelling. Dr. Freeman did say that I needed a heart shunt. Without one, I had days—not weeks.” Her compassionate face sees only me.

  I see only her.

  Her fingers trail down my face. “So you see, darling, there is no extending my life. My heart is failing. But I believe I might not have failed you. There should be rescuers coming soon.”

  “Don't leave me, Mama,” I say through my tears.

  “Listen to me, Shannon. Survive this.” Her eyes sharpen, glittering with her command. “Let yourself love this young, rough man.”

  I cock my head. “Why do you like Wring?”

  She smiles. “He saved my daughter.”

  “Twice,” I whisper.

  Mom nods. “Remember what I told you when you were small?”

  I do. “Actions speak louder than words.”

  “Yes. And his are screaming to be noticed.” Her kind eyes dim. “Notice him, Shannon.”

  Her grip begins to soften.

  “Mom!” I yell.

  But her eyes are fluttering. Shutting.

  Dying.

  “No—no!” I grip Mom's shoulders.

  Her eyes open. “I love you, darling.”

  “Mom…” I hug her to me, tears soaking our clothes. “I love you, too.”

  She blinks. Her eyes caress my face as her mouth forms a smile.

  Then Mom's last breath eases out of her body.

  And my will for living goes with it.

  *

  They pry my fingers from Mom, threatening to break them off. I don't need fingers to fuck, they say.

  I want to die.

  I'm so sad I don't know what I feel. I'm numb to everything.

  Lopez hits me, and I fall.

  I lie on the ground on my side and will myself to be absorbed into the hard concrete beneath me.

  No one comes to save me.

  “She's fucked up—that old bat of a mom dies, and she becomes a fucking corpse, too,” a voice says in disgust.

  “I'll get her moving.”

  Lopez tears off my pants. My legs flop uselessly. Fingers tear at my panties. The only other man who's touched my underwear is Wring.

  “Look, man, she's crying.”

  “Nah,” Lopez says, tugging the fragile material away from my body, “she's just leaking. All women do.”

  It's as though they're talking about someone else.

  Rough fingers part me.

  “Wow! Now this… this is a pussy.”

  A huge booming sound reverberates around me, shattering my numb. My autonomy.

  My senses.

  Chaos ensues. The pleasant roar of violence fills my ears. Flesh crushes bone.

  I stare at the lights embedded in the ceiling as warm metallic rain hits my body then cools against my skin.

  Something soft goes around my legs, and I sigh, finally closing my eyes. Maybe I've died, and I can be with Mom now.

  I'm ready.

  Then a smell of smoke and metal fills my nose.

  I float.

  There's no need for me to respond.

  “Shannon?” a deep male voice rumbles, and beneath the layers of acrid horror, a familiar smell permeates my nose.

  My lids fling open, and I suck a gasping breath then cough.

  Wring.

  He stands above me like a luminescent avenging angel of light and justice. His pale hair surrounds his head like a halo. Eyes like aqua gems appear to glow in the haze of the room.

  Suddenly, I'm awake. I can breathe. Feel.

  My
anguished scream is caught as he lifts me, cradling me against his chest.

  The soft thing I felt is wrapped around me. A blanket.

  Safe, I think as my consciousness wanes to black.

  Chapter 19

  One week later

  I gaze out over the foundation of my home. Lone wood two-by-fours stand like forgotten spires against the smoking remains.

  Wring watches me silently, giving me space. Yet, he's closer to me than any human being could ever be.

  The police did find me slightly before Wring met them at the place where Lopez conducted his business—human trafficking. Peddling flesh on the streets. Whatever he could do to directly or indirectly harm women, he was a part of it.

  It didn't matter to me when I heard of his horrible childhood. Everyone has choice. Eventually, everyone can choose to do harm. Or not.

  And Lopez chose harm every time, every day.

  “You ready?” Wring asks, and I realize I've been staring off into the distance for a long time.

  The clothesline is singed black, but the battered poles still stand.

