Bama stroked his long gray beard. “That family in the fuckin’ Chrysler Magnum was what I thought was funny.”
“The white one?” Pee Bee asked.
Bama nodded. “When we shot past him, he swerved so hard his tires smoked and his fuckin’ eyes were like this.”
He went wide-eyed and then looked hard to the left.
“That was funny as shit,” Pee Bee agreed.
“You alright, Brother?” Bama asked. “You look sick.”
I nodded. “I’m good. Just...”
I took a long breath, exhaled, and then met his gaze. “Nothing big. Daughter’s on a date, and my Ol’ Lady was supposed to call every hour. She hasn’t called in three.”
He looked at his watch. “It’s 2:00 a.m., Brother. Hell, they’re sleeping.”
I nodded. “She’ll wish she’d called when I talk to her next.”
He coughed a laugh. “I know that’s right. How old’s the daughter?”
“Seventeen.”
He stroked his beard and then shook his head. “When Harley was that age, it drove me nuts. Tough age for girls.”
“Tough age for all of us,” I said.
He gave a nod. “Amen to that.”
While Crip finished rubbing elbows with the other club’s decision makers, we talked about everything under the sun. The conversations had gone from fucking to food, back to fucking, and then landed on street races.
“I need a set of cams,” I said. “Bad.”
“What’s in her now?” Bama asked.
“Andrews A2,” I said.
“Shit, that fucker’s flat on the top end. You need to go with something that’s got a better horsepower reading. The A2’s got torque, but that’s about it.”
“Tell me about it,” I said.
My phone buzzed, and I about jumped out of my skin. I held up my index finger. “Here’s that call,” I said. “Better late than never.”
I pulled my phone from my pocket, looked at the screen, and although the number was local, I didn’t recognize it.
I swiped my thumb across the screen. “Smokey.”
“Grayson Wallace?”
“Who’s this?”
“Is this Grayson Wallace?”
“Depends. Who’s this?”
“Sir, this is Dr. Levinson at Scripps Mercy Hospital. Can you provide a Social Security number and any identifying scars or birthmarks for Eddie Cassandra Wallace?”
My heart sank, and panic shot up my throat.
I turned away from the men, and began walking away.
I swallowed hard. “Is she…is she okay?”
“Sir, I need to know if you can provide--”
“She has. She’s got. No scars. A dime sized birthmark on her left thigh. Social is. It’s uhhm. 514-82-3060.”
He shuffled some paperwork. “And, she’s your daughter?”
“Yes, she is. Is she okay?”
“She’s going in to surgery prep right now. We’ll likely operate within 30 minutes. If everything goes well, we expect her to recover fully. If at all possible, you need to get here as soon as possible. The procedure is rather complicated. Her skull is fractured, and her brain has swollen considerably. We’ve drilled holes to relieve the pressure, but we’re not seeing the results we’d like to.”
My hands began to shake uncontrollably. “What…where…where do I come to?”
“Scripps Mercy in San Diego. Ask for the trauma operating room.”
“I can call this number if need be?”
“Yes, this will ring the trauma desk.”
“What. What happened?”
“She was assaulted and beaten severely. She’s got a few broken fingers, her forearm is fractured, and several lacerations. I’ll forewarn you. You won’t recognize her.”
My blood was boiling, and I was shaking so bad I could barely hold my phone.
“What. What about her uhhm. Her mother?”
“Sir, I’m not at liberty to give out…”
“Is she okay?”
“Sir. You’ll have to speak to the police to obtain that information.”
I swallowed hard. “Do you have a wife?”
“I do.”
“I’ll ask again. Is her mother okay?”
He sighed. “She’s been taken into custody.”
“What?”
“That’s all I’m comfortable saying at this time.”
“She wasn’t. She wasn’t at. It wasn’t her fault? Was it?”
“Mr. Wallace, the only reason your daughter is alive and in good hands is because of your wife. I suggest you hurry, Mr. Wallace.”
“Thank you.”
I was an emotional wreck. I turned toward Pee Bee and Bama, but couldn’t speak. I needed to get to Scripps Mercy ASAP, but my bike was a turd, and had no top speed to speak of. If I was forced to ride it, I might not make it in time.
We were fifty miles away, and getting anyone to give up their sled wasn’t going to happen, and I knew it.
“What is it, Brother?” Bama asked.
I swallowed hard, and gathered every ounce of courage I could muster. “Daughter’s been assaulted, and she’s knocking on death’s door. They’re uhhm. They’re going to cut into her brain. And, I don’t know what’s going on, but they got my Ol’ Lady in custody, but it sounds like she might have saved my daughter’s life.”
I looked away and shook my head. After regaining my composure, I turned to face him. “I need to get to Scripps Mercy in SD quick.”
“Angels!” Bama shouted at the top of his lungs. “Saddle up.”
He looked at me. “We’ve got your back, brother.”
“Might have to ride bitch,” I said. “My shit’s slow as fuck, Brother.”
Pee Bee grabbed my shoulder. “Crip’s bike is the fastest motherfucker in the club. Hold on.”
I nodded, and he took off through the crowd.
