My wife? Suddenly my heart leaps. Cat’s here?
“Yes, I heard everything you said, Doc,” Swift confirms from beside me. “You’ve explained everything to me.”
Wait. What? Why is Swift talking about me? She’s who he’s calling my fucking wife? Fuck, I have died and now I’m in Hell. I must be.
“Yes, Karen. I know you understand. Now let’s try and explain that to your husband.”
She’s using the first name that she hates? My head pounds as I try to make sense of everything.
One thing I know, I can’t stay in this bed. I’ve got to get out and start searching for Cat. I don’t care if it kills me. Unless she’s already dead. In which case, I’ll die with her—after I’ve dispatched Gun and his men to meet Satan.
Ignoring the doctor, I start pulling out the catheter in my arm, blood spurts staining the sheets.
“Mr Briggs!”
“I’m getting out of here.”
“Doc,” Pip says in a reasonable tone. “Can we have a moment alone with him?”
The doctor eyes the screens which are going crazy. When I pull the blood oxygen monitor off my finger, a single tone sounds. It’s about right. Without Cat, I’m as good as dead.
“He’s highly agitated. If you think you can calm him, I’ll give you a few minutes. Otherwise, I’ll need to sedate him.” The doctor’s smile has been completely wiped from his face. He looks flustered as though he’s never had a man who’s half dead argue with him before, or be prepared to totally ignore his expert advice.
When the door closes, Pip doesn’t waste a moment. “Who’s Cat?” he demands. “What is she to you?”
I don’t hesitate. “I’ve claimed her. She’s going to be my ol’ lady.”
Swift snorts. “Does she know?”
Though it hurts, I roll my head to the side so I can tell her straight to her face. “We were coming back. Together. Yes, she knows, Swift. She knows she’s mine, and that, heaven help her, I’m hers.”
“So this is fuckin’ serious.”
“You’ve got a fuckload of questions to answer.” Swift glares at me and ignores the ex-prez.
Pip doesn’t let her get away with it. “Swift,” he says, sharply. “I can’t argue with that, but whether or not Stormy’s still club, the club would rescue a woman. It’s what we do, you know that.” He pauses and rubs a hand over his face. “Three fuckin’ weeks. We have to know where to start.”
“What are you proposing?” At least Swift now seems to be on board. Fuck knows, I’ll be limited as to what I can do myself.
“I’m proposing I get a wheelchair and we bust him out of here.”
I close my eyes and listen to them sorting the details out. At least Pip’s on my side.
“He could die if he’s not given proper treatment,” Swift objects.
“I’ll die if you leave me here.” I snap my eyes open. “I’m begging you. Either you help me, or I’ll crawl out of here by myself.”
Pip’s eyes land on my face. He stares intently, then abruptly stands. “He fucking would too. I’ll go get the ball rolling. Oh, and I’ll call Snatcher.”
It takes time, of course it does. Every minute I suffer wondering where Cat is now and what she’s going through. I don’t let myself dwell on the possibility that I might never find her, or that she might not still be alive. Such would be the makings of a living nightmare.
Pip’s exactly the right person to arrange my discharge. He knows how to speak to people in authority, and how to bow them to his will. Eventually the doctor washes his hands of me, glaring down as I ignore every piece of advice. I don’t care if I risk death by leaving, Cat’s more important to me than life itself. Sometime later, awkwardly, only able to use my left hand, I sign the form that releases the hospital from any responsibility should I keel over and die before I leave the parking lot. A likely outcome, in the doctor’s view.
Armed with painkillers I have no intention of taking—I need to keep a clear head—I let Pip painfully assist me from the bed to the wheelchair. Still dressed in only a hospital gown, I’m taken down to the car park.
Every jolt, every bump, every movement is agony. Every hurt reminds me I’ll go through anything for her.
Pip hadn’t wasted time and had made good on his call to Snatcher. When we arrive at the clubhouse, a number of brothers are milling around. Seems they’ve all been called in and updated.
