Rather Be Wrong: Ronacks Motorcycle Club

by Debra Kayn

  Under the streetlight for the parking lot, she followed the blood trail. She shivered, sick to her stomach at the degree of Rod's injury and knowing while she was inside working, someone had tried to kill Rod. Whoever hurt him attacked near the back door. Had it been one of the customers she'd served?

  "Keep going," said her dad behind her. "Head up."

  Heather raised her gaze and found Mel holding the passenger side door open of Raelyn's car. Scrambling inside, the fear of stepping outside hit her, and she trembled. Whatever happened to Rod was real. The small rural town of Haugan no longer felt safe.

  She turned around in the seat, balancing on her knees to make sure the men putting Rod in the backseat could get his body inside without hurting him more. Incapable of helping, she watched fretfully as his head lulled on his shoulders.

  Mel slipped into the driver's seat. "Ready?"

  "Yeah." She sank down on her ass. "Do you know who hurt him?"

  "No," said Mel.

  "Does he have any enemies?"

  "Don't know." Mel started the car, flipped on the lights, and pulled out of the parking lot.

  Heather raked her teeth over her bottom lip. From her experience with her dad, she understood Ronacks members tended to keep all information about the club to themselves.

  "Rod's staying with me. Don't you think I should know if someone is going to come and try to finish what they started?" She pushed the only card she held.

  Mel slowed down, looked in the rearview mirror, then turned. "As far as I know, nobody has a beef with Rod."

  Okay. That was something.

  She startled and grabbed the dash of the car as a thought came to her. "We left Raelyn alone. She shouldn't be by herself tonight. What if the person comes back to the bar?"

  Mel turned onto the street in front of the duplex. "I'll stay with her."

  Heather sagged against the seat and squeezed Mel's forearm. "Thank you. I know, she's upset. She worries about her son living on top of a bar."

  "Yeah, I know she does," whispered Mel, pulling to the curb. "Stay inside the car until one of us escorts you inside."

  She grabbed her purse between her feet and took out her keyring. "Here. You'll have to unlock the door."

  Turning around in her seat, she placed her hand on Rod's thigh and stared into the dark, straining to see if his chest moved up and down. Ronacks made a big mistake not sending Rod to the hospital.

  Her dad only had enough skills to treat someone temporarily—thanks to the Army. Rod could get an infection or die from internal bleeding. There were so many things that could go wrong.

  At forty-five years old, Rod was too young to die. She blinked rapidly to clear her vision. The others had no idea how close she'd grown toward Rod since she moved here.

  The backdoor of the car opened, and her dad stuck his head inside. "Go ahead and go inside. Battery will walk with you."

  The darkness never seemed so frightening. She kept up with Battery's long strides and practically leaped into the living room when she got within a yard of the open door.

  "Where are you going to want him?" asked Battery.

  She flung her purse to the couch. "In my room. I changed the sheets this morning, and everything is clean. He'll be more comfortable in there, and the risk of him getting an infection will be lower, I think."

  Her impulsive need to have a king size bed in a small room seemed overkill now. A comfort to indulge herself as her world was turned upside down after meeting her father and dealing with the pain of finding out the truth about his absence made sense at the time she'd walked into the furniture store.

  Now with several men in her room, skirting the mattress and trying to squeeze into the two-foot span around the bed, she realized how ridiculous her bedroom appeared.

  And yet, Rod took up a good portion of the bed. He was a big man at six foot two.

  Battery, Mel, LeWorth, JayJay nodded at her before exiting the room. She pressed her lips together. What was she supposed to do now?

  Maybe she wasn't qualified to take care of Rod. She wasn't a nurse. The emergency was over, and the danger was gone as far as she could tell.

  Her dad entered the room. "Get some sleep, baby."

  "Dad?" She turned toward him. "Can we please take him to the hospital."

  Her father laid his hands on her shoulders. "He hasn't died yet. Give him time to fight his own body and try to recover."

  "There's nothing stopping me from taking him to the ER as soon as you leave," she said.

