“I’ve chosen a man for her to marry. She isn’t happy,” he shrugs.
“Chosen?” I ask curiously.
“Or rather, he’s chosen her, and I’ve agreed. In our organization, it’s better to arrange marriages, especially between leaders. As her father, as a Pakhan, it’s important.”
“You and Tatyana?” I ask.
“Arranged,” he grins. “Now, let’s get down to business, yeah?”
I nod, ignoring my phone that seems to be buzzing like crazy in my pocket. Kirill and I walk around the side of the house to my car and I pop the trunk. I show him the merchandise, and he nods before he turns to me with a grin.
“Excellent. Let’s unload it into the garage.”
I spend the next few minutes unloading the trunk into his garage, stopping to admire the merchandise every so often. When we’re finished, he thanks me with a pat on my back.
“You need anything while you’re in town?” he asks.
I know what he’s asking. Do I need any women or any dope? I shake my head.
“I’m just going to crash at the hotel before I drive back to town. Need me for anything tomorrow before I head back home?”
“Nyet, I’m good. This was what I was waiting on,” he grins as he holds out his hand. I take his in mine and give it a firm shake. “You need anything, contact me and I’ll get it over to you tonight.”
I nod, knowing that for the first time in years, I don’t even want anything or anyone. I take my phone out of my pocket before I sit down in my car and start the engine. I back down Kirill’s steep driveway, then I thumb my phone and look through the ten missed calls from MadDog.
Fucking hell, he must be really concerned that I wouldn’t deliver this shit to Kirill without incident. I drive straight to the hotel before I call him, not wanting to break California’s no phone policy. I’m not even going to give the police an ounce of ammunition to pull my ass over.
Once I’m checked into the hotel and settled in my room, I decide to call MadDog back.
“Where the fuck are you?” he barks without even saying hello.
“I just dropped that shit off to Kirill, and I’m settled in my hotel. What’s up?”
“You need to get back here,” he murmurs.
“I’m leaving in the morning, stopping by my mom’s on the way home. What’s the problem?” I ask.
I feel a sense of dread fill me, and I know something is terribly wrong. Fucking horribly wrong. MadDog has never beat around the bush, ever. I walk over to the window and look at the city, and the cars headlights and taillights that line the freeways as I wait.
“It’s Genny,” he rasps.
“What about her?” I snap.
“You just need to get back here, brother.”
“Pres, it’s an eight-fucking-hour drive. You’re going to have to give me something,” I demand.
I feel my stomach clench when he murmurs, “She’s hurt. She’s in the hospital.”
“What happened?” I ask as I reach down and grab my bag, thankful I hadn’t even opened it.
I run out of the room, heading toward the stairwell as I wait for him to continue. He tells me that he doesn’t know much. Colleen found her and she had a pulse when the ambulance took her away.
The whole club is at the hospital, but he doesn’t know anything. It pisses me off that I’m so far away, and that I wasn’t there to keep her safe.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I choke out.
“Don’t get pulled over,” he warns.
“I won’t,” I confirm as I throw my shit in the back seat before I start my car.
* * *
It’s after six in the morning, my adrenaline keeping me alert enough to drive throughout the entire night. The hospital appears, and it’s as though I can finally take a breath. Like I had been holding my breath for the past eight hours as my focus was on the road, on driving, on my destination and nothing else. MadDog sent me a text telling me what floor they were on so that I don’t have to waste time asking reception.
“Where is she?” I call out breathlessly as I run into the waiting room where I see all of my brothers and most of their Old Ladies.
“Soar,” MadDog calls. I turn to him and see a grim expression set on his face.
I see nothing around me, I’m hyper focused on MadDog and the words he’s about to say to me. “Where is she?” I demand as the room melts away.
My heart pounds in my chest, and I’m vaguely aware that I didn’t even feel a quarter of this when my father was in the hospital dying, but my Imogen? She means more to me than any other person, aside from Kipling, in my life. She can’t leave me, not when I’ve just got her back—got us back.