Hells Angels came out of every crack and crevice, and then rushed out the building behind Bama.
Prepared to ride on the back of one of HA’s bikes, I stood like a complete idiot, feeling helpless and incapable. Worry for Eddie, and for Sandy filled me until I was sure I would burst.
Crip rushed to my side. “Something happen to Eddie?”
I couldn’t respond. I struggled to swallow, and then nodded.
He held out his hand. “Take mine. It’ll outrun anything here, Brother.”
I reached in my pocket, pulled out my keys, and handed them to him. He patted me on the shoulder. “Love ya, Brother.”
I swallowed hard and nodded.
The building began to shake from the rumbling of bikes outside the doors.
“Pee Bee and Cholo’s coming with,” Crip said. “I’ll go, but your sled won’t come close to keeping up.”
I nodded and somehow managed to speak. “Understood.”
“I’ll be right behind you,” Crip said.
Pee Bee stepped to my side, and Cholo was right behind him. “Scripps?”
I nodded.
We rushed out of the building.
At the edge of the parking lot was a line of roughly a dozen bikes. Beside the line and in front, Bama sat on his bagger, revving the engine. “Who’s leading this parade?” he shouted.
“The Filthy Fucker’s will lead the way,” Pee Bee said. “We’ve got the fastest shit.”
I hopped on Crip’s bike, fired it up, and pulled alongside Bama, who was out in front.
“Red and White!” Bama bellowed over the sound of the exhaust. “Keep up if you can. If you can’t keep up…”
He paused and leaned to the side. “What’s your daughter’s name?”
“Eddie,” I said. “Eddie Wallace.”
“Her name’s Eddie Wallace,” he yelled.
Engines revved in response.
Cholo and Pee Bee pulled up to either side of me.
Pee Bee looked at me. “Let’s do this.”
I bit into my lips and nodded.
And we rode out of there like a bat
out of hell.
Chapter Thirty-One
Sandy
A nice-looking man dressed in a suit walked into the room. “Miss West, I’ll be your legal counsel. My name is Jay Parsons.”
“Okay.”
He set his briefcase on the table. “Can I get you anything?”
“I’m okay.”
“Miss West, you’ve been through a horrific event. Are you alright to talk about it for a moment?”
“Uh huh.”
He sat down. “Explain what happened. Can you do that?”
“Can I tell you the truth?”
He nodded. “Please do.”
“A man was uhhm. He was beating on Eddie. And I uhhm. I shot him.”
“Who is Eddie?”
“My uhhm. She’s. She’s my boyfriend’s daughter.”
“Live in boyfriend?”
“Yes. And, my baby’s father.”
Taking notes as we spoke, he looked up. “A different child?”
“The one in my tummy.”
“You’re pregnant?”
“Uh huh.”
“By Eddie’s father?”
“Uh huh.”
“Continue.”
“That’s it. I shot him. Then, I called the police.”
“Where did you get the gun?”
I’d already considered that I would be asked the question, and considering what Smokey said about the gun not being able to be traced to him, I decided to tell another small lie.
“It was beside the man who attacked her. It must have been his.”
He nodded. “And you picked it up?”
“I did.”
“Did you command that he stop assaulting her?”
I shook my head. “He wasn’t assaulting her. He was beating her with his fists. And bashing her head on the concrete.”
“The report states that you commanded that he stop. Is that correct?”
“I did.”
“And, when he didn’t, you feared for your life, your unborn baby’s life, and the life of your step-daughter? Correct?”
I liked him already. “Yes, Sir.”
He looked at his notes, and then some printed reports. “At what point did he brandish the knife?”
“Knife?”
He nodded and held up a report. “Yes. The knife that was found on his person.”
“I’m uhhm. I’m confused.”
“I’m sure you are, Miss West. Not to bore you with details, but California Penal Code 198.5, otherwise known as the Castle Doctrine, allows you to defend yourself when you fear that your life is in danger in your home. The home, by definition, extends to include your yard, driveway, etcetera.”
“Okay.”
“Words like I feared for my life, he reached for the knife, or he reached for his waistband? They’re all phrases that are historically used in support of the aforementioned penal code.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
“So, where were we? He had a knife and there was a pistol at his side, correct?”
Shoot first, make up a story to cover your ass later.
I took a deep breath and then let it out. “I came outside. He had a knife in his hand. I yelled for him to stop. He didn’t. He hit her over and over. I rushed to help, and there was a pistol beside them on the driveway. He raised his hand, and the knife was in it. I thought he’d kill Eddie for sure. So, I picked up the pistol and yelled for him to stop. He looked right at me, then he started to drive his fist downward. I feared for my life, and the life of my children. I closed my eyes, and pulled the trigger. Then, I blacked out until I got to the police station.”
He grinned and nodded his head. “Can you recite that exact statement?”
“I think so.”
“No matter who asks you, that is exactly what happened. You do not recall any more. And, certainly do not exclude any details.”
“Okay. Can I talk to Smokey? I need to know if Eddie’s okay.”
“Who might Smokey be?”
“Eddie’s father. My boyfriend.”
“Sure. Do you know his telephone number?”
I didn’t. Not by memory.
“I guess not.”
