by Amelia Shea
A woman came out of the stall and said, “Excuse me.”
Macy cast her a look, noticing her blurred in her vision. Something was wrong, very wrong. The woman reached out, grabbing her hand.
“Whoa, sweetie, you all right?”
She was steading her, but the room seemed to spin around her as she pulled at her dress. It was so damn hot. Beads of sweat formed over her skin.
“Are you gonna be sick?”
Her breaths were so heavy. She shook her head. “It’s not right, something…I‘m so hot. I just can’t…”
The woman gripped her other arm, and she welcomed the relief from her cool hands. “You here alone?”
She shook her head. “No, my date.” She tried to swallow, but her mouth was so dry. “First date actually.”
“What’s your name?”
“M-Macy,” she stuttered, feeling as though her tongue had grown several sizes too big for her mouth.
“Shit. Okay, Macy, you got someone I can call to come get you?”
“M-my date is out-ts-side.”
The woman’s voice came closer to her ear, but she sounded so far away. “Not him. A friend, a girl, maybe?”
She blinked her eyes wide, trying to focus on the woman in front of her, but everything was so out of focus. She shivered, feeling the chills spray over her body yet she could feel the moisture over her skin.
“Macy? Give me the name of someone you trust?” The woman said as she propped her against the sink and rifled through her bag. Macy couldn’t be sure it was hers, but the woman had a phone in her hand.
“Cheyenne.” She slumped against the sink, and her heavy lids were too much to take. She would just close her eyes for a second. Her name being said sounded so far away, miles and miles away.
****
The music pounded in the background of the club. It was the biggest party night of the week. Women were dancing around topless, weed was being passed around, and the whiskey Rourke was drinking was burning his nostrils. This was just what he needed. A distraction.
He watched the girl on the bar rubbing her tits together and shaking them. Some other guys were glued to her little scene. Not Rourke but he watched for the sole purpose of not thinking of Macy and the Maserati motherfucker.
He’d gotten back to the club a few hours ago and talked to Kase for a while before heading to the party. He was slated for a run next week, and it couldn’t come soon enough. He needed some time and distance away from the club. Not so much his brothers but the distraction that came along with them.
The blonde titty shaker on the bar squatted down in front of him, giving him an eye view of her shaved pussy. She leaned forward gliding her hand over his shoulder, down his chest.
“Why don’t you take me in the back, Rourke? I can’t stop thinking about you and your mouth.” Her free hand draped over her tit, down her stomach and straight to her pussy. He had taken her with Gage a couple months ago. Never heard a bitch scream so loud when he was eating her out. It was like a screeching animal call. Fucking annoying as hell. He gripped her wrist, shoving it away from him. He didn’t need or want anything she or any other girl was offering. At least no women in the bar now.
She backed away reading his hint and moved down to another brother at the end of the bar. He raised his glass, and it was immediately filled by the prospect manning the bar. He lifted his chin in thanks. He looked at the clock hanging over the pool table. Twelve after eleven. Fuck it was early, and he was ready to calling it a night. He gritted his teeth, wondering if Macy was home from her date. And was she alone? He grasped his glass tight and drew in a deep breath. Do not fucking do it. Only time would tell if he had enough restraint not to pass by her apartment on his way home to check if her light was on. Who the hell am I?
“Hi, Rourke.”
He glanced over to his left as Cheyenne took a seat in the stool next to him.
“Hey.”
“Trax needed to talk to one of the guys out back. He told me to come sit by you, hope it’s all right?” She rolled her eyes. “Apparently, he wanted you on babysitting duty.”
Rourke smirked. It was a smart play on Trax’s part. If he’d had a woman of his own, he would have done the same thing. When they had a visiting club, the parties usually got pretty rowdy. Cheyenne wasn’t branded as Trax’s and the wrong guy hitting on her could turn into a brawl. Trax had mentioned giving her a property of patch a few months back. Apparently, Cheyenne didn’t appreciate it and refused to wear it.