  He hooked her neck. "Except nobody will help you carry him to your car and I'll hear you even opening your door."

  "It's not fair to Rod," she whispered, her chest seizing.

  Her dad's hand tightened. "Life ain't fair, but Ronacks is the best thing for Rod. If you want, in the morning, I can find somewhere else he can stay."

  She shook her head. The thought of someone else taking care of him wasn't an option. She would look after Rod and no matter what anyone said, especially her dad, if Rod needed more help, she'd get him more help. Even if she had to call 911 and have an ambulance come to the duplex. She wouldn't let Rod die.

  Chapter Six

  Fire burned in Rod's stomach. He tightened his abdomen and tried to roll to his side, and stabbing pain pinned him down on his back.

  "Sh..." A hand landed on his forehand. "Don't move. You've been hurt."

  He reached out, grabbing a neck, and squeezed. The searing heat pulsating through his middle and the blood thick in his vision brought him out of the dark. So fucking much blood. He'd take the asshole down who was responsible.

  "Rod..." A soft voice confused him.

  He battled the darkness, holding the person hostage who attacked him.

  Hands grabbed his wrist and fought with him. He blinked, straining in the darkness to make out the darker form above him.

  "P-please. No." The words vibrated against his palm.

  He raised his head and hair brushed his bare chest. His strength disappeared, and the person slipped out of his grasp.

  Heavy breathing filled his ears and hands landed on his shoulders. "P-please, don't move. You're hurt."

  "No, shit," he said, unable to tell if he spoke or not.

  "I'll get my dad," said the voice, he now recognized as female.

  He let his head fall back and closed his eyes. "Get help."

  "You're safe," she crooned.

  "Club...?" He moved his hand over his stomach. Fuck. He hurt.

  "Ronacks brought you here." More hair brushed over his arm.

  He opened his eyes, needing to see where he was and who the woman was beside him. "Light."

  The surface below him moved. Nausea filled his throat at the movement, and he swallowed.

  The light came on, and he squinted. Relief flooded his body. "Heather," he said, on an exhale.

  She returned to his side. "You need to make sure you don't move, so you don't tear your wound open."

  Her flushed face filled his vision and he lowered his gaze to her neck, which was even redder. He groaned, pushing his elbows into the mattress. "Jesus Christ. Get Swiss."

  "What do you need?" she asked.

  "You. Out." He grunted at the room spinning and gritted his teeth. "You need to get away from me."

  "Sh..." She laid her hand on his face. "I'm here to help you. Lay back."

  "Swiss," he muttered.

  "I'll get him as soon as I know you're not going to pass out. You're pale, and your eyes are trying to roll back."

  His body rebelled. He closed his eyes, unable to keep them open and argue with her. He wasn't a pussy. A stab wound wouldn't make him pass out. He'd been injured worse before. He only needed to sleep for a couple of hours. Then, when he woke up, he'd go find Swiss himself and get away from Heather.

  There was a man out there wanting to kill him. He wanted Heather far, far away from him.

  Chapter Seven

  Rod glared at everyone in Heather's bedroom. Her dad, who straightened from checki
ng Rod's wound. Battery, who held sentry at the foot of the bed. Mel, who ignored the patient and peered out the one, tiny window. Heather leaned against the door, keeping out of everyone's way and crossed her arms. It'd taken two more days after Rod initially gained consciousness for him to come back to the living and ease her worries about him dying. He was going to live.

  During the whole recovery, she'd stuck by his side and worried that she'd never get to see his gray eyes again.

  Her dad stepped back and bumped into her dresser. "You're a lucky motherfucker."

  Rod remained propped up on his elbows. "I need to take a piss."

  "About time," muttered her dad, looking over at Heather. "Get a jar or bottle for him, baby."

  She turned to go into the kitchen when Rod said, "I ain't pissing in no jar. Help me up."

  "Get up yourself," said her dad.

