by Colbie Kay
Walking in my front door, I’m thankful no one is in the living room. I hurry to my bedroom, lie down on the bed, and cry myself to sleep.
Chapter 10
“What the hell... Oh, damn, are you okay?” Dancer asks me from the doorway of my office.
“Go get me some napkins,” I reply, still pinching my nose.
It doesn’t take long for her to come back with a stack of white napkins with the club logo on them. I snatch a few from the stack she lays on my desk and put them against my nose. “What the hell happened?” she asks with a mix of worry and curiosity.
I grab a few more and try to clean up the mess on my shirt. “I’ve never told anyone the whole story, not even my MC brothers. Is Jeremy good on bar?” I throw all those napkins away in my trash bin and reach for more.
“Yeah.” She nods.
“Then shut the door and take a seat.” I can feel my eye swelling. I don’t think my nose is broken, but she did a number on me. I didn’t know she had it in her; shocked the hell outta me, and she hits pretty fuckin’ hard, too.
Dancer sits in one of the chairs opposite my desk. I begin telling her, and I’m transported back in time.
Ice is pouring down like rain on the highway. We should have stayed home, but Tisha’s brother, Tommie, needed help moving because of getting evicted from his apartment, and she figured, hey, that’s only two hours from where we live. He’s still young, but he needs to learn responsibility. So here we are, still thirty minutes from home at nine o’clock at night, sliding on the fuckin’ road, but I try to keep our car as steady as possible. Max, our ten-year-old son, sits in the backseat with his flashlight, trying to read his book. I’m so fuckin’ proud to be his father. He’s just like me at his age: always wanting to learn.
Tisha runs her hand along my thigh until she reaches my hand and entwines our fingers. “I know you didn’t want to help Tommie, but thank you, baby. I love you.” She unhooks her seatbelt and leans over, kissing me on the cheek.
“I love you, too, babe, but put your seatbelt back on.” I’m nervous enough driving on this iced-over highway. It wouldn’t do any good cleaning it off right now, as hard as it’s coming down.
“Mom, what’s this word?” Max undoes his seatbelt and scoots up closer to the front seat. Tisha turns to help him.
I take my eyes off the road for a second. “Max, get your seatbelt back on.”
My attention goes back to the road—bright lights are coming right for us.
“Dad!” Max screams.
“Oh, God!” Tisha screams and grabs my hand tighter.
It all happens so fast. The car collides with ours, my head slams into the steering wheel, and everything goes black.
Sirens blare all around, stinging cold air hits my skin, and a sharp pain shoots through my head. “Tisha, Max?”
“Don’t move. We’re going to get you out of there,” someone tells me.
“Where’s my wife and son?” I try looking around the car; the windows and windshield are busted out. I don’t see Tisha or Max; maybe they got them out first?
“Paramedics are with them now.”
The paramedics get me out of the car, on the stretcher, and loaded into an ambulance. I’m yelling for my wife and son, but no one is telling me anything. They rush me to the hospital, where a doctor comes in and begins checking me over. They clean my open wounds and make sure that I’m stabilized.
“Where’s my wife and son?” I question, worried about why they aren’t telling me shit.
“Just relax, Mr. Jackson,” the doctor tells me.
“I’m not fuckin’ relaxing until somebody tells me where my wife and son are.” I try fighting my way off the bed, but the doctor and nurses in the room hold me down. “Tell me where they are!” I scream.
“You need to calm down, Mr. Jackson,” the doctor warns.
“I’ll calm down when you tell me where the fuck they are.” They all look at each other.
The doctor’s solemn look says he’s about to give me bad news. “Your wife was pronounced dead at the scene. Your son is in another emergency room.”
“No,” I wail, tears falling down my cheeks as I shake my head. “She can’t be gone.” My eyes widen. “I can’t lose my son. I can’t lose them!”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Jackson. There wasn’t anything they could do for her, and they’re doing everything they can for him.”