“You wear the patch, you won’t need babysitting,” Rourke said with a small smile.
Cheyenne raised her brow and grinned. “If Trax wants to brand me, I got a finger on my left hand that’s available.”
Rourke chuckled. He liked Cheyenne, had a massive amount of respect for her, as did all the brothers. For Rourke, it extended past the Mick situation. The woman made Trax happy, and he deserved it.
“Hi Nadia, can I get a beer when ya get a chance?”
Nadia smiled, holding up a finger. Cheyenne settled back in her seat and turned to face Rourke.
“Alone, huh?”
He read the insinuation and knitted his brows. He was well within his right to be with another woman. Macy had obviously moved on. Why shouldn’t he? The opportunity struck the second he walked through the door of the clubhouse. He wasn’t interested. There was only one woman who would do for him, and she was on a date with some unworthy bastard. He gripped his glass in a tight squeeze. I shouldn’t have waited.
He scowled. “You see anyone else here with me?”
Cheyenne jerked her chin, and her lips curled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She hesitated before she leaned forward. “Out of all the girls, you had to put Rachel on the back of your bike?”
His nostrils flared, and he bit back the fuck off retort he wanted to hand her. He clamped his lips and stared back at her. She was questioning him?
Cheyenne waited, but she wouldn’t get a response. He didn’t owe her or Macy any explanation. She was on a fucking date. It took every ounce of restraint not to get off his bike and beat the piss out that motherfucker. It was rare for Rourke to feel any type of jealousy or possessiveness over a woman. It was exactly what he was experiencing when he saw Macy, in that dress, in those heels. Fuck! Why the hell didn’t he say something or do something? She’s mine.
She sighed, peering around the room. “It destroyed her, Rourke.” She glanced back at him and her lips twisted. “Seeing you with Rachel hurt her. I think she was holding out hope, ya know.”
He snorted. “She seemed right at home in his fucking Maserati.” He was bitter…he could admit it. After everything Trax told him about Macy being upset, he quietly held out hope they could work things out. He counted on it. Until tonight.
Cheyenne smiled softly. “Is that how ya saw it?” She raised her brows and turned her head.
She was keeping tight-lipped, but something in the way she spoke led him to believe Macy wasn’t as invested in her date as she portrayed. He caught the hurt in her eyes when she watched him with Rachel on the back of his bike. When she hugged up against his back, he immediately had her back off. But the damage had been done.
Rourke’s breathing labored. While he didn’t owe anyone an explanation, he felt compelled. Especially if Macy was holding out hope. He tried to rid her to the back of his mind, but it was impossible. She was all he wanted. He’d figured time apart to settle down from their anger would be good for her. Instead, it had backfired, and she had seemingly moved on. Or was she? An explanation was dire if he had any hope of fixing this shit with Macy.
“Rachel and Val needed a ride into the club. They’re working the tables.” He cocked his head to where Val was delivering drinks. He watched as Cheyenne glanced over and she inhaled a deep breath.
Rourke leaned closer. “Only reason she was on my bike, Chey.” It was the truth.
Cheyenne nodded with a small smile. “Promise me, if you and Macy work things out? You get her on the back of yo
ur bike. That’s where she wants to be, Rourke.” Cheyenne swiveled in her chair, and Rourke faced the bar again.
He remembered their conversation about him giving her a ride. At the time, he figured it was a thrill she was looking to cross off her list. For Cheyenne to mention it to him meant Macy mentioned it to her. I shoulda taken her for a ride that night.
He took a sip of his whiskey, welcoming the burn in his throat. A loud thump had him glance over to see Cheyenne throw her bag on the bar and dig inside. Why women needed to carry around a bag of fucking shit, he’d never understand. She pulled out the phone and smiled before answering.
“Hey, girl.”
