Doc: Devil’s Nightmare MC

by Bourne, Lena

  “I see you found something to wear,” he says, eyeing my outfit—a pair of heather grey sweats and a red and black plaid shirt, which I tucked into them before rolling up the waist of the pants a couple of times so they’d stay up.

  “I did,” I say and twirl a little as though I’m showing off a new evening dress. The next second, I feel very foolish for it and try to take some of the bags off his hands to hide it, but he just smiles and won’t let me.

  His eyes pass all over me, seeing deeper than they possibly can, and I’m suddenly very aware of being naked under this shirt and sweats. Judging by the way his eyes shine, I think he might be thinking the same thing.

  He clears his throat the same way he did earlier, when I thought he might kiss me, and enters the cabin.

  “I got us some takeout,” he says. “I hope you like Chinese.”

  “It’s my favorite,” I say and start looking for some plates in the cupboards. That’s not true, strictly speaking, but I’m starving.

  He dumps the bag of Chinese food onto the table, stirring up some of the dust covering it, and starts putting the rest of the groceries away in the fridge and the cupboards, while I set the table. The tension that rose between us out on the porch is still thick, but soft too, cradling this space we’re in and pushing everything else away like a layer of soundproofing insulation. I wouldn’t mind it if he kissed me. In fact, I’d like it very much. This time I’m the one clearing my throat nervously as the thought flashes through my mind. I’m nowhere near ready for anything like that. Not physically, not mentally. So why is my body yearning for it so unstoppably?

  I busy myself with unpacking the food he brought, avoiding both his gaze and trying to find the answer to that question. It seems like he brought enough for five people, but as soon as the aroma of the sweet and sour soup hits me full on, I know we won’t have to worry about leftovers.

  “So, I think the fastest way to get your stuff back from the police is to just walk in and ask for it,” he says as he joins me at the table and hands me a spoon he just ran under the tap to get the dust off.

  Much of my appetite disappears at the thought of doing that. The risk of running into my husband there is huge.

  “I don’t know about that,” I mutter.

  I somehow managed to ignore my fear over what happened this morning—the fear of what my life will look like now that Benji knows I’ve left him and also knows where I am—all afternoon while I waited for Matt to return. But it’s hitting me hard now, so hard my hands are shaking again.

  He’s completely focused on the food though, eating ravenously.

  “What’s the worst that could happen?” he asks in between swallowing heaping spoonfuls of the soup.

  “Benji could be there,” I mutter, stirring my own soup as though I’m trying to cool it. But it’s already quite cool. What if Benji’s stationed in this town? The thought alone makes the room spin around before my eyes.

  “So what?” he exclaims. “That’d be for the best, actually. If we see him, I can tell him to get lost and leave you alone, in no uncertain terms. Eat your soup now.”

  “He’s dangerous,” I mutter, but my chest feels a lot lighter now that he offered to protect me from Benji. I didn’t even realize how much I yearned for someone to do that until this very moment.

  “Yeah, you told me that already,” he says with a grin. “But I’ve seen the guy. He’s a puny man, and in my experience wife beaters are all a bunch of wimps.”

  “I mean, he can get you arrested,” I say, but he just shakes his head like he thinks I’m being silly.

  “For what? Punching him in the face a couple of times?” he says mockingly, and I like the image his words a conjuring up in my mind. Benji would deserve to get punched, and I’d like to see it. “Even in this small town the cops have bigger problems to deal with.”

  He smiles, and I can’t help but return it, because that smile of his is contagious. It creates a bright gleam in his eyes, and lights up his whole face like the sun just shone down on it through the clouds. Even the food smells delicious again after that smile.

  “Alright, let’s try that then,” I say and start eating.

  With Matt as my backup, I can face Benji and tell him I’m leaving him for good. It might even be a good time to tell him about all the evidence of his abuse I compiled. The counselor that helped me escape advised me to make a file with all my medical reports documenting the beatings, because it might come in useful, if I ever have to get a restraining order against him, or if he won’t give me a divorce. I even managed to videotape a couple of the beatings before I left.

