by Nicole James
He rattled off the phone number, and she said it over and over in her head, trying to commit it to memory as the lock rattled again and the door flung open.
“Get your bag and come on.” The biker jerked his chin.
“Okay.” She looked back down at Blood one last time as he once again feigned sleep, and then she turned, gathered up her duffel, and followed the biker out.
***
Twenty minutes later, she darted up the hospital stairwell no one ever used. She was able to make it to the third floor employee break room without being seen. Quickly moving to the phone on the wall by the lockers, she punched in the number Blood had given her. “Come on. Come on. Pick up.”
“Clubhouse,” came a bark on the other end of the line.
She swallowed, not exactly sure how to begin. “Blood told me to call.”
“Who is this?”
“A friend.”
“Blood ain’t got no friends.”
“He gave me his club ring,” she babbled, not sure why she said it, but hoping maybe that bit of information would keep the man from slamming the phone down on her.
“He what?” There was silence for a long moment. “Describe it.”
“Three skulls. Says Evil Dead. Just listen to me, I don’t have much time.”
“Who the fuck is this—”
Obviously he wasn’t used to being snapped at by a woman, but she didn’t have time for long explanations. She cut him off. “He’s in trouble. He’s being held in a house in the Quarter by the Death Heads MC.”
Cat heard the break room door opening behind her and two women’s voices. She hurriedly hissed out the rest of the information. “Corner of Henriette Delille and St. Anthony. Hurry.”
“Is this bullshit? Who is this?”
She hung up the phone just as the two nurses came into view. They stopped short when they saw her.
“Hey, girl. I thought you were out on vacation this week,” one of them said.
Cat frowned, pretending the woman was wrong. “No. You’re mixed up. That’s next week. I’ve got to go. See you later.” She hurried past them, noting their confused faces. She wasn’t sure she’d fooled them, but it didn’t matter. She just needed to buy a few minutes to grab some supplies and get the hell out of there.
Chapter Seven
Blood grimaced as the hand around his throat tightened, he tried to pull it free, but with one arm still cuffed and the other with an IV catheter stuck in his hand, he didn’t have the strength to overpower his attacker.
The door opened, and the hand around his neck released as the Death Head standing over him, the sadistic motherfucker they called Ratchet, backed off.
Blood coughed as the biker named Stoner shoved Cat into the room ahead of him, the duffel bag clutched in her arms.
Blood’s surprised eyes swept over her, taking in the guilty and perhaps traumatized look on her face that somehow said she’d fucked up. His jaw clenched. She knew better than to come back here. Goddamn it. If they ever got out of this, he might just be tempted to beat her ass red for this.
His tormentor turned to look at her with a sick grin. “Well lookie here. If it isn’t Nurse Feel-good.”
She looked from Blood to him.
Ratchet strolled toward her. “You get everything you need?”
She nodded.
He tore the bag from her arms and tossed it to the floor, his attention staying on her. He backed her to the wall, one palm pressing against the plaster by her head, the other lifting to wrap around the lanyard her badge hung from and sliding slowly up until he had it tightened around the slim column of her neck.
“Leave the fucking girl alone. It’s me you came up here to torment,” Blood growled from the bed, drawing the man’s attention from Cat.
Ratchet looked over at him with a curled lip. “Shut the fuck up. You ain’t in any position to tell me jack shit.”
Cat’s stricken eyes glanced to Blood, and he could see she was scared shitless.
Stoner leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, a dirty grin on his face that said he planned to have a turn with her next. There was a pecking order in every club. Apparently Ratchet outranked Stoner. Blood had a feeling everybody but the Prospect outranked Stoner. He seemed to have the brains of a sixth grader.
Ratchet on the other hand was dangerous. He was smart, and he didn’t have an ounce of remorse in his body.
With his arm cuffed to the bed, Blood knew the only weapon he had was his mouth. The only thing he could do was to anger Ratchet so badly he’d turn his attention from Cat to deal with Blood.
