by Krane, Kasey
“What’s this ‘we’ business??” Bishop shouted, his volume increasing at my explanation, not decreasing. Dammit. “Carmen is nothing but trouble for you. She’s the one who left you after high school. She’s the one who broke your goddamn heart. Do you remember the drinking bouts? Do you remember the endless string of women in an attempt to forget her? Do you expect me to pick up the pieces after she leaves you again?”
“I can’t worry about that right now. Her life is on the line,” I said stubbornly. I knew, in some back, dusty corner of my mind that Bishop was right. That the last time Carmen had walked out of my life had almost killed me. But…
Bishop wasn’t here, looking at her. Bishop didn’t know how much Carmen needed me to protect her. He didn’t understand.
“She’s not our problem,” Bishop argued. “We did the right thing. We didn’t sell the guns to the Sangre. I was even willing to go after the little girls to try to save them. But Carmen is nothing but trouble. I was there, brother. I was there when she left the first time. I don’t think you can survive a second time.”
“We have to,” I insisted. “We helped create this mess - we need to fix it.” I couldn’t remember the last time I’d argued with Bishop. I couldn’t remember the last time we weren’t in perfect agreement. My stomach muscles clenched in panic - Bishop has to understand…
Bishop heaved a giant sigh, and I could see him in my mind - jaw clenched tight, running his hand through his hair, next step - a fist through the wall.
“Fine,” Bishop spit out. “Watch her overnight and then we can go to the police tomorrow and talk to them about doing their goddamned job.”
“Fine!” I spat out in return. “I’ll call you in the morning.”
I stalked back into the hospital room but as soon as my eyes fell on Carmen, my heart rate slowed down, and I felt a sort of peace wash over me. I closed the door behind me gently, and then I took a seat next to her hospital bed so I could hold her hand. Grip her hand and never let go, if I was being honest with myself.
The Williams and the Michaelson families had been friends and work associates for almost a century. Both families had moved to Deming in the late 1800s to stake a claim in the mining country and make their fortune. Over the years, both families had diversified into other industries, and both had managed to keep their fortune, which was nothing short of a bloody miracle in some ways.
But Carmen and I were also the first match between the two families, which was truly nothing short of a bloody miracle.
My parents, the high and mighty Michaelson socialites of the county, had been so goddamn happy and proud when I’d officially asked Carmen out. For obvious reasons, I’d skipped telling them about our drunken encounter at Adam’s failed second attempt at matrimonial bliss. Here, finally, was a match between our two prestigious families, which was all my parents needed to know.
Despite the fact that my family wanted this match (and God only knows, I often chose to do something simply because it wasn’t something they wanted me to do), I’d fallen truly and totally in love with Carmen Williams. My parents had been thrilled, and her dad had been thrilled. Carmen and I had been thrilled. Everyone was thrilled…until they weren’t.
Until Carmen wanted to leave after high school and attend a university far away from Deming. Until I had wanted to stay right there and patch into the Dead Legion and never leave my hometown. Until my parents realized that their dreams of me becoming a businessman and continuing their tradition of “Making shit tons of money just so they could claim they made shit tons of money” wasn’t going to happen. They had wanted me to leave Deming and get a business degree and then come back. I wasn’t just supposed to stay. I wasn’t just supposed to become a motorcycle gang member.
As I sat and stroked Carmen’s hand, watching her luscious pink lips move with every breath she exhaled, I confronted the reality once again that I’d given up so goddamn much for this club. And once again, it was going to come between Carmen and me. If she ever found out the truth about the Dead Legion being involved in any way with this kidnapping, even if we’d backed out in the end, she’d never forgive me. The MC was already the reason why I hadn’t left Deming in the first place and we’d broken up. And that was before we went illegal. Carmen had always been the upright one - the one who believed in a better world than really existed. She was so goddamn naïve sometimes.
And look at where that got her - in a hospital bed with a head wound. I have to protect her from this world and its shit.
I closed my eyes and settled back into my chair, still clinging to her hand. Carmen, laughing. Smiling up at him as if he held the keys to all of the happiness in all of the world. A look that said, “I trust you. I want you. I love you.”