  But, damn it, the flash drive with all that on it was in my suitcase.

  “What’s wrong?” Matt asks, looking at me with concern in his bright blue eyes, because I gasped when I realized that.

  “I just hope I can get my suitcase and purse back, that’s all,” I say, since I’d rather not speak about Benji and what he did to me anymore, my stomach is soured up enough as it is.

  “You didn’t commit any crime, so all your things should be waiting for you at the station,” he says and ladles more rice onto his plate.

  I push away my half-eaten soup, and pile some of the main course dish onto my plate too.

  We eat in silence for awhile, my appetite returning with each bite I take. Sometimes, back home, I’d go for days on just toast, and all the food I ate tasted the same. This is the first meal I’m actually enjoying in a very long time. As long as I don’t think about Benji, that is.

  Once we’re done eating, he tells me to get dressed while he clears up. I do it, but by the time I return downstairs in my dirty jeans and t-shirt, I’m once again not so sure going to the police is such a very good idea after all.

  “Truck or bike?” he asks gruffly after he just stared at me for the couple of seconds it took me to descend the stairs.

  I’ve forgotten the last time my mere appearance rendered a man unable to speak properly. It was probably my husband in the beginning, but that was all an act anyway. This is the real thing. I can feel his look deep inside me, hooking me, reeling me in, and making me feel beautiful, even though I’m wearing dirty clothes, more than half my face is covered by a dark bruise, and my hair’s a frizzy mess. Matt wants me.

  “The truck,” I say, although a ride on the back of his Harley would be fun too. It would give me a chance to wrap my arms around Matt’s body and feel all his muscles, which is something I very much want to do.

  I try to push the thought away, since it’s completely out of place in my current predicament, but resisting it just floods my mind with images of other ways I’d like to feel his body next to mine. I ignore them the best I can.

  He looks a little disappointed that I chose the truck.

  “I still have a headache, and I’m guessing it’s a bumpy ride back to town,” I explain.

  “Not really,” he says. “But yeah, probably bumpy enough to make your headache worse. Let’s go.”

  He strides out of the cabin and towards the truck so fast, I’d have to jog to keep up, which I don’t. It’s like he wants me near, yet doesn’t want to be close to me, which is weird and unsettling, and damn frustrating, because I really like this energy flowing between us, this soft tension of pent up desire that has me feeling like a woman with no problems, like a teenager in love, like someone with her whole life still in front of her.

  I hope this happy hopefulness holds at the station too, especially if Benji’s there waiting for me.

  * * *

  Doc

  I hope they return her belongings to her without issue, and that her car doesn’t require much repairing, because we’re fast approaching the point of no return where I won’t be able to keep my hands off her. I’ve always been an impulsive guy, and spending years in active combat zones, where every day could be your last, and later with the Devils where the situation was similar, have honed it to a point where I’ve lost all ability not to take what I want, when I want it. That’s jus
t one of the reasons why MC life suits me so much better than a quiet life would. But I’m ready for the latter, and there’s no room for anyone beside me when I finally claim it.

  All that doesn’t change the fact that I want Anne. I want her more each time I see her, and that desire is rising exponentially.

  She’s been quiet during the ride into town, growing paler and paler the closer we get to it, clutching her hands together in her lap to keep them from shaking. It’s a side effect of trauma and PTSD, and she’ll have no luck getting rid of it until she clears up the mess her husband made in her mind. I keep looking at her from the corner of my eye, since I’m afraid she’ll suffer a breakdown right here in the car. I almost tell her about my worries and offer some suggestions, but then I remember how angry I’d always get if someone commented on my shaking hands, back when that was still an issue for me.

  “We’re here,” I tell her as I pull into the parking lot of the police station in town.