“I have to go see him. Let me out of this goddamn bed.” I fight against them, once more unsuccessful. My head is pounding, but all I can think about is getting to Max. I need to see my son!
“Give him a sedative,” the doctor yells at the nurse.
“Just let me see him!” I beg.
The needle pricks my arm, and within a few seconds blackness takes over once again.
I don’t know how long I was out, but when my eyes open I’m in a hospital room, no longer in the emergency room. An IV is hooked into my arm and the machines are beeping steadily. I look down at myself, noticing that my clothes and cut are still on. I guess they didn’t want to chance removing my clothes in case I woke up fighting again.
A knock sounds on the door, and a doctor walks in. It’s not the same doctor as before. This one is a woman around my age, with bright green eyes and red hair.
“Mr. Jackson, I’m Doctor Sierra Greene. I’m the one that was working on your son in the ER. I’m sorry I have to tell you this, but I did everything I could to try and save him.”
“No!” I shake my head back and forth. This can’t be happening! “Go do more!” I demand.
Her sorrowful eyes stare at me. “I’m sorry, I did everything I could.”
“You have to save him. I can’t lose him and my wife.” Tears stream down my face.
“He’s gone, I’m sorry.” Tears well in her eyes, too.
“You are supposed to save him. His life depended on you, and you didn’t do your goddamn job. You took all I had left. I already lost my wife and now you’re telling me I’ve lost my son, too. What kind of fuckin’ doctor are you?” Anger and rage begin to boil inside of me.
“There wasn’t any more I could do.” She turns and rushes out of the room. How am I supposed to go on now? I wish I would have died, too.
“I hadn’t seen Sierra Greene again until three years ago. Every time I see her, it brings it all back. My anger resurfaces, and I unload on her.” My eyes focus on Dancer.
“Hacker,” she whispers beneath a hand, tears trickling down her cheeks. “I’m sorry.”
“Apologies don’t bring them back.” I blow out a deep breath. It felt kind of good telling someone. Even though I was part of the club back then, I kept my wife and son away. The only one that would have remembered my family would have been Ripper, only because he had stood guard for me once when some shit went down and I needed them protected. Bear had just been brought in and wasn’t even a prospect yet. Hanger and Gunner were too young at that time; they hung out at the club because of their fathers, but they weren’t actually part of the club yet.
“But why do you blame Sierra?” She swipes the tears away, her brows pulling down tightly.
“Because she should have saved him!” I pound my fist on the table. “I already lost my wife, why did I have to lose my son, too?”
“Hacker, as a doctor she would have done everything she could to save your son. Sometimes there’s nothing anyone can do and the people we love are taken from us.” She has fuckin’ pity in her eyes. I hate that shit.
“How the fuck you know if she did everything she could?” I stare coldly into her eyes.
“Because I have been in your shoes, but you can’t hate the people who tried to save him. Hate the ones that caused it.”
“I do hate him! I hate myself for driving that night. I hate Tisha’s brother for having to move. Dennis
Yearly has been in prison for the last fifteen years.” I’ve been waiting all this time to get my revenge.
“So, you’re projecting your hate for him onto the wrong person. She’s here, you see her, and she brings up the past. The only way for you to truly move forward is for you to forgive. Forgive yourself, forgive her brother, forgive the man who caused the accident. You owe that woman a big fat apology. And for what I watched you do to her…I would have whooped your ass, too! I love you, Hacker, but good for her for standing up to you like that.” She folds her arms across her chest and stares right back at me.
My eyes narrow into a glare. “I will kill him before I ever forgive him! I’m not fuckin’ apologizing and she’s not fuckin’ working here!”
Dancer huffs out a breath, uncrosses her arms, and sits back up in the chair. “Think about it for just a minute. Do you know anything about her?”
“Not really: her name, address, she used to be an ER doctor and now she’s a baby doctor. What kinda doctor wants to be a stripper anyway?” I shake my head. That’s the stupidest shit I’ve ever heard. With my hacking abilities, I could find out every detail there is to know about Sierra Greene, but I’ve never wanted to make an effort to find out.
