Sempiternal

by K. Renee

  When Hawk turns to look behind himself, I see Cash running towards me. I move around Hawk and run towards my brother. Our bodies collide, and his arms wrap around me.

  “Lennon,” he whispers in my ear.

  I hug him to me, refusing to let him go. He pushes me away from him after a few minutes and starts to look over me.

  “I gave her my shirt. She wasn’t wearing one.” Hawk says from behind me. I look up at Cash and see his expression. It’s one of worry and anger.

  “You find anything?” He asks, pulling me back to him.

  “No, no weapon. The fucker doesn’t even have an ID on him. I have no fuckin’ clue who he is.”

  Cash nods his head, and I bury my face into his chest. I’m a good foot shorter than my brother on a good day, and without my signature heels, I’m even shorter.

  “I don’t ever go anywhere without heels,” I say looking up at Cash. He rolls his eyes at me, and I grab his side so that he takes me seriously. “I wouldn’t have left the house without them.” Cash looks over to his friend and shrugs his shoulders.

  “Well Princess you left without half of your clothes,” Hawk says with a frown.

  “I don’t leave the house without looking well put together.” His eyes raise, and he looks between Cash and me. Cash is the complete opposite of me. Where I’m a fashionista that never leaves the house without looking perfect, my brother rides a motorcycle and the same pair of jeans for weeks. The only shoes I ever see on his feet are biker boots, and he has a drawer full of the same black tee shirt. From the look of it, Hawk prefers my brother’s style over mine.

  Looking down at my wrist, I notice my watch is missing. I never take it off. It was a gift from our grandmother before she died. “Cash, my watch is missing,” I say looking around. The sun is starting to set, and light is barely filtering in through the boarded up windows.

  “How did you find me so quickly?” I ask. Cash lives six hours from me, there is no way he got here that fast if he was in bed when I called him. I look at them, and Hawk just shakes his head.

  “You’re in Las Vegas,” he says wrapping his arm around my shoulder. “I don’t know how you got here or who the fuck that asshole is, but I’m going to find out.” My mind starts to get fuzzy, but I don’t know if it’s from blood loss or something else. Hell, I’m not even sure that I have any wounds so it could very well be all in my head.

  Closing my eyes, I just lean against Cash. Maybe all this is a dream, and I’m going to wake up in my bed.

  “Come on. We need to get you out of here. You’re covered in blood.” He starts to walk me towards the way he came, and he yells over his shoulder, “Can you get Reid to help you clean up this shit. Whoever brought my sister is here trying to make a statement.”

  “Yeah, got it,” Hawk says from behind us. When I look over my brother’s shoulder, I see Hawk watching us. His eyes are on me, and even though I’m freaking out on the inside, part of me heats at knowing he’s looking at me.

  Gah! What am I even saying? I’m covered in blood for heaven’s sake. He was probably only looking at me because of said blood covering ninety percent of my body.

  Oh, God. I think I’m going to be sick again.

  As I hunch over, Cash holds me somewhat up right so I don’t collapse to the ground to puke my guts up for a second time tonight.

  After I throw up bile for far longer than I could ever hope for, I let Cash lead me to his truck. Getting into the cab, I pull the mirror down and I see all the blood that covers my face and hair. I need to shower. I need to do something before I start to freak out even more so that I have so far tonight.

  Its pitch black when we pull into his driveway and the whole ride was silent. Neither of us said a word, maybe afraid of what might be said. I don’t know. I’m pretty sure I would have freaked out if he told me that I killed that man, but then again maybe he deserved it.

  I don’t remember being in Las Vegas and I sure as hell don’t remember why I would be half naked and covered in blood.

  Walking Cash walk around the truck, I take a few steadying breaths before he opens the door. As he helps me out of the truck, his phone starts to ring. I try to ignore the images that are now filling my head of the man that was dead on that warehouse floor, but it’s no use.

  He’s all I can see.