  “Babe,” he says, wrapping an arm around my shoulder, “time to go. We don't want to be late.”

  I give a series of jerky nods, and he hugs me against him. I fit perfectly.

  We move toward his bike. There are fourteen others lined up in the procession.

  The funeral procession.

  I duck my head against a cool wind that's picked up, and it lifts my simple black dress, causing the hem to hug my legs as I fight through it.

  A car pulls up, and Rose exits. She holds out her hand. The girl responsible for telling Noose and Wring the one critical detail that allowed Wring to get to me.

  The one detail that allowed me to have a second chance.

  Wring hands me off to her, and Aria reaches for me, hooking her baby arm around my neck. Aria, Rose, and I hug. Baby smell lifts my spirits.

  My new extended family huddles around me.

  “Num-num,” Aria whispers, pulling away.

  “That kid,” Rose says, shaking her head.

  Everyone laughs.

  “Kids got a goddamned case of worms,” Noose says. But his words are said with affection, with love.

  “Takes after her daddy,” Rose retorts, hand on hip.

  Good-natured smiles all around.

  Rose takes a deep breath, squeezing my hand. “Ready?”

  I nod.

  We climb into the black SUV and travel up James Street, toward Saint James Church.

  *

  The bikers rev their engines. The rumble is like music after the finality of Mom's death.

  Another biker club showed up to pay their respects. Chaos.

  There was one especially attentive guy in their group. Puck, I think his name was. I shake my head. He seems so familiar somehow. Like I met him in a dream. The guys seem to like him. Lots of back clapping and grinning going on.

  I tip my head back, sucking a huge gulping inhale of fresh air, and a rare sunbeam hits my face, warming it.

  “Hey, you,” Rose says, at my elbow.

  I turn to face her. “You gonna be okay?”

  Wring is standing with a bunch of other bikers and happens to look up at that exact moment. His expression says many things.

  Need me? I'm here.

  Are you okay?

  I remember thinking when I met Wring that I couldn't read his expressions.

  Now I read them all.

  I nod to Rose's question and give Wring a tentative smile. “I am now.”

  Rose curls an arm around my waist and tightens her hold. “I could use a friend like you.”

  My head eases onto her shoulder, and she presses her palm against my head.

  A woman my age, with dark hair and midnight blue eyes, walks up to us. There's a really cute little girl bouncing at her side.

  She looks familiar somehow, but I can't put my finger on it. Still a little numb, I guess.

  “Hey,” the brunette says with a smile, “I'm Sara—Snare's old lady.”

  I look at the little girl. “I'm Jaylin,” she says shyly.

  Sinking to my knees, I scoop my dress underneath my legs and offer her my hand.

  We slowly shake hands. “It's very nice to meet you, Jaylin.”

  She grins, showing me a tattered bunny.

  “Who's this?” I ask.

  “It's Peter the Rabbit.”

  My eyes take in Peter, who happens to be missing an ear. “I'm very pleased to meet you as well.” I shake his paw, and my hand comes away with something sticky.

  I smile. Plenty of kids to adore in this group. The sentiment makes my eyes sting.

  Sally fired me. Well, she didn't call it a “firing.” She'd said she was sorry for my loss and the frightening circumstances surrounding it, but the library couldn't afford any more missing days from me.

  I translated that to: I don't like you, and you're not getting a break.

  Wring said he didn't care. He didn't give a fuck what I do. The insurance from the fire would give me some money, and I know exactly what Mom would have wanted me to do with it.

  College. I think I'll be an elementary school teacher, after all.

  I stand. “She looks a lot like her dad.”

  Sara shifts a baby to her other hip. “And what's her name?” I ask, taking a chubby hand in mine. The baby coos. Dark blue eyes blink back at me, and a tuft of inky hair stands up straight on her head. “Espie.”

  I frown. “What?”

  Rose laughs. “It's actually Esperanza.”

  “That's a mouthful,” I say, though it's pretty.

