by Zoey Parker
Cain thought for a moment, then shook his head. “Nah, that doesn't figure. If they were working for Nostril directly, he wouldn't have been so eager to hand over the cash before it happened, and he wouldn't have tried to run away during. I figure someone knew we would show up, waited for us to let our guard down, and then made their play.”
So it was a trap, Missy thought. “Who'd want to set you up like that?” she asked.
Cain shrugged. “Dunno. There's plenty of people who could have done it, but no one obvious. We haven't had a serious beef with anyone in about five years. Gaspar Hernandez controls the drug trade just south of here in Whitechapel, but he's never had any reason to cross the border and fuck with us. Could be another Ohio MC, like the Blacktop Devils in Columbus or the Monster Boys in Cleveland, trying to establish themselves here. Could even be some organized crime family from Youngstown, for all we know. Hopefully, Nostril will spill his guts before Hunter spills them for him.”
“Ahh, the sweet tranquility of life as a biker,” Missy smirked.
“It ain't like I joined the Eagles for the peace and quiet,” Cain answered.
“I doubt you joined the Eagles to get stomped like a bucket of wine grapes, either.”
“Hey, it was a lucky shot, all right?” Cain said defensively.
“Looks like it was a lot more than one.”
“They snuck up on me like a bunch of cowardly bitches,” Cain growled. “If it'd been a fair fight, shit would have gone down very differently.”
Before Missy could answer, another car veered into their lane less than two feet ahead without signaling, cutting them off. Missy had to brake quickly, and hit the horn hard.
“Jesus, learn to drive, would you?” Cain yelled. “Even without the signal, it was obvious that guy was about to change lanes!”
Suddenly, Missy pulled aside onto the shoulder of the road and hit the brakes. The car came to a screeching halt, and Cain was thrown forward. He threw up his good arm to keep from smacking against the dashboard, but the impact was still hard enough for him to let out a yelp of surprise and anguish.
“Listen, hardass,” Missy seethed, “do you see the word 'Everlast' printed on me anywhere?”
“Huh?” Cain blinked, confused.
“Do. You. See. The. Word. 'Everlast.' On. Me?” Missy repeated, slowly and loudly.
“Of course not! What the fuck?” Cain barked.
“That's because I'm not your goddamn punching bag,” Missy continued. “I'm here to drive you to the hospital, lie to the doctors so you don't get in trouble, and then drive you home. Period.”
She took a deep breath, and her voice softened. “Look, I get it, okay?” she continued. “You took a beating, and you're feeling pissed and sorry for yourself. You don't like relying on other people, so you're puffing up and talking a lot of shit to feel like you're more in control. Fine. You're a biker. My father was a biker, and my brother is too. I understand. But get it straight, pal—I don't care if you're the Vice President of the Eagles, Microsoft, or the United fucking States. You open your mouth to insult me again in any way between here and the hospital, I don't care what Hunter says—I'm kicking you out of the car and letting you walk the rest of the way. Are we clear?”
Cain gaped at her for a long moment, his face a mixture of anger and surprise. She could see that he hadn't fully understood his own motivations for verbally abusing her, and he hadn't expected her to clarify them for him. Now that she had, it looked like he literally had no idea what to say next.
Finally, he closed his mouth and nodded.
“Good,” Missy said, driving the car back onto the highway. “Thank you.”
They drove the rest of the way without talking.
Chapter 7
Cain
The Dipper County Medical Center had the only real emergency room in the region. It was in the town of Braintree just off the highway a bit north from Micanaw, and it served the handful of sleepy townships in the county.
Missy pulled the car into the parking garage behind the hospital and shut off the engine. This time, she didn't bother offering to help Cain out of the car. He didn't mention it, but inwardly, he appreciated it. He knew she hadn't been wrong in what she'd said to him earlier. The irritation he was feeling toward her was just a reflection of his anger at himself for getting jumped.
As he hobbled behind Missy toward the automatic doors leading into the hospital, Cain thought about being on the ground again with boots stomping down on him relentlessly, and he shuddered. He'd been in plenty of shoot-outs, chases, and fist fights before, and he'd always been able to leave the tension and anxiety of them behind after they were over. They were a part of being a biker. He generally gave as good as he got, and he was prepared for such an altercation to end his life someday if it came to that.
But this had felt much different. He'd never felt so overpowered and helpless before—unable to fight back, forced to just lie down and take the punishment until his attackers decided it was over. He felt strangely violated by the experience, unable to shake off the dread it had left in him. The pain of his bruises and broken bones was nothing compared to that.
He wondered briefly whether this was how women felt after being sexually assaulted, then quickly pushed that thought out of his head.
Cain and Missy checked into the emergency room. While they sat in the waiting room with several other late-night victims of misfortune, Missy filled out the forms on the clipboard they'd been handed as Cain cradled his broken arm.
“So, what should I write in for the cause of your injuries?” Missy whispered.