  Coming soon by Jack Jameson. For more information, check out Jack’s facebook page https://www.facebook.com/jackjamesonauthor/

  Sneak Peek

  Targeting Dart

  Manda Mellett

  Chapter 1 - Dart

  I suspect I’m not alone in disliking hospitals with a vengeance. First off, it’s the smell, that odour of disinfectant that permeates the air and from which there seems no escape. It invades everything you’re wearing, so no matter what you do it’s impossible to shake the aroma that lingers even when you leave. Pain, sickness, and death are all around, and whether or not any effort’s been made to brighten up the décor, it does little to help raise your mood.

  Of course, it’s better to be here as a visitor rather than an inmate, but that brings its own challenges, particularly when the patient I’ve come to see is very inaptly named. Heart could more properly be called an ‘impatient’, fed up of being confined to his bed, and visibly suffering under the burden of the news that was delivered to him shortly after he regained consciousness. He’d been in a coma for almost a month.

  It’s not particularly easy visiting with a man of action who’s used to being out riding his bike but is now immobilised with one leg badly smashed up and broken ribs. Couple that with someone who has been told he’s lost his wife, and you’ve got one angry, devastated man whose emotions swing constantly like a pendulum. My club, the Satan’s Devils MC is determined never to leave him on his own, even if spending time with him is becoming an increasingly uncomfortable and soul destroying task.

  Tonight I’ve drawn what’s become known as the short straw, and it’s my turn to keep him company for a while. As I exit the elevator on his floor, I’m mentally trying to prepare myself for the ordeal ahead. Don’t get me wrong, I love Heart like a true brother, and not just in the club sense. We’d joined at the same time, prospected together, and formed a strong bond while we were having all manner of shit thrown at us. But now he’s changed. Oh, he doesn’t look or sound any different; it’s just he’s not the same man that he was before the accident. Last time I was here I barely recognised him.

  I rap gently on the door and, as Beef steps out, ask in a low voice, “How is he today?” while hoping against hope I’ll be told there’s some improvement. I’m not asking for a medial update, his body’s healing alright; it’s his mind that’s still got a long way to go.

  Beef shakes his head, and I pull back my shoulders, prepared to be disappointed. “Bad, man. The doc’s talkin’ about lettin’ him out at the weekend, but there’s no fuckin’ way he can deal with comin’ back to the clubhouse and Crystal not being there.”

  Beef’s words are not unexpected. Nevertheless, I’d hoped to hear different. Closing my eyes I press my hand against the wall, lowering my forehead to rest on my arm. Fuck, not only has Heart got to cope with his debilitating physical injuries, but his mental anguish on top.

  Just four weeks ago, everything was normal. Heart was riding back from a visit to Tombstone, an enjoyable afternoon out with his old lady, when they were deliberately knocked off their motorcycle. The incident leaving my brother fighting for his life, a battle which proved too much for his wife, losing it on the operating table shortly after being admitted.

  They’d had to sedate him when he was first told the news and, much as I love my brother, I’m grateful I wasn’t the one who had to break it to him and watch him go to pieces. Now, a week later, he’s still not pulled back together. The man behind the door is a different person to the one that set off on a ride with his old lady.

  “How we gonna do this, Beef?” On top of his loss, Crystal’s bitch of a mother buried her daughter without waiting
for Heart to regain consciousness, taking away his chance to say his final goodbyes. While I’ve never experienced a love like Heart and his old lady had, having seen their relationship from outside in, I know how distressing this must be for my brother.

  Beef, named for the fact he looks like a fucking bull, shrugs. “No fuckin’ idea, Brother. Fuck, it’s hard for everyone. We all miss Crystal bein’ around. But Heart? This has darn near destroyed him, man; he loved her so fuckin’ much.”

  He did. If ever there was a match made in heaven, it was theirs.