  Heather shook her head, reaching up above the sink and retrieving an empty pasta sauce jar she'd saved for no reason other than she may need it someday. There was no pampering each other amongst the Ronacks members. But, underneath the callous and often flippant conversations, the men truly cared about one another.

  She'd questioned their feelings often, but it was hard to ignore the three riders who guarded the duplex and the constant visitors stopping by to check on Rod. Raelyn sent food from the bar over for her, since Rod hadn't been awake long enough to eat. Bree sent more medicine and extra clothes to the duplex for when Rod woke up. Mel went over to Rod's house twice a day to check on Rod's dog and make sure there were food and water outside of the house.

  Heather had no idea Rod even owned a dog. There were so many things she hadn't had time to find out.

  She returned to the room and found the bed empty. "Where is he?"

  "Bathroom," said Battery.

  Heather set the jar down on the floor out of the way, stepped across the non-existent hallway, and knocked on the bathroom door. "Are you okay?"

  Silence answered her. She looked back into the bedroom and motioned for her dad.

  Her father shook his head. She gritted her teeth. Unbelievable.

  Not one of the men thought walking fifteen feet to go to the bathroom alone was a little too much for a man who'd spent the last three days in her bed, fighting for his life.

  The door opened.

  Rod stood in front of her, hanging on to the doorframe. Pale, dull-eyed, and angry.

  She reached for him, and he pushed away from the bathroom before she could help him and shuffled his bare feet into the bedroom. The weight of his hunched shoulders gave him forward momentum.

  Worried he'd fall flat on his face, Heather trailed after him with her arms out in front of her in case she needed to catch him. Aware of the men standing back and judging her need to take care of Rod, she ignored them all. Someone needed to make sure Rod took it easy and healed fully, and nobody seemed willing to jump in to help her.

  If she hadn't gotten to know them over the last few months, seen them rely on each other, she'd believe they were too manly to care for an injured brother. She glanced at Battery. Even she'd seen the president change Raelyn's son's diaper, so she knew they were all more than capable of taking care of a grown man.

  Rod stopped at the foot of the bed. "Everyone out, except Prez and Swiss."

  Heather stayed behind him as the others filed out of the room. Whatever he needed, she could do. Having already stripped him of his bloody clothes and washed his upper body, there wasn't much she hadn't seen. Even now, he found no trouble standing around in his boxers in front of the others.

  "Leave us be, Heather," said Rod.

  She stepped around him. "I'll help you get back in bed, and then you can talk to Dad and Battery."

  "Just go." Rod's husky voice cracked, and he gritted his teeth.

  She looked toward her dad to back her up and stand up to Rod, and she only received a nod when her dad supported Rod's wishes. Unable to understand why Rod was determined to push her away, she pursed her lips. Since the day she'd met him and punched him in the face for standing between her and her car, he'd never once acted as if having her around was unpleasant.

  "Okay," she whispered, and walked out of the room.

  Since Rod had two people taking care of him, she opened the front door and stepped outside. Inhaling deeply, she tried to shake the disappointment off her.

  LeWorth caught sight of her and jogged over, standing between her and the street. "You need to go back inside. Swiss wants an escort with you anytime you step outside of the duplex."

  "I need air," she said.

  "I know you do, honey." He gripped her shoulders, turned her around, and hustled her back inside. "But, until we've caught the asshole who tried to take out Rod, there's nothing you can do to change the situation. Open a window if fresh air means that much to you."

  "It was a figure of speech," she muttered.

  LeWorth chuckled. "Kinda figured."

  She stepped over and sat on the couch, letting her head fall back. From her position, she could see the closed bedroom door. It wasn't enough that she was forced out of the room, they had to shut her out, too.

  "Who do you think hurt him?" she whispered, not wanting the others to hear.

  LeWorth sat down on the other end of the couch and raised his brows without saying anything. She rolled her eyes and looked away from him. Taken to silent task for asking a question, she gave up.

  The Ronacks Motorcycle Club surrounded their wounded and weren't going to budge giving her any answers.