It had to be Macy. He’d seen her talk on the phone to her several times, and she always smiled and got excited. This time was different, and he turned his stool, watching closely. Her smile dropped, and she squinted her eyes.
“Wait, who is this?” She jumped down from the stool, knocking into Rourke. Her eyes were panicked, and her mouth opened and closed. She reached out her hand, grasping his forearm and squeezed.
Something was wrong. Trax was walking back from the end of the bar and furrowed his brows with his gaze aimed on Cheyenne’s grip on his arm. He came up next to her, resting his hand on her back, but Cheyenne remained focused on her call.
“Well, is she okay?” Her tone was urgent, and she covered her mouth with her hand then tore it away. “Okay, where are you?” She paused. “Please just stay with her, don’t leave her, and keep him away from her.” She nodded frantically and then grabbed the front of Trax’s shirt. “I’ll be there in five minutes, just please don’t leave her alone.” She clicked the phone and shifted away, but Trax grabbed her hand.
“What’s wrong?”
“Some girl. She’s with Macy in the bathroom at Zook’s on Elbridge. She says she came in the bathroom and then passed out. She thinks she was roofied. We gotta go.”
Rourke stood, his body on edge and fueled with rage. He followed behind Trax and Chey as they rushed out. He slammed his hand on Gage’s back, and his friend followed behind him closely.
“What the fuck, man?”
“Chey got a call, Macy’s at the bar passed out. Thinks she may be drugged.”
“Fucking Maserati prick.”
Rourke rounded the back of the clubhouse passing Chey who was double-timing it to the bikes. “I’ll drive.” His truck was parked behind the club most days when he didn’t have his bike, which was rare. He loved his bike, but his truck was second best.
They filed in, and the door had barely closed when he took off toward Zook’s. How could she be so fucking stupid to let this happen? She needed to watch her back, especially since he wasn’t there to protect her. He slammed his hand on the steering wheel, and he heard a gasp from the backseat where Trax and Chey were sitting.
“Calm down, brother.”
“Fuck you, Gage, she’s fucking passed out in a bar alone.” His glare was aimed at the rearview mirror staring back at Chey, who was on the verge of tears. “What the fuck is the guy’s name?”
She swallowed. “Bryant something. She met him at work.”
This Bryant guy would answer to him, and Rourke would make it so this guy would never come near her again. He raced through the quiet streets, blowing two stop signs and a red light. If the cops wanted him, they would have to follow because he wasn’t stopping until he got to Zook’s. He pulled around the corner and into the parking lot. He pulled up to the back entrance. He jumped out quickly, scouring the lot for the Maserati but didn’t see it. They rushed toward the front. A buddy of his, Mack, was working the door. He stomped up, and Mack opened the door.
He knew the bar well, bouncing for them when he started prospecting ten years ago. He walked past the bar, people making a wide path for him. He headed to the long hallway in the back and gave no warning as he busted open the women’s bathroom door. He was struck by the sight of Macy slumped on the floor. Her hair was pasted to her forehead, and her face was ghostly. A woman came in front of him, blocking his vision.
“Get out, or I’ll scream.”
He opened his mouth to tell her to move the fuck away, but Cheyenne came storming in and dropped to her knees in front of Macy. “Oh my God.” She slid her hand over her face.
“Are you Cheyenne?” the woman asked.
Gage and Trax crowded in beside him, and he heard a masculine snap. “Fuck.”
“Thanks for staying with her,” Trax said.
“No problem. A guy came knocking a little while ago asking for his date. I gave him a description of her and told him I saw her leave through the back door then came back in here. I’m not saying he drugged her, but he looked awfully freaked out when I said she left. And if he did, you guys really need to get her to the hospital. There’s no telling what he might have slipped her.”
All Rourke could do was stand in shock at the sight of Macy slumped against the wall. There was no doubt someone had slipped her something, and she was completely out of it. His breath shallowed, and his nostrils flared. He needed to pull himself together. His rage and need to hunt Bryant down wasn’t going to help Macy. He balled his hands and tried to steady his pounding heart.