  There’s nothing I can say. Sure, we’ve lost brothers before—only this past year we’ve lost Hank, a prospect, and Adam, a fully patched member—but losing a woman we all adored has affected every member of the club. And it’s so much worse for him. Heart’s not just lost a friend; he’s lost his soul mate. Already I’m wondering if it’s even possible he’ll be able to ever recover. Up to now he’s certainly showing no sign. Beef pats my shoulder, a gesture given in solidarity as though to support me through the hours when I’ll be here. Then he strides off down the corridor in the direction that I’ve just come from, his head hanging low. Visiting with Heart is always depressing.

  Taking a breath, and then bracing myself, I enter the room, seeking any change from the last time I was here. There’s not much. Heart’s leg’s still in plaster from his hip to his ankle, but the bandage has been removed from his head. Having been shaven to treat the wound, his blond hair on one side is at last growing back, but short and stubbly, the other side left long. Inanely I wonder whether he’ll get it all shorn off to match, but how his hair is styled is probably the least worry on his mind.

  Eased off the pain medication, his eyes for once look sharp and bright as they track my approach, a change from the slightly dazed look he had before. I pick up the chair by the side of the bed and turn it around then sit astride it, my arms leaning on the back, and my chin resting on my hands. Neither of us speaks.

  When the silence gets too grating, I’m the first to break it. Nodding at the crutches he’s obviously been given to use, I start, “Beef tells me you’ve got your ticket out of here. In a few days you’ll be home, Brother.”

  His eyes widen and his nostrils flare. “Home? I ain’t got no fuckin’ home.”

  It’s not the first time he’s snarled at me, but I ignore it and remind him. “You’ve got us, your brothers. You’ve got the club…”

  “What’s the point of the fuckin’ club when I ain’t got no ol’ lady.”

  “You’ve got yer kid.” Yeah, he’s got a three-year-old daughter, Amy, who he’s consistently refused to see.

  “She’s better off without me. Fuck, let her gramma have ‘er. She wants her.”

  We haven’t told Heart the whole story, it’s too much for him to handle in the state he’s in now. But yeah, he’s right. Crystal’s mother wanted the kid, but only to sell her to pay off her debts. She’d started the ball rolling that ended with their accident. It’s only the fact we don’t take out women easily that she’s still breathing air. And I won’t be alone in hoping she gets hold of some bad shit, or overdoses and removes the problem herself. All we’ve said to him is that she’s entirely unsuitable to look after a young child. He’s got too much to deal with without adding that information just yet.

  But I emphasise what’s already been explained. “Heart, she’s so into the shit she can’t even look after herself.” Yeah, she owed people for the crap she injects into her veins.

  “Well, let the kid stay with the Prez and his ol’ lady. They seem to have taken to her.” We’ve all noticed he doesn’t even use the child’s name. And yup, Drummer and Sam have been looking after her, and well. But, “She needs her dad.”

  Heart sneers and looks down at himself. “Ain’t no fuckin’ good to anyone like this.”

  I don’t remind him she won’t care, that she just needs to know one of her parents is still there for her, whatever shape he’s in. All of us have tried, but Amy, the spitting image of her mother, is the one person he won’t allow into his room. I keep my mouth buttoned up and my thoughts to myself. Better people than me have tried to persuade him. When he’s home it will be different.

  Pulling a brochure out of my cut, I try to interest him in something else. “Club’s replacin’ your bike. We’ve voted to get you a new model. Want to have a look at what you could get? Don’t know about you, but the new Low-rider looks fuckin’ ace to me.” His own was totalled as a result of the crash.

  But he’s closed his eyes and turned his head, pretending to sleep. I end up flicking through the pages by myself. It’s par for the course. Heart’s hurting so badly he just lives in his head, unable to move past what he’s lost and get on with his life. If neither the thought of his daughter or getting a new bike can start bringing him out of his fugue, then I’ve no fucking idea how to get through to him.