  “Yeah, alright,” she says absentmindedly, and sits up straight as a board in her seat.

  She’s completely paralyzed with fear, and I wish I could take it away for her, I wish I could erase it, and that wish is stronger than I’ve ever felt it with anyone. I want to help her so much I’m considering seeking out her husband if we don’t run into him here tonight, and make damn sure she never has to worry about him ever again. I could take Ink and Ace, maybe even Scar, he’d get the job done perfectly, I’m sure. Cross wouldn’t even have to know about it.

  Just thinking this grows a lump the size of a basketball in my throat. I won’t do anything to jeopardize the club, and I would never keep a secret like that from my President. The fact that I’m even considering it scares me, because being as impulsive as I am, it might start to look like a good idea if I don’t stop thinking about it soon.

  “Watch your step,” I tell her hoarsely, as I open the door for her to get out of the truck.

  She trips over her own feet and falls into my arms, the whiff of the shampoo she used to wash her hair—the shampoo I’ve had up at the cabin for the last five years—exploding in my nose, smelling fresh and new and so damn delicious, I wish there was nothing standing between me and her. But the moment passes and she’s as straight as a board again as she walks towards the entrance to the station. There are things standing between us. So many and so hard and thick I don’t even want to think about them, let alone try to tackle them.

  “How may I help you?” the cop at the reception desk asks. We agreed it’s best she does the talking, but after a few seconds of waiting for her to answer him, it becomes apparent she won’t, so I better step up.

  “The lady here was in a car crash near the McKenzie farm last night, and her car was towed from the location,” I tell him. “She’d like it and her personal belongings back. Her name’s Anne…”

  “Fisher,” Anne interjects noticing me laboring to remember her new last name.

  “Just a sec,” the cop says and runs his finger down a hand-written ledger in front of him. “The car’s already been claimed by a tow truck from Three Stars Garage earlier today, they said the owner sent them. I signed off on it myself. As for her belongings…”

  The guy’s breath catches in his throat and he gives Anne a very startled look, then clears his throat nervously, looking from me to her and back again like he’s scared of us.

  “If you could just take a seat over there, someone will be with you shortly,” the cop says.

  “Something’s wrong,” Anne whispers to me as the cop picks up the receiver of the phone on his desk.

  “Maybe he’s just checking to see where your stuff is,” I say, more to placate the sheer terror in her eyes than because I believe it.

  Whoever the cop’s calling doesn’t seem to be picking up and he’s biting his bottom lip nervously as he waits. Something’s definitely up.

  The cop finally hangs up the phone and points to the bench by the front door again. “Take a seat. I’ll go get someone who’ll tell you how you can get your things back.”

  The police station in Pleasantville is tiny as fuck and in my experience, every one of the cops working here can do whatever you need them to do at any given time. No way does this guy need to be calling some other guy to get Anne’s purse back.

  Once he’s gone, I reach over and pull up the ledger he was checking before something scared him.

  “I think we should just go,” Anne whispers.

  It only takes me a few seconds to find the entry I’m looking for. Anne Elizabeth Fisher - Car Crash - Wanted for questioning by the FBI for theft. The last is written in different color ink so it must be a later addition to the original entry. I’m guessing Benji, or Bingo, or whatever the fuck her husband’s name is, came up with the bogus charge after he couldn’t find her anywhere in town. And the cop probably got spooked because the car shouldn’t have been released either and he never checked properly. Good thing I called Hawk first thing in the morning to sort that part of this mess out.

  “Let’s go,” I say and grab her hand without letting her see what’s written in the ledger.

  She’s shaking all over by the time we’re in the truck, and I pat her hands reassuringly once we’re both sitting inside, but it doesn’t help at all. I should say something comforting, and I have a lot of speeches memorized from my medical career, but none of them are good enough for Anne. I’ll find the right words, and the right deeds, to erase this paralyzing panic from her life, but first I need to get her away from the station before the cops decide to follow us.