“Probably the kind that needs money. Maybe you should try talking to her and find out why before you pass judgement. Obviously she has something going on in her life.”
“I’m done dealing with this shit for tonight.” I sigh and smooth my hand over my hair.
“You done dealing with it ’cause you know I’m right.” She laughs. I don’t join in.
Narrowing my eyes, I tell her, “Go back to work.”
She stands from the chair. “And when you talk to her, try not to be an asshole for once.” She smiles, and my frown deepens. “I’ll bring you a whiskey.” With that, she shuts the door.
Who said I was going to talk to her?
The rain pelts me as I rush to get inside Stilettos; I was hoping I could have dodged the storm, but halfway here it started pouring. Good thing I brought my truck just in case. It would have been shit ridin’ through this fuckin’ storm. Just as I get inside, my phone begins to ring.
Hanger’s name appears on the screen. “Yeah.”
“Gunner’s been shot and it’s bad, brother.” Fuck! He’s been undercover with Tink the last couple months.
“Is he at the clubhouse or the hospital?”
“Hospital. I’ve informed everyone, and we’re all meeting there now.”
“On my way.” If Hanger says it’s bad and Gunner had to be taken to the hospital, that means it’s life-threatening and worse than fuckin’ bad.
“Dancer, you’re in charge,” I yell across the bar and walk back towards the entrance. “And you make sure nothin’ happens to her. Stay with her until she’s finished and follow her home,” I tell the bouncer that’s watching the door.
“You got it,” I hear his reply as the door shuts behind me.
Sierra leans against the wall when I walk into the waiting room where everyone gathers, waiting to hear news on Gunner. “What are you doing in here?” I ask, walking up and standing in front of her.
“I work here,” she says, giving her smart mouth answer.
“Watch that smart mouth of yours. You won’t get away again with what you did at my club.”
“Watch my smart mouth?” She scoffs at me, her body tenses, and she begins repeatedly poking me in my chest. Her eyes narrow. “I’m not scared of you anymore. So, Mr. Badass Biker, go ahead and try to intimidate me.” Her face begins turning bright red with anger. It almost makes me want to laugh. She has gained confidence and it looks good on her. I need to bring her down a notch.
“Did you try that sleaze joint down the street like I told you? You dancin’ there now? Can I get a lap dance?” My lips begin tilting up in a grin.
“How dare you!” She slaps me across the face hard enough my head turns.
“Sierra,” Chatty calls from a distance. She walks away without another word.
I wait until the doctor informs us that Gunner may be paralyzed before leaving the hospital. I can’t see my brother hooked up to all of those fuckin’ machines. I hate hospitals.
Outside it’s finally stopped raining and has slowed to a fine mist. I walk back to my truck, get in, and head home to do some research.
It took me a little while on my computer, but I successfully hacked into the Department of Corrections database. The letter I received sits next to the computer as I look up Dennis Yearly.
I find out every detail I need to know: whether he’s been released, what halfway house he is at—and I have an updated photo of what he looks like now. I don’t have to go by memory of the day I watched them convict him fifteen years ago.
Now it’s time I put my plan in motion and watch every move he makes.
Chapter 11
I’ve been lounging around the house all day in my tank top and pajama pants. It’s the weekend, so I’m enjoying the time I have to lie around, relaxing the best I can. I finished one of the romance novels I have been reading for the last couple of weeks, I’ve been stuffing my face with junk food, and I took a long hot bubble bath. Now I’m lying on the couch, about to start one of my chick flicks.
The doorbell rings so, sighing, I get up to go answer the door. My eyes widen in shock; Hacker is standing here in front of me. “You need to leave.” I start to shut the door, but he stops it from closing, and with the force of his strength it effortlessly opens back up.
“I just wanna talk.”