“We haven’t heard anything,” he admits.
“It’s been eight fucking hours, where is her goddamn doctor?” I shout.
MadDog reaches out for me, but I shrug away from his grasp as I turn to find a hospital staff member. I don’t care if it’s the goddamn janitor. Somebody is going to give me some information on my fucking wife, right this goddamn minute.
I march over to the nurse’s station, where they’re sitting around looking like they’re doing nothing but sticking their thumbs up each other’s asses, and I demand to know the status of my wife.
“If a doctor hasn’t come out yet to discuss your wife’s status, then there’s nothing we can tell you,” one nurse says.
She’s young and she looks like she’s about to shit herself. I’m in a fucking bad mood and I’m worried as shit, so I don’t take her feelings into consideration when I speak.
“I haven’t been here. I just fucking walked in the goddamn door. Now I don’t care who the fuck you have to get down on your knees and blow to get me a status update, but I want it, and I want it right fucking now,” I sneer.
“Soar,” a soft voice says behind me. I ignore it.
“I—uh—I…” she stutters before she bursts into tears.
“Fucking ruthless,” a voice says beside me.
I see Camo, who is giving me a dirty look for acting like an asshole. I ignore him and turn back to the nurse who is crying.
“You aren’t moving,” I snap.
Her body jolts and she whispers that she’ll find a doctor before she runs off.
“I’ll be surprised if security isn’t in here in a few minutes dragging your ass out of here,” Camo says dryly.
“She was brought in here over eight hours ago. I want a goddamn update,” I announce.
“Understandable,” Camo mutters. “Maybe not the best idea to make the staff cry, though, brother.”
I turn away from him, ignoring him completely, and walk back into the waiting area where everybody else is standing. It’s then that I notice the room is quiet.
For as many people that are here, it’s almost completely silent. I run my hand through my hair and drop my head, looking at the ground.
“Sir?” a little voice calls.
I look over to the nurse who is standing by me, ringing her fingers together nervously, her face splotched from crying.
“Yeah, babe?” I ask, my voice softer than it was a few minutes ago.
“The doctor is almost finished with surgery, and he’ll be in here as soon as he’s able,” she says.
I watch as she physically braces herself, but I don’t blow up at her. I softly thank her and she blinks once before she turns and runs away from me.
Ivy walks up beside me before she murmurs, “She’s going to be okay.” I grunt as my answer and continue to stare at the door, waiting. “She’s strong.”
“Stronger than she should be,” I mutter. I can feel her questioning gaze on me. “No need to pretend that I wasn’t a fucking piece of shit to her for years, Ivy. You saw it, everyone saw it. I mean I fucking hit on Cleo before I went down,” I announce before I clench my jaw tightly.
“Soar,” she sighs. “You fucked up, but you’ve changed.”
“Only took me twenty years to fix my shit, and now she’s hurt,
really fucking hurt,” I grind out.
Ivy doesn’t say anything else. The doctor interrupts our conversation by walking into the room, a chart in hand and bloody scrubs on his body. I walk straight up to him and notice that he looks fucking tired. I feel the same goddamn way.
“Family of Imogen Huntington?” he calls.
“I’m her husband, Sloane,” I state as I place my hands on my hips and wait for the heavy news to be thrown my way.
“She sustained some serious injuries. The reason it took so long for me to get out here was that we had to send her out for testing and wait for results. She has some major contusions to her head and her torso. I wanted to check her brain swelling and check her for internal bleeding. In all, she doesn’t have any life-threatening injuries. I want her to stay in the hospital for another forty-eight hours under observation, but I feel pretty confident that she’ll make a complete recovery. Your wife was very lucky,” he states. I don’t miss the way his lip curls, as if I did this to her.
“Can I see her?” I ask.
He nods slowly, and I follow behind him, not bothering to look back at the room full of people who were no doubt listening.
Once the doctor stops outside a room, he turns to face me, all calm and gentleness completely gone from his features. If I was a man who was easily intimidated, I might find him as such.