“Don’t worry, girl. Bet he can’t even get it up,” Blood taunted.
Ratchet’s head swiveled to him. “Shut your damn mouth or I’ll shut it for you. I’ll yank that damn IV tube out and wrap it around your fucking throat.”
“I’d like to see you try,” Blood challenged.
A split second later, Ratchet had jerked a handgun from his back waistband and aimed it at Blood’s head. “Try me, motherfucker.”
“Go ahead. Do it,” Blood growled. He caught the terrified look on Cat’s face as she let loose a loud piercing scream that had to have carried outside.
Blood stared down the barrel of the semi-automatic. “Do it, asshole! Fucking do it!”
Booted feet pounded up the stairs, followed by a booming voice. “What the fuck is going on? Shut that broad the hell up!”
A moment later Snake shoved past Stoner to shoulder his way into the room, taking in the scene. “What the fuck are you doing, you fucking idiots? You trying to bring down every cop in the parish on us?”
“He needs to shut his goddamned mouth,” Ratchet announced, his gun still aimed at Blood’s head.
“Put your motherfucking gun away, Ratchet. I told you before, you’re not shooting anyone in this house. Deal with it.”
“He keeps running his fucking mouth, I will.”
“Just leave him alone. We’ve got a goddamn meeting to get to. Now! Move!”
It was a long tense moment of standoff as Ratchet glared at Blood, and Blood glared right back. Finally, Ratchet backed off, jamming the gun in his waistband.
Snake grabbed the duffel bag off the floor and shoved it at her chest. “You open your mouth again or cause anymore trouble, you’re done. Understand?”
She nodded, her terrified eyes meeting his. Satisfied, he moved out of the door, followed by the others. She stood frozen as they left. Before he closed it, Stoner grinned at her as if to tell her this wasn’t over, and he’d be back. Then he locked them in.
She slumped against the wall in relief, and Blood could finally breath again. “Jesus Christ, girl. Come here.”
She moved on shaky legs toward him. He pulled her to sit on the edge of the bed and the duffel slipped from her hands to fall with a thud to the floor. And then she was clinging to his chest, sobbing in relief. His arm with the IV came up to wrap around her, his hand cradling her head. “Shh, baby. It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay. None of this is okay,” she cried.
Something in her tone had him frowning. “What happened?”
She shook her head and sat up, wiping her eyes. “I’m sorry. Your wound.”
“It’s fine.”
They stared at each other.
“What the hell did you come back for?” Blood growled in a hushed tone.
“My sister. You’re right. Everything you said is true. I think you’re the best shot I’ve got at saving her.”
“You make the call?”
She nodded, but the look in her eyes wasn’t reassuring.
“What?” he bit out.
“I don’t think they believed me.”
Blood clenched his teeth and stared off. He’d been MIA for a couple days now. They had to be looking for him. “You give ‘em the location?”
“Yes. But we got interrupted. I had to hang up.”
“They’ll come. If not enforce, they’ll at least send someone to scope it out, see if it’s a tr
ap.” He saw her doubting eyes. “They’ll come, baby. I promise.”
About that time, they heard motorcycles firing up in the yard, and they both paused to listen. He lifted his chin toward the window. “See how many pull out.”
She moved, watching for a moment as the roar of engines shook the glass and then thundered out into the street.
“How many bikes are left out there?” Blood asked from the bed.
“I only see one.”
Blood looked to the door. “They may have left us with just one guard.” His eyes met hers. “This may be our shot. Might be the only one we get.”
“What do you mean?”
He motioned her closer with his fingers, and she sat on the bedside.
“Not sure who they left here. Might be a Prospect. Might be that idiot, Stoner. Whoever it is, he comes in the room we got one shot. We draw him to the bed, and I’ll try to get his gun.”
Cat looked at him and said nothing, but he could see the wheels turning in her head. She was coming up with a plan of her own. Blood grabbed her forearm. “You listen to me; we do this my way or not at all.” The stubborn little wench wouldn’t agree, wouldn’t even nod.