  “What did you see in that notebook?” she asks, her voice much firmer than I expected it to be.

  I look at her, debating with myself whether I should tell her at all, since I don’t want to cause her any more terror. But she also has to know about it.

  “It said you’re wanted for questioning by the FBI for theft,” I say.

  She gasps, but it sounds more like a sob.

  “I knew it,” she mutters. “I knew it was bad. What am I gonna do now? Theft? Wanted by the FBI? I hate him so much! How am I ever going to escape him now? He’s made sure I have a target on my back wherever I go.”

  She practically screams those last few sentences, and I’m glad to hear the anger. It’s much better than the frozen paralysis she’s been in since we left the cabin. But I hear defeat in her words loud and clear too.

  “We’ll figure something out,” I tell her and speed up even more.

  I wish I believed that myself. “We”, as in me and her, probably can’t fix this. Hawk could. My MC could. But I can’t involve them. Especially now that she’s been branded a fugitive from the law. It was dangerous to help her before, and now it’d be suicide. I wish my whole mind would accept that as the pure fact it is. Because my impulsiveness doesn’t need much to flare me into action, and it’s already burning very bright.

  6

  Doc

  It’s full dark by the time we reach Three Stars Garage, which is owned and operated by Devil’s Nightmare MC even though that’s only known to the club members. As far as everyone else is concerned, it’s a legit car repair shop, and one of the best in town besides.

  “There’s my car,” she says and points to a dark red sedan parked near the entrance to the garage, as we pull into the lot. I think there’s a shade more hope in her voice that I’ve heard all afternoon, but that could just be my wishful hoping. Not sure why she’s so excited, since the entire left side of the hood is smashed in. The car looks totaled to me.

  “Wait here while I have a word with the mechanics,” I tell her and she nods.

  “Ask how long it’ll take to fix,” she says. “But then again, I have no money to pay for the repairs…”

  Even in the dim light I see defeat and fear creep back into her face.

  “I’ll take care of it,” I say and get out of the car fast, since she already started protesting.

  Piston, the MC brother who runs this place, sees me approach and comes to meet me by Anne’s car.


  “What’s going on, Doc?” he asks. “Hawk called that you need this car picked up, and that part went over fine, but now I got cops calling and saying they need it back. I managed to hold on to it for now, but they’ll be back with a warrant tomorrow.”

  I hear him out, nodding along. This is exactly what I was afraid of.

  Now I have a choice to make. This is the juncture where I either involve the MC or hang Anne out to dry. I suppose I could buy her a new car as well as give her some money, but would she take any of that? Or would she just run back to her husband instead?

  I don’t want her to go anywhere.

  “Cross ain’t gonna like it if we get too tangled up with the law,” Piston says, speaking sense. This isn’t a decision I can make without consulting Cross. “Did you clear this with him?”

  “Can you pop the trunk?” I ask instead of answering his question.

  I know there’s a solution to this, and a simple one. A good one. One where everyone wins. I just don’t see it yet.

  He shrugs and opens the trunk. Lucky for Anne, her suitcase is in there. I grab it and look back at Anne’s pale face in the truck, show it to her and give her the thumbs up. She smiled, I think, I hope, but I can’t see her face clearly so I’m not sure I’m right.

  I check the cabin, hoping to find her purse in there too, but our luck doesn’t stretch that far.

  “Is there a way to keep the car without arousing suspicion with the cops? Like telling them the owner came for it, or something?”

  Piston frowns at me. “Maybe. But it’s gonna be suspicious no matter what. They already know we have the car, and they called to get it back very soon after we took it.”

  “But they didn’t have a warrant, right? So technically, you’d be doing nothing wrong by giving it back to the owner?” I’m not even sure why I’m pressing him so hard on this. We have her clothes, and it’d probably be cheaper to buy a new car than fix this one, but right now, I’m thinking she’ll be more willing to take money from me if she at least has her own car.