“Stormy.” Snatcher greets me with just one word. He eyes the condition I’ve arrived in. “You discharged yourself and I’m making no allowances. I’ve convened church.”
“Should he get some clothes on first?” Pip asks, eyeing my near-naked form. Sure, my ass is hanging out, or would be were it not for the chair, but fuck it, that’s not important now.
“Can you dress yourself?” Prez challenges me.
I swallow my pride. “No. But I don’t need….” Clothes. I was going to say clothes. Last time I saw Cat, she was naked. She had to cope, so can I. Cat, my mind screams. For fuck’s sake, Cat, hang on.
“I got this.” Fuck me, that’s Bolt. If I had to have anyone, I would have expected a prospect would help me.
But it’s Bolt who takes the handles of the appropriated wheelchair and rolls me into the elevator that I’m more than grateful for. I wouldn’t be able to manage stairs. He’s silent as we go to the upper floor where our rooms are located.
Fuck being helpless and in a wheelchair, I’ve no say in what happens to me. Knowing I need the club onside, I force down the anger that’s rapidly coming to the surface, pushing it away and stating simply, “It didn’t take long for everyone to get here.”
“We’ve been on lockdown since you crashed into the clubhouse.”
I crashed? What the fuck? I can’t remember. “Did I do any damage?” I remember riding the bike then... Zilch.
“Wrote off that piece of crap you were riding. Okay now.” He changes subject as he wheels me into my room using the master keycard he must have gotten from reception. “What are you going to wear?” He’s asking himself as much as me.
With the cast on my leg, pants are beyond me, but Bolt pulls out a pair of workout shorts loose enough to pull over it.
“You’ve got a nice scar,” he observes, helping me get my cast-covered arm into a t-shirt with surprising dexterity for a one-handed man—though his expensive prothesis seems just as good as a real one.
As I look down, I can see the amount of time that must have passed since Gun had stabbed me. The stitches have already been removed from the wound Gun had sliced into my stomach. Three weeks, I remember with a sharp pang of terror. Anything could have happened to her.
The roadmap of my body bears witness to how much punishment my body must have taken. I’m surprised I’m alive.
“You died twice,” he remarks, coming to the front and staring down at me. I must have spoken my thoughts aloud. “Somehow they found your heart and managed to kickstart it beating.”
Suddenly, before I go back to the first floor, I have to say something. “I was an ass, Bolt. And I’m sorry.”
“Words are just words.” He dismisses my comment—his phrasing, his lack of the affectionate brother—showing I’ve a long way to go and that I’m only being tolerated because of my woman. I might never again have a place in this club, but that’s the least of my worries. If I don’t have Cat, I’ll care about nothing. If I have her, that’s all I need.
Clothed, I start to feel more like myself, and better able to mentally prepare as Bolt wastes no time wheeling me back to the elevator. My working hand rubs my temples. Now I’ve got to beg for help. The help from men I’ve shown I don’t trust.
I’m not stupid. While I wish it was otherwise, I’m out of action, dependent on others to find the woman I love. As we near church, I tell myself I’ll beg and grovel if I have to. Cat’s the most important thing in my world. Nothing else makes sense if I don’t have her.
I take a deep breath as I enter. Even Grinch, Mystic and Goofy are here, I notic
e, as Bolt wheels me to the space they’ve cleared. While eyeing the men, and Swift, all watching me silently, I realise there’s no welcome here. No ‘good to see yous’ and not even a ‘where the fuck have you been’?
When everyone’s seated, Snatcher bangs the gavel, but instead of bringing it down, he points it at me. “Don’t get used to sitting there.” He lays the ground rules immediately. “You’ve no rights as a member.”
My head is pounding. Sitting, rather than being stretched out horizontal for the last three weeks, or so I’ve been told, is fucking with my equilibrium. I push the weakness down, commenting only, “That’s fair.”
Piston whistles through his teeth and raises his eyebrow. A few murmurs go around, but for the most part, they all stare at me.
“Start speaking,” Snatcher demands.
“Cat…”
“No. Not there. Start with why you ran, and why you didn’t come back.”