Cain glanced down at himself, wondering what could possibly explain his current condition other than the ass-kicking he'd received. “We could say something fell on me,” he answered.
“Like what? A building?”
“Ha ha,” Cain replied dryly. “What if I was fixing up a bike, and while I was in the tool shed, I slipped and accidentally pulled a bunch of stuff down on top of me? You know, tool boxes, wrenches, heavy bike parts, that kind of shit.”
Missy considered this for a moment. “Sure, that could work,” she conceded, writing it in.
Several minutes later, the nurse on duty called them back to the examination room. A young doctor with thick glasses and a prematurely-receding hairline entered after them. “Hi there, folks,” he said. “I'm Dr. Lemuel, and I'll be checking you out this evening.”
He read over the chart, then looked up at Cain, taking in his injuries. “Yikes. That must have been quite the deluxe tool kit you dragged on top of yourself.”
“Yeah, I, uh, got it for Christmas last year from my Uncle Mike,” Cain offered. He'd never had an Uncle Mike, but he figured the more minor details he could color this story with, the more plausible it would sound. “He knows I'm into fixing up old bikes and stuff like that, so...”
“Sure, sure,” Dr. Lemuel nodded, unconcerned. He was already shining a pen-sized flashlight over the cuts on Cain's face and scalp. “Can you tell me the month, the date, and the day of the week?”
“December twelfth,” Cain answered. “Or thirteenth now, I guess, since it's after midnight. Which would make it Tuesday.”
“Very good,” the doctor said. “Can you name the current president and the one before him?”
Cain almost gave Hunter's name, then realized what the doctor meant and named the current president of the United States, as well as the previous one.
“Excellent,” Lemuel said encouragingly. “Since this happened, have you experienced any nausea, vomiting, dizziness, blackouts, or blurred vision?”
“Yeah, I threw up some blood after it happened,” Cain answered. “None of that other stuff, though.”
Lemuel nodded again, jotting down a few notes on the chart. Then he turned to Missy. “And you are...?”
“His girlfriend,” Missy replied. She hadn't even thought about it—the lie just popped out easily. “I heard him fall and found him in the tool shed, so I drove him here.”
Cain almost spoke up to remind the doctor that he was sitting right in front of him, but took a deep breath and tried to calm down instead. The last thing he wanted to do was piss off the medical staff so they'd remember him. Better to just keep his mouth shut, nod politely, and do whatever it took to get the hell out of here as soon as possible.
“The broken arm will need a cast, naturally,” Lemuel continued. “We'll want an x-ray of that first, but at first glance, it looks like a clean break, so I don't think any physical therapy will be required. Would you please help him remove his shirt, so I can examine his ribs?”
Missy gingerly pulled up the t-shirt Cain was wearing as he let out several hisses of pain. Even with the dark purple bruises and crimson welts eclipsing the flesh of Cain's torso, she still couldn't help but admire the chiseled muscles of his chest and abs, or the powerful slope of his broad shoulders.
She remembered how abrasive he was to her in the car and felt a faint blush of embarrassment color her cheeks. She didn't want to acknowledge being attracted to someone who could act like such a jerk, but her eyes couldn't help but take in his lithe, athletic frame and wonder what it would feel like pressed against her body.
Well, maybe it would feel good to me, she thought, but in his current condition, I doubt it would feel very good to him, having anything pressed against those broken ribs. Ouch.
Dr. Lemuel looked at the bruises on Cain's body, frowning. Cain followed his gaze. He could see faint boot marks imprinted on the skin, and he knew the doctor could too.
“There were some, uh, old work boots on the top shelf of the tool shed,” Cain lied. “They must have come down on me.”
Lemuel raised an eyebrow. “Unless those 'old work boots' were filled with lead, I highly doubt they left marks like these. Is there anything else you two would like to tell me about what happened? It'll be a lot easier for me to treat these wounds if I know what really caused them. And if you're afraid of someone...”
“I'm not afraid of anyone,” Cain snapped. “I just fell, that's all. Can you fix me up, or not?”
The doctor sighed. “Okay. If that's the way you'd prefer to proceed, we'll certainly do everything we can for you. I'll arrange those scans I mentioned, plus x-rays for the ribs so we can make sure they won't puncture anything when we tape them up. From the look of them, though, I doubt they will. I assume if I recommend that you stay here for a day or two, you'll object?”
“Yeah, that won't really work for me,” Cain said uneasily. “I've got some things I need to...”
Lemuel held up a hand, silencing him. “You can save your lies. I don't need to hear them. Whoever or whatever caused Round One of this fight, I certainly don't want Round Two to take place in my hospital. I'll make sure you're released today after we run your tests and patch you up.”
“Thank you,” Cain said. “I appreciate that.”