“Did you have your phone in your possession?”
“No. I don’t know where I left it. It’s in the house.”
He glanced at his notes. “Well, typically at night, and especially on a Saturday, there’s no court, and no available judges or prosecutors. In this particular case, however, I suspect they’ll need to make some special arrangements.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Miss West, you’ve committed no crime. I’m going to leave here for a moment, and I’m going to call Judge Wardmeier at home, and explain the situation. If they do not release you, without charges, I will file suit against the department, the city, the arresting officers, the prosecutor, and the judge.”
“What does that mean for me? Can I talk to Smokey soon?”
“Let me make that call, Miss West. I should have you out of here within the hour.”
“Do you know what time it is?”
He looked at his watch. “2:05.”
I hadn’t called Smokey in three hours.
He was going to be worried for sure.
I lowered my head. “Okay.”
“Miss West, this is Detective Watson. He’s got a few things to say, and then you’re free to go.”
“Miss West. I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but we simply needed to question you. There may or may not be questions that need to be answered in the future. If they come up, I’ll contact Mr. Parsons, and we’ll go from there. Again, sorry for the inconvenience.”
I looked at Mr. Parsons.
He grinned.
I couldn’t believe it. To describe everything that had happened as surreal wouldn’t even come close.
I looked at Detective Watson. “Okay.”
“No hard feelings?”
I shook my head and forced myself to grin. “No. Can you tell me where Eddie is?”
“Scripps Mercy,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“You’re quite welcome.”
He took the handcuffs, and then left the room.
“That was without incident,” Mr. Parsons said. “You’re free to go.”
“Can I get a ride?”
“Absolutely,” he said. “Where?”
“Scripps Mercy?”
“Certainly.”
Traveling well in excess of 100 miles an hour, we sped down highway 5, toward Scripps Mercy in San Diego. Through Mr. Parsons persuasive tactics, I’d learned that Eddie was scheduled to have surgery at 3:00 am.
At 2:45 in the morning, traffic was sparse. On the highway ahead of us, a long line of taillights from two lines of motorcycles stood out against the otherwise dark stretch of road.
Mr. Parsons changed lanes.
As we passed the bikers, I looked at each of them. I had hoped one might be Smokey, but realized it was wishful thinking.
I was sure he’d been contacted by the hospital, and was probably there already. Five or so minutes later, we came up behind four more motorcycles. Naturally, I looked out the window as we approached them.
“These guys are really moving,” Mr. Parsons said. “I’m going 120.”
“Holy crap,” I said.
Traveling at roughly the same speed, we slowly crept past them. One of the bikers, who was riding an old-school shitty Harley, reminded me of Smokey.
I did a double take.
In the dark, and with him wearing a helmet and glasses, it was hard to tell. But, it could have been his twin. He even had flowery hand tattoos.
As much as I liked to tell myself I was okay, I wasn’t. I was still out of it, and in somewhat of a trance-like state.
I’d been through a lot, and suspected it might even take months for me to recover from the trauma.
“Uhhm. Can you slow down? I want to see those bikers again.”
“Do you think one of them might be y
our boyfriend?”
“I don’t know.”
We were only a few feet ahead of them, and when he slowed down, they promptly caught up with us.
I turned, pressed my hands to the glass, and stared.
Illuminated by what little light came from behind them, I could clearly see the back of their kuttes. One said Hells Angels, and the other three said Filthy Fuckers.
My heart raced. I unbuckled my seatbelt and slapped my hands against the glass.
Oh my God.
“It’s him!”
My heart surged.
I waved my hands frantically. After a moment, the Hells Angel, who was closest to me, looked in my direction.
“Smokey!” I screamed.
I was sure he couldn’t hear me. Nonetheless, I yelled again. And then, again.
The Hells Angel decelerated. Beside him, on a shitty motorcycle, was Smokey.
I filled with emotion, and within a few seconds, tears streamed down my face.
The Hells Angel gave a hand signal, and Smokey glanced toward me.
I grinned, pointed at the road ahead, and mouthed the word hospital.
He nodded and fixed his eyes on the road.
“I won’t need to call Smokey now,” I said. “He’s beside us. Can we uhhm. Can we just stay right here? Beside them?”
He nodded. “Sure. We’ll be there in five minutes.”
They were the longest five minutes of my life.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Smokey
The bond between a parent and their child is beyond compare. Flat on her back with her head wrapped tight in bandages, there was no doubt that Eddie was in pain.
She couldn’t tell me how much she was hurting.
Therefore, the pain I felt for her was excruciating.
My knee was bouncing up and down at an impossible rate.
Side by side, Sandy and I sat on a small loveseat beside the bed. After a moment, her hand rested against my thigh, and, at least for that instant, the bouncing stopped. I looked at her and did my best to smile. She did the same, but she couldn’t hide her fear. Neither of us could.
Eddie’s operation was cancelled after a specialist reviewed her condition. All we could do was wait for the swelling to go down. In a drug-induced coma, the only sign of life she provided were the consistent beeps from the overhead monitor, each of which fueled me to draw my next breath.
F*CKERS (Biker MC Romance Book 7) Page 74