She wrenched her arm free and stood.
“Damn it, Cat—”
Before he could stop her, she bent, pulled the plug to the lamp from the wall, and dropped it to the floor. Then she moved to the door and started banging on it. What the hell was she doing?
“Goddamn it, listen to me,” he hissed as the sound of boots trudging up the stairs carried to them. The lock rattled and the door opened.
Stoner entered. Blood let out a sigh of relief. This still wasn’t ideal, but he was better than Ratchet. Thinking quickly, Blood growled, “I’ve got to take a piss. You want to let me out of this cuff or do you want me to just hang it over the side and piss on the floor.”
Stoner’s attention was all on Cat with a grin that told Blood he planned to put his time alone in the house to good use. But he swiveled his head to snap, “Like I’d fall for that. No way in hell I’m letting you loose.”
“So, I guess I go with Option B and piss on the floor.” Blood made a move to roll to the side.
“Gross!” Cat bit out and glared at Stoner. “You’re not really going let him do that are you? I’m supposed to stay in this room with him after that? No fucking way!”
Blood almost grinned at Stoner’s reaction. He just didn’t know how to take her.
“At least find him a container he can use as a urinal for God’s sake!” she snapped.
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. A milk jug. A pail. Anything.”
“We don’t have anything like that.”
“Then take him to the bathroom, or aren’t you man enough to handle one guy sick with infection and two holes in his side?”
Goddamn it. Blood grit his teeth. Didn’t she know that if she pushed the wrong buttons, it’d be her who paid the price? He had to give her credit though, she stood her ground, stood up to these guys. It was only after the confrontation was over, when she’d melted against him like a wilted flower, that she’d let the vulnerable fear show.
She was holding it together now, though, going toe-to-toe with Stoner, glaring at him as if that alone would bend him to her will.
Stoner stared her down, like he was contemplating backing her against the wall with a hand at her throat. Instead, he whirled to move out the open door, grumbling about fucking bitches. In that split second, Cat grabbed the lamp off the side table and smashed it over the back of his head.
He dropped like a bag of rocks.
She didn’t stop there. She pulled the gun from the back of his jeans, stood over him and shot him in the back. Bam! Bam!
Holy fuck!
Blood stared, stunned, and then watched as she turned her eyes on him. For a split second, he wasn’t completely sure she wouldn’t turn that gun on him. They stared at each other, both in shock.
“Holy shit, babe. You just shot him.”
She looked down at the gun in her hand and then, as he watched, she took the hem of her scrub shirt, and calmly as you please, wiped her prints off the weapon and tossed it to him. “No, I didn’t. You did.”
He caught it to his chest, his heart in his throat, hoping the damn gun wouldn’t go off on him. His brows shot up. Now his prints were on the damn gun. One that had just been used in a homicide. “Yeah, o-kay. Remind me never to fuck with you.”
She looked back down at the body, and Blood could see her start to tremble as the ramifications of what she’d just done started to sink in.
“Well, since you’re not going to shoot me,” he paused to rattle the cuffs. “You want to let me go?”
That broke the spell, and she bent to dig through Stoner’s pockets. Coming up with the key, she quickly moved to the bed and worked the cuff free.
Blood paused to shake his hand out, the muscles in his arm stiff from being in one position for so long. “Hurry, babe, give me his phone, and then get this damn IV out of me.”
She moved quickly to comply, tossing him the phone.
He grabbed it and quickly punched in a number, putting it to his ear.
“Who are you calling? The police?” she asked.
“No. Since I just shot a guy, I’m not calling the police.”
She rolled her eyes. “Ha ha. Very funny. Then who are you calling?”
“The cavalry. Now get this damn IV out quick. We’ve got to get out of here.”
She bent to grab a pair of surgical gloves out of her duffel.
“We don’t have time for that,” Blood snapped, waiting for someone to answer the damn phone at the clubhouse.