“You do this to her?” he asks.
“Imogen is my wife. I’d never hurt her,” I state, my gaze never wavering. Surprisingly, neither does his.
“I’ve seen a lot of husbands and wives in here over the years. She didn’t fall down the stairs, she didn’t fall down anything. This woman was beat, and I want to know, plain and simple, if you did it,” he practically growls.
“I’ll tell you again. Imogen has been mine since she was fifteen years old. I’ve done a lot of shit, but physically harming her is something I would never do. Now if you don’t step the fuck aside and let me see my wife, I’m going to move you,” I growl.
The doctor nods and steps to the side, but I can feel his gaze still on me. I could give a single fuck. I open the hospital room door and close it behind me before I look up at Imogen. My breath is stolen from my goddamn body at the sight of her.
She’s hooked up to a bunch of machines, wires draped all over her, but my focus is on her gorgeous face. She doesn’t even look human.
She’s so fucking swollen.
Every single inch of her face is triple its normal size, and I can’t even see her eyes. She’s black, blue, red, purple, and completely unrecognizable.
My feet take me to the side of her bed, and I fall to my knees. I wrap my fingers around hers and press my forehead to the back of her hand. I’m alone, so I don’t try to hold them back, to choke them back or to keep them from coming.
I cry.
My wife, she’s so fucking hurt, so fucking broken, and it’s my fault. It doesn’t matter who did it to her, I wasn’t there to protect her, to help her, or to keep her safe. I’m never fucking there for her, not ever. I’m the biggest piece of shit that’s walked this earth.
The pain in my chest is so excruciating that I find it’s hard to simply breathe. Who the fuck could hurt her like this? Then I lift my head, and it dawns on me.
Graham Bayard.
That cocksucking piece of goddamn shit. It was him. I know it without a doubt. Wiping my face, I take another look at my beautifully broken wife and decide there’s only one thing left to do. I’m going to kill him.
I storm out of her room and into the waiting area to see that MadDog is watching me warily. I walk straight over to him, speaking low so that the entire hospital can’t hear me.
“It was Bayard,” I mutter.
“We don’t know that for sure,” he says. I can tell he feels the same way.
“I need someone to stay with her while I handle this shit,” I announce.
“Soar, you cannot do anything stupid. You’re on probation,” he warns.
“Do I look like I give one single fuck?”
Colleen stands before she calls out, “I’ll stay with her.”
“I’ll stay, too,” Ivy murmurs.
“We’ll all stay. The kids are all together, everything is handled for today,” Mary-Anne mutters.
“You don’t go alone,” MadDog states.
“I could give a rat’s ass who goes with me. But I’m driving down to Frisco today, now,” I announce before I turn and walk away.
I storm down to my car, firing up my engine before I speed off. I don’t bother even attempting to go inside of my house. I don’t want to see the aftermath of how Imogen ended up the way she did. I have one focus, and one focus only, Graham Bayard bleeding and fucking dead.
Chapter Twenty
SOAR
We pull up to Graham’s fancy as fuck place in Parker Heights, an all brick mansion on a corner. No doubt, costing more than ninety percent of the population could earn in their lifetime.
The outside looks simple, albeit large. I have no doubt that the inside is impeccable and ostentatious. No way would it have the homey feel of Imogen’s Frisco house.
“What’s the plan?” Camo asks as I swing my leg over my bike.
“No plan. I’m killing the fuck,” I shrug as I walk toward the front door.
“Soar, you need to get your shit under control,” MadDog barks.
“I’m perfectly calm,” I lie.
Ringing Graham’s doorbell, I wait in full view of his peephole so that he can see me and shit himself. The door opens slowly, and I’m surprised to see that he actually answers and not some staff member of his. He looks me up and down and grins.
“Sloane, how good of you to show. Make sure you wave to my cameras,” he grins.
I growl. I should have known and anticipated that he would have his place monitored. I should have known because my father had the same shit at his place.