“No need to thank me,” Lemuel said. “If you'd rather not involve the authorities in whatever happened to you, that's your prerogative, no matter how unwise it might be. I'm also going to prescribe pain medication so you'll be able to breathe without too much discomfort. Make sure you stick to this medication only. If you start grabbing pills from the corner pharmacy and taking those too, they could thin your blood and make your internal wounds worse.
“But let me make one thing extremely clear to you, Mr. Vale,” he continued. “If I find out that you've sold the pills I've prescribed to someone else instead of taking them yourself as directed, I won't hesitate to contact the authorities and report your injuries. I don't know what sorts of crimes you're involved in and I don't want to know, but this county is already suffering enough from a serious epidemic of opioid abuse, and I won't have that on my conscience. Are we clear?”
“Yeah, absolutely,” Cain agreed. “From the way I'm feeling, I'm betting I'll need every pill I can get anyway.”
“You're quite right about that,” the doctor said wryly. “The quick pain of having these things broken is nothing when compared to the slow pain of feeling them heal themselves. You'll need at least a week of solid rest. No long walks, no driving or going anywhere by yourself, no lifting or carrying, no exertion of any kind at all. It's a good thing you've got a girlfriend to take care of you, because believe me, you'll need all the help you can get. I'll make an appointment for you to follow up with me at my office.”
Cain nodded. “Cool. And again, thank you.”
“If you really want to thank me, take this as seriously as possible and do what it takes to heal,” Lemuel said, standing up and heading for the door. “I'll have a nurse come collect you and take you to the Radiology department for your tests.”
After the doctor left, Missy turned to Cain. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
Cain raised his eyebrows with an amused expression.
“To take care of you like he said, I mean,” she finished awkwardly.
“Nah, I'm between girlfriends at the moment,” Cain answered. The truth was, he rarely dated anyone seriously. He didn't like to be tied down, and preferred the freedom of being able to hop on his bike and ride anywhere, anytime, without having to deal with a bunch of fights, lies, and excuses. “I'll be fine, though.”
“But the doctor just said you'd need someone to take care of you,” Missy said. “He's barely out of the room, and you're already going to start ignoring what he said? Good luck getting better, pal.”
“Oh, what the hell is your problem now, huh?” Cain sneered. “Jesus, are you trying to volunteer as a nursemaid? Is that it?”
“Fuck no!” Missy spat back. “I've got more important shit to do than help you get dressed and shove your pills down your throat.”
“Yeah? Like what?” Cain asked. “Pour shots of cheap vodka? Count out pills and nugs of weed?”
A deep, drawling voice rumbled from the doorway behind them. “All this profanity and loose talk about narcotics, and in a hospital, no less! You kids are so uncivilized these days, I do declare.”
The hulking frame of Sheriff Jon Hemmick stood at the door to the room. He had his thumbs hooked into the leather belt that his huge revolver hung from, and his brown uniform barely seemed to contain his protruding belly and slab-like arms. He rocked back and forth slightly, favoring the pair with a wide, gap-toothed grin.
“What brings you down here so late, Ham-Hock?” Cain smirked. It was a nickname the burly cop hated, which is why the Eagles used it so frequently, even to his face. “Looking for pretty girls to finger down in the coma ward?”
Hemmick's expression darkened, his bushy eyebrows drawing together in a frown. “When my boys responded to a report of a beating and gunshots out at the Teepee, I figured I'd hang around the hospital and see who showed up. Didn't expect to see one of you Eagles down here, though, or to hear you feeding some line of bullshit to the docs so they wouldn't call me. That hurts, Cain—knowing you'd try to keep things from me, after everything I've done for your club.”
“After everything we've paid you to do for us, you mean,” Cain said. “We didn't feel like taking the time to talk to you about this one, is all. We can handle it ourselves.”
“And just what exactly will you be handling?” Hemmick asked. “Because whatever it is, if it's going to involve more bullets and beatings in my jurisdiction, you can be damn sure I want to hear about it whether you feel like talking to me or not.”
Shit, Cain thought. The dirty pig is going to find a way to shake us down on this after all. Missy may as well have stayed at the Knife.
“We're not sure yet,” Cain answered carefully. “Some guys jumped me w
hile I was running an errand with Keith. They were probably just some strung-out junkies who wanted to rob me to get money for their next fix. Keith scared them off with his gun. Probably not even worth worrying about. Certainly nothing you'd want to be bothered with.”
Hemmick laughed. “Kid, you must think I'm dumber than a sack of wrenches,” he said.
“Nah, I've known some pretty smart wrenches,” Cain shot back.
“My boys found a whole mess of baggies behind the motel, stuffed with meth and mushrooms,” Hemmick said. “There was blood on the ground next to them, and a trail to the front of the place, like someone had been shot while fleeing the scene and then dragged off. I'm willing to bet this happened after your beating and the person who dragged this mystery guy away was one of your guys, so eager to get back to you and make sure you were okay that he didn't even bother to pick up about a thousand bucks' worth of perfectly good drugs. Am I warm so far?”