“I didn’t spend all this time getting you well, just to…” She paused as the roar of motorcycles coming up fast carried to them both.
“Shit!” Blood growled.
She quickly bent over his arm, yanking the tape off. “Hold still.”
“Hurry, babe,” he whispered.
She carefully pulled the needle out and pressed a piece of gauze over it.
Blood batted her hand away. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
He shoved the phone in his pocket, and with a hand to his bandaged wound, he struggled up to sit on the side of the bed. Cat helped him to his feet and with the gun in his hand he moved to look out the window.
“Hurry, Blood. They’re coming.”
“Wait a minute, babe. Those are my guys.” He hobbled past her and yanked open the door to the outside staircase. Leaning against it as a wave of dizziness took hold, he motioned his brothers up.
The faces of a half dozen brothers jerked up to see him. A moment later, they were scrambling up the staircase.
Sandman was the first one through the door with a sawed off shotgun. He growled low, “How many of them are there?”
“They left one guy. The rest are gone.”
“Where the fuck is he? Downstairs?”
“No. He’s dead on the bedroom floor.” Blood led the way.
Sandman followed and stood over the guy bleeding out on the floor.
Undertaker was the next one up the stairs and in the room. He looked down at the man, taking in the patch on the back of his cut. “Jesus Christ. Death Heads.”
“Yeah,” Blood acknowledged.
Undertaker’s eyes lifted to Blood, and his hand grabbed the back of his neck, pulling him close. “You scared the fuck out of me, Son.”
They embraced. When they pulled back, Undertaker’s eyes dropped to the bandage and then noticed the IV hanging from the bedpost. “What the hell happened?”
“They shot him,” Cat said.
Undertaker’s eyes flashed to her. “You the one who called us?”
She nodded.
His eyes moved back to Blood, dismissing her. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I’ll explain the rest later. Right now we need to get the hell out of here. No tellin’ when the rest will be back.”
“Let ‘em come,” Sandman growled,
his hand tightening around his gun.
“Right now we’ve got another problem, Brother,” Blood said, his eyes connecting with Sandman—the man who’d had his back through more shit that he cared to remember.
“Yeah? What the fuck’s that?” Undertaker growled.
“They’re holding Cat’s sister. I’m going after her.”
“Like hell you are,” Undertaker bit out. “Only place you’re going is back to the fucking clubhouse to get Doc to patch you up.”
“Already been patched up.” He nodded toward Cat standing there in her green scrubs.
Undertaker’s gaze swept over her again.
Blood met her eyes, and he read the look in them. Now that his club had rescued him, she doubted he’d keep his word to help her sister. She was afraid he’d renege on that promise. Not a chance in hell, sweetheart. “I told you I’d get her back for you, and I will. Least I can do after you saved my miserable life.”
She nodded slightly, but her eyes strayed to Undertaker and the President’s patch on his cut, and Blood knew she was wondering if the decision was in his hands.
“Where’s your apartment?” Blood snapped, drawing her eyes back to him.
“Tulane and Carrollton,” she murmured quietly.
He looked at his club’s President. “I’m going to get her. You can come or not.”
“Now just a damn minute,” Undertaker snapped. A moment later he was pushing Blood out of the room, ordering Sandman, “Watch her.”
Blood knew his President didn’t appreciate being talked to like that, but right now he didn’t give a fuck. They didn’t have time to stand around here arguing.
“This chick is here treating you as a favor to the Death Heads. Doesn’t that tell you something?” Undertaker snapped under his breath. “She’s with them.”
“She’s not. They threatened to kill her sister if she didn’t come treat me.”
“You sure you can take her word for it? Enough to bet your life on it? Enough to bet the lives of your brothers on it?”
“Like I said, I’m going. You don’t have to come with.”
“Goddamn it, boy. You think that’s how this works? Since when do you call the shots in this club? I say where the fuck we go, and I say where the fuck you go! Seems we’ve got bigger problems than some bitch’s sister. If we’re going after anybody, it’ll be Death Heads.”