  A gentle tapping at the door gets my attention, and I look up to see an unwelcome, but familiar face entering. It’s the fucking heat, one of the detectives who have been buzzing around Heart’s accident. Detective Hannah. Her erstwhile dirty partner, Archer, is long dead. Not that she has that intel yet, all she knows is that he’s disappeared off the face of the earth.

  I nod at her, and pretend to look past her into the empty corridor. “Detective, on your own today?” I hide my smirk. Oh, we’ve solved the mystery of who ran Heart and Crystal off the road. Archer admitted it himself. But that secret we’re keeping close for obvious reasons, including that Slick shot off his dick before our Vegas brother cut his throat. The cops won’t be finding a body either, Slick made sure of that. Just a few charred pieces of bone, which will take them time to put back together.

  “Detective Archer is unavailable,” Hannah says tightly.

  Oh, he definitely is.

  The new voice has disturbed Heart. He stirs, opens his eyes, and impassively regards the detective. From his expression, I take it they’ve met before and that he’s not particularly pleased to see her.

  Hannah’s viewing him just as intently. She clears her throat. “How are you, today, Mr Norman?”

  “The name’s Heart,” he growls. “And how d’ya fuckin’ think I’m doin’?” He sneers as his left hand indicates his plastered leg. Painfully he goes to pull himself up. I go to help, knowing his wincing comes from his broken ribs that are still healing, but he waves off my assistance, grimacing through the pain. I push the button for his pain meds closer to his hand, but he ignores it.

  Hannah takes a step closer. “I need to know if you’ve remembered anything more about the accident?”

  Accident? Murder more like.

  Heart touches his hand to his head. “Can’t remember fuck all as I’ve told ya already. Last fuckin’ thing I remember was ridin’ back from Tucson with my ol’ lady ridin’ bitch behind me.” It’s impossible to miss the moisture gathering at the corner of his eye.

  “What have you discovered so far, Detective?” I probe. It would be useful for the club to know how far they’ve got.

  She looks from my brother to me. Heart doesn’t seem at all interested. Even when we explained what had happened and that the man who caused Crystal’s death has been dispatched to meet Satan, he seemed to focus on the loss of his wife rather than the punishment meted out to the perpetrator.

  Just when I don’t think she’s going to speak, she sighs. “We’ve tracked the vehicle down to a rental agency, seems the person who rented it used a fake name and papers.”

  Doesn’t surprise me. The Herrera’s, the crime family in Tucson to which Archer had a distant connection, wouldn’t find it difficult to create a false identity.

  “Oh, and we found the vehicle. Burned out.”

  “No evidence?” I ask, hoping that Archer had left fingerprints. We all know, and that includes the detective in front of me, that he was a dirty cop, but proving his involvement in what happened to Heart is going to be impossible. He’d only admitted it to us. And then we made sure he wouldn’t be saying a
nything at all.

  The detective shakes her head. “No. No fingerprints.” When I think she’s finished, she continues, “But we got a description from the rental agency.”

  And then she clams up. It would be to our benefit if they find evidence it was Archer. Perhaps knowing his culpability, they wouldn’t be too concerned when they eventually identify what’s left of his body. Literally burying a cop on the make would be easier than going through the rigmarole of taking him through the courts.

  Hannah tilts her head to one side, and once again tries to engage Heart. “I’m pleased to see you conscious. I hear you’re going to make a full recovery. I expect you’re looking forward to being with your daughter again.”

  Oh fuck. She did not just go there, did she?

  Gasping, Heart leans forward and points a shaky hand toward her. “Pig, I suggest you stay out of my fuckin’ business. Your job’s findin’ out who killed my fuckin’ wife, and you can keep your filthy nose away from anythin’ else.”

  For a moment she looks taken aback, and then a fleeting look of sympathy comes over her face. “I’ll keep you informed as to what progress we’re making.” As Heart gently lies himself back, unable to escape the groan of pain, she gives a stiff nod, then turns and walks out of the door.