  Chapter Eight

  The room swayed. Rod planted his hands on his thighs to ease the shakes rolling through his body and inhaled more air into his lungs. His ribs protested, tightening the area across his stomach.

  The searing pain from his wound never went away or gave him five fucking minutes to catch his breath if he moved. The only time he got any relief was flat on his back, and even then, there was always a dull ache in his middle.

  "You said I've been out for three days?" he said with a grunt.

  Time meant nothing to him. He remembered going to Pine Bar and Grill, like usual, to sit for a few hours and sneak in some time with Heather, wind down, and enjoy himself. That night, he planned to take her back to his house.

  Next, he woke up hurting like hell and had Heather hovering over him scared to death.

  She hid it behind taking care of him, but the fear never left her eyes.

  Battery leaned against the dresser. "It happened Friday night. It's Monday. We found you outside the back door of the bar and brought you here."

  "Your wound is worse than it looks," added Swiss.

  Rod snorted, the movement brought up bile. He understood what kind of condition he was in. Nobody had to tell him that he should be dead. Weak as a baby, he couldn't even fight because it took all his strength to walk across the room to take a piss.

  "I need my pistol. Where is it?" said Rod.

  Battery exhaled loudly. "Swiss took it off you that night. The one from your ankle holster, too."

  Rod looked at Swiss. "I need them back."

  "I'll get them when we're done." Swiss folded his arms across his chest. "Do you think it was a mugging?"

  Rod reached to his hip automatically before he forgot he only wore his boxers. "My wallet?"

  "It was still attached to the chain on your belt and in your back pocket." Battery ran his hand down his beard. "If you fought back, you could've scared whoever was responsible, stopping them from getting your wallet and your guns. They might not have had a chance to take anything off you."

  Rod's legs quivered in frustration to move and his inability to think straight or control his body. "It wasn't a mugging."

  "What makes you say that?" asked Swiss.

  Rod raised his gaze. "Because the person got the jump on me and came to kill."

  Admitting he'd failed to keep his head, to be aware of his surroundings, to protect himself was a bitter pill to swallow. He'd had his head full of pussy, thinking about Heathe
r, and not a fucking care in the world sitting on his shoulders. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd ever been distracted where he'd let down his guard.

  His whole life, he'd stayed aware of the dangers around him, every minute, every hour, every day.

  "Who was he?" asked Battery.

  Rod blinked extra-long, resting all the questions that'd plagued him since he woke up. "I don’t know."

  "What'd he look like?" Swiss ran his hand over his whiskered jaw.

  "Who the fuck knows," Rod muttered. "Big as me, I know that."

  "Hair?" Battery stepped closer.

  "Too dark to tell." Rod let his chin fall to his chest.

  "Since you're down, I've got LeWorth and Mel working together to get any info out of the clubs and gangs that'd been seen in our territory. What I need to know is if anyone has any kind of grief against you personally?" asked Battery.

  Rod lifted his head. "I need someone to take me home."

  "Not yet," said Swiss.

  "I've told you, I'm fine." Rod pushed to his feet to prove his point and regretted the sudden movement when the room swayed, and Swiss caught him before he fell back on the bed.

  "You'll live, but you're not fine...yet." Swiss pushed him back onto the mattress. "You'll stay with Heather, and I'll make sure nobody can get to you."

  "Brother, answer my question. Do you have anyone who wants you dead?" asked Battery again.

  Rod exhaled slowly. "No."

  "Okay, we'll concentrate then on finding out who is after the club." Battery walked to the door.

  Rod wrapped his arm across his ribs. "I need my guns."

  "Swiss?" said Battery.

  "Yeah, I'll get them in a second," said Swiss as Battery left the room.

  Rod turned to Heather's father and his long-time friend. Under normal situations, Swiss would kick his ass for being in Heather's bedroom, sleeping in her bed, and if he were feeling good, he'd enjoy the fight until he made Swiss understand he answered to no man, not even an MC brother.

  Except, he felt like shit.

  He could barely stand, much less fuck Heather.