Trax pushed past them, gripping Cheyenne’s shoulder. “Back up, Chey, let Rourke get her.”
Trax’s voice was a wake-up call. Rourke powered through the small space and bent down. Macy sat with her back against the wall, and her head bowed forward. Her knees were drawn up to her chest. He swiped her hair from her face, and her head fell against the wall with her eyes closed. Her cheeks were rosy, which was a good sign. The true test of how bad the situation was would be her eyes. He caressed his thumb over her temple.
“Baby, look at me,” he whispered, but his tone came out sharper than he intended. Her head lolled to her side, and slowly her eyes pried open. Her brows cocked down, and her eyes squinted.
“Rourke.” Her voice cracked. She licked her lips and smacked them together.
“Yeah, Mace, I gotcha.” He crouched over to hook his arm under her legs and wrap his other around her back. The sight of her pasty skin was forcing him to pull her into him tightly with a need to protect her. She lifted her arms weakly around his neck, and her breath heated over his neck.
“I put my number in her phone. It’s under Ella. If she needs a witness for pressing charges, tell her to call me.”
Chey sniffled and nodded. “Thank you so much for staying with her.”
Ella reached out, resting her hand on Chey’s arm. “Get her to the hospital.”
Rourke stood and turned toward Trax. His friend nodded and pulled Cheyenne close to his chest.
“Chey, we got a doc who’ll meet us at the clubhouse.”
Her eyes were wild, and she shook her head. “She needs to go to the hospital.”
“Listen to me.” Trax gripped Cheyenne’s face in his palms. “The hospital will bring cops. We’ll handle this back at the club…”
Rourke watched her rip her face from his hold and backed away. “No. She goes to a hospital. This has got nothing to do with the club. For Christ’s sake, Trax, she might need her stomach pumped.”
“Rourke,” Macy whispered against his neck, and he tightened his grip. “I feel sick.”
He brushed his lips against her clammy forehead. “I know, baby, you just hang tight, okay?”
She gargled something he couldn’t understand and hitched her body against his. “You never call me baby.” She tightened her grip on his neck. Her face brushed against his neck in a slow nod. “I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault.”
“Yeah, it is. I was the asshole.” She whimpered and pressed her face against his neck. “I ruined us.”
He stiffened with the flurry of background noise as Cheyenne continued to argue with Trax. He could have misunderstood what she was saying. I ruined us. He closed his eyes and pulled her deeper into his chest.
“No, you didn’t,” he whispered against her hair. When this was all over, she was not get
ting away again.
“I did, I fucked everything up.” She whimpered.
He sighed. She wasn’t making much sense at this point, but he knew better than to point it out. He pulled her closer, breathing in her scent. Lemon and ginger. He whispered, “Breathe, Macy.”
She heaved forward, slamming her forehead into his chin. He grunted at the force and turned his head.
“Rourke, please, make it stop.” She forced her eyes closed and breathed heavy. “Make the room stop fucking spinning.”
He caressed her back. “Calm down.”
She jerked her head again, and he flinched when she knocked her head against his jaw. They’d both be waking up with bruises tomorrow.
“You hate me, don’t ya?”
He darted his gaze down at her. What the fuck was she talking about? She was all over the place. She flattened her lips, and she seemed on the verge of tears. “You do, right? You hate me?”
He leaned closer, skimming his lips against her forehead. “No.”
“Yeah, you do,” she whined. Rourke drew in a breath and rolled his eyes.
“I don’t hate ya. I’m not pissed, so calm the fuck down.” He never was a man good with words.
She glanced up, and her eyes shifted around his face but never met his gaze. She seemed to be searching for something, but she wasn’t able to focus. His heart dropped when her face slowly drained of all color.
Her eyes flickered, and her breath shallowed. “Am I dying?”