“You hurt my wife?” I ask bluntly.
“Why would I hurt Imogen? We’re to be married,” he says. I hear Camo snort behind me.
“Imogen wouldn’t marry you if I were dead, man, and you fucking know it,” I say.
“I couldn’t even see her give this pencil dick the time of day,” Camo says. If I turned to look at him, he’d probably be shrugging.
“Tell your minions to shut the fuck up, Sloane,” Graham growls.
“You do have a pencil dick,” I chuckle. “I remember seeing that shit in the locker room in high school. We all felt sorry for you.”
I watch as his face turns red. He’s so fucking easy to rile up. “Shut the fuck up,” he shouts.
“You’re clear, brother,” MadDog rumbles.
That’s when I know that he’s called Oliver, the tech guy who works for the Russian’s, to cut and manipulate Graham’s cameras.
I lift my chin and force my way inside of his house, my brothers at my back.
“You can’t come in here,” he cries just as I hear the door close.
“Did you hurt Imogen?” I ask again as I take a knife out of its holster at my belt.
“The fucking tease played me and went back to you,” he shouts. “I had her and her family’s money in the palm of my hand. I was going to strip her of everything, leave her a pile of worthless nothing, and you fucked it all up, once again,” he says as he actually stomps his foot like the child he is. “Her dad was still going to give it to me, then all of a sudden he decided not to. Such bullshit.”
I can feel the air in the room crackle as my brothers hear Graham’s plans, of stealing Genny’s money and leaving her broken and alone, come to light.
Texas, MadDog, Camo, and Torch slowly circle around him, but they don’t get too close; just close enough that if he tries to run, like the pussy he is, they’ll be able to stop him.
“You’re done, Bayard,” I announce, pointing my knife in his direction.
“What are you going to do, shank me? Something you picked up in prison?” he laughs. I can tell that he’s scared.
I sh
ake my head as I close the distance between us. To his credit, he stands firm, even though his eyes are darting from side to side.
“I did kill a man in prison, how’d you know?” I ask.
I reach out and drag the tip of my knife from the hollow of his throat to his belly button. He sucks in a breath, and I almost laugh at what a pussy he really is.
“Stop bullshitting me, Sloane. What do you want?” he asks, his voice trembling. “How much?”
“Your life,” I shrug. “You think you can hit my woman, then beat her half to death, and that I’ll just let that go?”
“Like you give a fuck about her. She told me how much you fucked around on her. You don’t really give a shit,” he states.
I shrug, though inside I fucking hate how much he knows about my relationship with Imogen.
Wrapping my hand around his shoulder I shove my knife into his belly. The fuck has really let himself get soft over the years. Then I lean forward and whisper into his ear.
“I love Genny. I’ve loved her since she was fifteen years old. She’s mine. She’s always been mine, and she’ll always be mine,” I murmur. “You touched what was mine, and now you fucking pay,” I state as I twist the knife in his soft gut. I yank it up his body until it hits the bone of his ribcage.
“Think he’s dead, brother,” Torch murmurs.
I take a step back, noticing all the blood mixed with some guts, and shrug. “He didn’t suffer enough.”
“Nope,” MadDog states.
“We can’t set this place on fire. How are we going to get rid of him, and all the blood, in broad daylight?” Camo asks.
“Anybody touch anything?” I ask, looking around. They all shake their heads.
“I have contacts in SFPD. You all head out the back. I’ll call my guy,” I state.
“How the fuck do you have contacts here?” Camo asks.
“You aren’t a bad society boy, with rich as fuck parents, without having some cops and judges in your back pocket, brother. My father didn’t want his name in the papers because I’d shamed him. I also assume he had about a million skeletons in his own closet to cover up throughout the years. I’ll meet you guys back at the clubhouse,” I call out as I wipe down the handle of my knife and throw it next to Graham’s bloody body.
The Notorious Devils MC: Complete Collection BoxSet Page 161