I choke on a laugh. “You wanna talk?” I repeat his question.
“Can we call a truce?”
“Call a truce? After everything you’ve put me through, I don’t think so.” Shaking my head, I try to shut the door once again, but of course, he stops it.
“I’m sorry, okay? Is that what you wanna hear? I was wrong for blaming you. I was wrong for everything I did to you. Now can we just fuckin’ talk?” Pfft, he sounds real sincere with that apology. It’s gotta be some kind of trick; there’s no way he would just show up out of the blue to really say he’s sorry.
“Sisi?” Oh, shit! I turn around to face Mark.
“Just a second, Mark.” I turn back to Hacker. “Now’s not a good time. I have to go.” I don’t bother shutting the door this time. Hacker can shut it himself.
I rush over to my brother. “Mark, what do you need?”
“I have to go home now, Cash and Kyra are waiting for me. Where’s my keys?”
“No, Mark, this is your home. You and Cash live here, and have for the last three years.” I reach out, touching my brother’s arm, but he knocks my hand away.
He begins shouting, “No! This isn’t my home.”
“Mark, please,” I beg. Today is a bad day.
“I’m going home, you can’t keep me here!” He starts for the front door, but Hacker stops him by wrapping his arms around Mark’s chest. Shit! I thought he left. “Who are you? Let me go!” Mark snaps his head in my direction. “Is he here to take me away? He can’t take me!” My brother fights against him, but Hacker’s built like a brick and it does nothing to faze him.
“Dad!” Cash yells behind us. He must have heard the commotion.
Mark calms at the sound of Cash’s voice and slowly turns his head in his son’s direction. “Cash? What are you doing here? You should be home with your mom.” Hacker must feel the change in demeanor; he slowly releases Mark.
Cash walks over, taking his father’s hand. “Mom’s not there, Dad; we live here with Sierra.”
“We do?” Mark’s facial features turn to confusion.
“Yeah, we do.” Cash’s eyes are filled with sadness.
Mark begins coming back to the present. “Kyra passed away.” His eyes fill with tears.
“Yes, Dad.
Come on, I’ll take you back to your room.” Cash continues to hold his dad’s hand; I watch them walk away. Tears burn my eyes. Cash is so young, but so strong.
“What the hell just happened?” My gaze snaps to Hacker. Again, I forgot he was here.
I’m too tired to fight and honestly I would like resentment to be over. “Want a drink?”
“I think so.” He blows out a breath and runs his hand over his hair.
He follows me into the kitchen. “All I have is wine, so I hope that’s okay,” I say as I reach for two wineglasses.
“Guess it’ll do.” Even when he’s trying to be relaxed, Hacker still has that powerful tone.
I fill the two glasses and hand him one. “I guess I’ll start from the beginning. I came to your club not knowing it was your club. I needed money because three years ago I went through a nasty divorce and Stephen took half of our savings. Most of what I had left went into lawyer fees and medical bills. Four years ago, Mark called me to take Cash one night because Cash had gotten in trouble and Mark aggressively grabbed his arm. It wasn’t like my brother and he knew something was wrong, plus there was other stuff happening with Mark. That started years of doctor appointments, tests, psychologists, medications, scans, and a load of other things. He was wrongly diagnosed several times and we just got the correct diagnosis six months ago.”
Hacker’s brows pull down and he takes a sip from his wineglass. “What’s the diagnosis?”
“He has early-onset Alzheimer’s. Hacker, he’s only in his forties, and younger than me by a couple years. About three and a half years ago, he and Cash moved in with me and Stephen because he started forgetting things. His doctor said it was unsafe for him to live by himself, especially with Cash. My brother had to give up his job, he had no savings, and he had no insurance. I privately pay a caregiver to sit with him during the day. Shelly’s an old friend from the hospital—she sits with him at night. And another nurse comes three days a week. I take care of Cash because Mark can’t. My brother is progressively getting worse, but I can’t bear to put him in a facility.”