“Leaving your fuckin’ cut,” Preacher snarls. “Big disrespect.”
He’s spoken so loudly the words hit my aching head like a physical blow, but I refrain from rubbing at the pain. It’s no time to show weakness. I don’t want to waste time on the background, “That’s not important. Finding Cat is.”
Snatcher snarls, “That’s for me to decide. Who she is, how you met her, is all part of the background we need to begin to track her down. You want us to find her? Start from the beginning. Now.” The last word is barked, his expression is relentless.
I’ve no choice, so I summon up words to put my case succinctly.
“I left in a rage, on impulse. I rode, I didn’t care where. I just wanted to put distance between us. At first I hated the club, but I soon calmed down. I knew I’d fucked up pretty quickly, and I wanted to come back home.”
“Should have done just that,” Thor remarks. “You scared of a fuckin’ beatdown?”
My automatic reaction is to shake my head, but that only sends agony shooting through me. “I’m not scared. Not then, not now. I know that’s coming.” Whether they let me stay or kick me out, they’ll do their worst.
“Yeah, you’ve got that coming. Once you’ve healed,” Rascal promises, flexing his fingers as though relishing the prospect.
Expecting that, I ignore him. “I knew I disrespected the club. I wanted to come back but needed to return with something. Anything that would make amends. Remember the loose end with Kincaid’s case, the woman? Well, I decided to track her down.”
“The Airbnb records were fake,” Honor states.
“Yeah, well, I might have modified those.”
Snatcher bangs the table far too loudly. “You fuckin’ what?” He’s as angry as I’ve ever seen him. “And that was helping us, how?”
I breathe deep, not certain if I’m going to be able to get through this without passing out. My hand shakes as I reach for the bottle of water in front of me. Bolt takes it from me, unscrewing the top before passing it back. When I’ve wet my still dry mouth, I get into the details. Quickly I tell them all about Tiny, and the state in which I’d found his cousin.
“And this is your Cat? So, the loose end led nowhere.”
“She’d have died if I hadn’t found her,” I confirm. “Didn’t think she needed you lot running after her. She was in a state.” I raise my eyes. “Rats stole her food, almost made a meal of her.”
“That would fuck with your mind.” Preacher shudders.
My moveable shoulder shrugs. “I fixed her, got her well, and began to fix myself.”
Swift’s staring at me. “You needed fixing?”
Knowing I’m going to expose myself and also knowing I’ve no choice if I want them to help me find Cat, I’m in no state to rush anywhere and do anything, and the fog in my brain suggests I won’t be much good digging for information. I’ll probably miss more than I find, I need to bare my soul. So I do.
By the time I finish my story, bringing it up to date with Gun beating the fuck out of me, my suspicions about him and Kincaid, right up to Cat being taken to apparently be sold, I realise no one’s spoken nor interrupted me.
“How did you get free?” Pip asks.
I’m tired, fighting to keep my eyes open. My leg and arm aches, my stomach is sore. My broken ribs throb, and I feel nauseous. But I keep going.
I eye Swift. “I used the chair.”
“Fuck yes. I wondered when you were going to say that. Why didn’t you earlier when you were still more than just half alive?”
“I thought I could get out of it using words. Gun had been a SEAL.” I shrug as if that would explain it, and carry on, speaking. I visualise the scene.
Before he left me, Gun had stabbed me, dislocated my knees and my shoulder, and I had more than a couple of broken ribs, a broken nose, and a swollen jaw. Blood dripped on the floor around me. I could barely see, my ears were ringing.
I was dying. Or would be soon.
The one man he’d left to guard me taunted me by telling me a buyer had emerged for the ‘fat girl’ as he referred to Cat. That, above all else, made me see red. She’s not fat, but after decent food for the last couple of months, she is deliciously curvy.
Without knowing whether it would work, I launched myself at him, head butting him first then immediately rolling and smashing the chair and … fuck yeah… a shattered piece of wood is in my bound hands. Mentally photographing his position, in one fluid movement I turn, leaning forward and raising my tied wrists to pierce his neck. Then, I’d collapsed.