  “Hope is what Espie's name means in Spanish.” A sheen of tears covers Sara's eyes. “Sorry,” she says, swiping at her face. “I just get all teary when I think about what I have now.”

  I nod stupidly because words fail me. Wring saved me—and I get what a good man means now that I've got one.

  Mom's gone, and I do think that Lopez and his gang members hastened her death.

  But I got to say goodbye. No one can never take that away.

  Sara smiles through her tears. “I figure Rose already told you how tight the club is?”

  “Yes, but I think I got that the day I met Wring.”

  “Yeah, no shit,” Sara says, and we laugh.

  Wring strides to our little group. “Ready, babe?”

  I nod.

  He takes me back to the car. “The girls will get you to the cabin, and I'll follow.”

  He bends over me and grips my shoulder, but his lips are a feather's press against my forehead. “I'll be right behind you.”

  Sliding my arms around his hard waist, I cling to him for a moment. “I know,” I answer quietly.

  The girls and I slip into the SUV and head to Ravensdale.

  *

  “Well, your appetite sure has improved,” Wring drawls.

  I nod happily, shoveling in the tenth bite from the four different casseroles. “I should be grieving.”

  Wring kicks out his legs, lacing his hands behind his head. “Not by me, babe. You're so skinny, I say plow away.” His lips twist with humor.

  I set my fork down and take a deep breath. “I spent whatever extra money we had on Mom's food. Her supplements and medications. We didn't have enough…”

  Suddenly, all that delicious food spread over the tiny countertop of Viper's kitchen is a big lump in my throat. Food prepared by my new family within the club. Because Mom died.

  Wring leans forward, putting a large hand on my knee. “I know—I figured you were poor as shit early on. I want you to eat. I want you to eat until you puke, Shannon.”

  My smile is wan, and I hang my head. “I know you don't need this… complication.”

  Wring makes a noise of disdain deep in his throat. “Fuck that. There's not one of us guys—well, I guess Lariat—who doesn't seem to be a damn magnet for complicated women.” He chuckles.

  I can't help my smile. Rose and Sara had filled me in on their transiti
on from “citizens” to biker brides.

  “You're not a ʻcomplication,ʼ Shannon.” Wring pulls me onto his lap. “You're the woman I love.”

  I lift my chin. I gulp, afraid to hope.

  His hand cradles my jaw. “I didn't save you.”

  I open my mouth to protest, and his fingers press against my lips. “You saved me. I was this scooped-out husk. Couldn't sleep. Didn't give any fucks. Got outta the service, estranged from what little family I had, decided to stick with the one I knew.”

  “Noose and Lariat?” I say, thinking they'd all been in the war together. Wring and I had done more than just make love since that day my house burned down.

  We'd communicated. Connected.

  I didn't think I could be truly intimate with another human being again.

  But I was wrong. I could. I am.

  Mom's loss is a sucking void, but Wring is the salve to a wound I didn't think would heal.

  “Snare, too,” he adds, brushing a stray hair from my face and tucking it behind my ear. Wring's stubble tickles my face as he whispers against my temple, “I got something to show you.”

  I lean away, studying his face, a flutter in my stomach.

  “Don't give me that look. It's a good thing. No more awful for you, Shannon. It's all good from here on out.”

  I wrap my arms around his neck. I feel safe.

  Loved.

  Chapter 20

  Wring

  Her warm back is pressed tightly against mine. I cover her wrapped arms with my hand, easily steering my bike up the winding hill toward my new place.

  Shannon probably doesn't remember I was having a house built on the property adjacent to Snare's.

  I try not to let the tension sing through my body, but it's a hard trick.

  I've fought for my life and for others, but the possibility of Shannon's rejection looms large.

  This girl holds my gonads—and my heart—in her delicate hands. With the wrong answer, she could crush me.

  I don't have it in me to go back to that voided-out existence where I just shit, eat, and fuck with insomnia and nightmares.