When I came to, I didn’t know how much time remained until Gun returned. I managed to get my victim’s knife, prop it between my ankles and slice through the bindings holding my wrists together, once that was completed, it was child’s play to free my feet.
I crawled around that house. I tore sheets into bandages. Then…
I pause and raise my chin at Road. “I’ve watched you, Bro…” I correct myself, “Road. I popped my shoulder back first, I remembered the way I’d seen you put your knee back in. Fuck it’s painful, and I had to do it twice. But I managed it. Next I strapped my knees up.”
“Bad enough with one,” Road acknowledges, his voice tinged with respect.
My wrist was broken, but if I could find a car, I could drive with one hand. As luck would have it, the only available vehicle had been a bike, not a model I’d have chosen, but transport at least.
“I immobilised my wrist and strapped my hand to the throttle.”
Several heads shake and more than one pair of eyes look at me in admiration.
“I just knew I couldn’t fail.”
“Where the fuck were you?” My eyes go to Grinch and answer his question.
“I had no fucking idea. Would you believe the asshole’s phone had smashed when I attacked him, and there was no form of communication in the house? No laptop, no nothing. So it was down to me to escape. At first, I just rode. When I joined a highway, I began to see signs. I was somewhere north of Flagstaff. All I did was focus on coming home.”
“You made it,” Snatcher says. “Fuck knows how, but you made it.”
My eyes close. Once again, I feel water leaking from them. My head swims and I grow dizzy. It must be the effort of talking, of fighting the pain, but I fear I’m going to faint. Keep it together. Cat’s depending on you.
Weakness? Pure fucking horror? All of a sudden I’m done as I wail, “And I spent three weeks in the hospital when Cat needed me. I failed you, I failed myself, and worst of all, I failed her.”
I feel my head dropping.
27
Swift…
Stormy’s passed out with his head resting on the table. Fuck, but I don’t know how he made it so long. I’d even had a bet with Pip he wouldn’t be able to make it through church, but fuck it, he did.
Snatcher’s calling in Brute and Igor and instructing them to get Stormy back up to his room and into his bed and once he’s there, to summon our on call doctor.
No one says much until the door closes behind the prospects and the wheelc
hair.
“Fuck.” Snatcher smooths his hands down his cheeks. He takes a moment, then looks back up. “I’ve got three takeaways from that. First, we’ve got to find Stormy’s woman. Next we find Gun and see whether Stormy’s right and whether he was the mastermind behind the kidnap of Swift, and third, we decide what the fuck we do about Stormy.”
Pip raises his hand. “I can only think it goes back to what happened when I offered a place in the Satan’s Devils MC to Stormy.”
Prez directs a hard stare down the table at his predecessor. “I suspect there were things you weren’t telling me at the time, Pip. I was your good little VP who nodded in all the right places. Let’s go back a step, remind me how you knew about Stormy. He was horrified when he found out what he was being invited into. The approach came from you.”
“It did, didn’t it?” Pip half smiles. “He wanted to run when he found out we were an MC.” Seeing Snatcher’s unrelenting gaze, he hurriedly continues. “I’ve got friends and contacts all over the military, one of them Admiral Hillier. I first heard about Stormy before he was kicked out. The Admiral didn’t like the way the wind was blowing, and he ran the situation past me. I kind of got involved behind the scenes, and, well, it’s down to me that Smythe was removed from the line of fire. He was offered a desk job in the US, even before Stormy’s Admiral’s Mast.”
“And this Gun had been part of Smythe’s team at the time?” Thor asks, picking at a tooth.
“He would have been, yeah. He served with Stormy.”
“Do you think this could go up the chain? That Gun was working for someone?”
Pip sighs. “Undoubtably. Gun’s not got resources to do this himself, or a reason, I’ve never come across him. I dismissed Smythe as an incompetent ass, now it seems I’ll have to dig deeper. Perhaps I was wrong.”
Stormy's Thunder: Satan's Devils MC Utah Page 27