My breath became even and deep as I settled into sleep, still holding on, as I joined her in dreamland.
* * *
I awoke at 3 a.m. and stirred, with a serious crick in my neck from sleeping in the chair. I moved her hand onto her body, placing it gently onto her chest, and then stood and stretched. My neck popped and I sighed happily. That’s better. I gazed down at Carmen for a moment, my mind fuzzy with sleep and pure happiness.
After all these years, I can’t believe she’s here. The years had matured her, no longer the leggy high school senior she’d once been. She was, in my estimation, even more gorgeous. Her dark brown hair was splayed out over the pillow, large curls sticking out with abandon. I couldn't see the startling blue-green shade of her eyes, of course, but I knew them well. They changed to match her mood, or her clothes, or the lighting, and their brilliance made them unforgettable.
My eyes drifted down her body, covered by the hospital blanket, but I could still imagine her strong tanned legs, impossibly long, perfect to wrap themselves around my waist. At 6’3”, it was hard to find a woman who I didn’t dwarf, but Carmen was perfect there too. At 5’10”, she towered over most women, especially when she wore heels that made her impossibly long legs even longer.
But she was perfect for me. She always had been.
With a deep sigh, I rolled my neck side to side, trying to relieve the tension in my shoulders, and decided to go for a stroll through the hospital. Maybe walking around for a bit would help clear my mind and I could figure out what to do with my Carmen.
I walked out into the hallway, pulling the doorway shut behind me quietly, when I saw him.
Oh fucking fuck.
One quick glance took it all in - the ill-fitting tan scrubs. The tats covering his arms. His scuffed black boots. And the Sangre tat on his neck that was part of the patching process for that club.
Without a moment’s hesitation, I pulled my Desert Eagle from the small of my back and steadied it in front of me. “Don’t. Move,” I hissed, and the Sangre froze, his hand on the door knob of the hospital room next door to Carmen’s, about to walk in, looking for Carmen.
I had spied him first which gave me the advantage, but I had to be careful. “Turn slowly towards me,” I said in a low voice, and the Sangre turned towards me, syringe in his right hand, pointing at the ceiling.
“Drop the syringe and kick it towards me,” I demanded, and the Sangre’s eyes darted from side to side, clearly trying to decide whether he could escape or not. “Don’t test me,” I warned, and the Sangre dropped the syringe to the floor where it clattered loudly. I winced from the sound. Goddamn asshole!
Keeping my piece trained on the Sangre, I walked forward and kicked the syringe behind me, further down the hallway. Away from the piece of shit who wanted to kill my Carmen. Keeping the gun in my right hand, I felt around behind me until I could find the door handle and pull down. The sign next to the door had stated “Supply Closet,” which seemed like as good of a place as any to store an unwanted Sangre. Who knew when a hospital employee might need a worthless goddamn son-of-a-bitch bastard, right?
The door swung open silently behind me and I stepped to the side, out of the way, back into the hallway. “Walk forward slowly. Hands in the air. An
y sudden moves and I shoot your pathetic black heart out.” The Sangre gave one jerk of the head to show his acknowledgement and then walked forward, past me, and into the closet. I shoved the gun against the man’s skull and he stiffened.
“You’re part of the Sangre motorcycle club, right?” The man hesitated for a moment and then gave an abrupt nod. “You’re here to kill Carmen Williams?” The Sangre didn’t respond, and I realized that he probably had no idea who Carmen was. “You’re here to kill the schoolteacher who lived?” I asked, amending my question. This time, the Sangre nodded reluctantly, after I had shoved the gun a little harder into his skull to give him a little incentive, of course.
I looked around the closet. Goddamn motherfuckers, I couldn’t shoot a gun in a hospital. I don’t care what the movies portray - pillows don’t do a goddamn thing to muffle the sound. I’d have the police and the nurses and half the free world breathing down my neck in roughly 1.5 seconds if I were to try that stunt.
Finally, my eyes settled on a shelf of bandages and a smile spread across my face. With a sharp jerk of my arm, I brought the butt of the gun down onto the Sangre’s skull and the asshole crumpled to the ground. I tucked the handgun back into my waistband and then began grabbing boxes of long white bandages off the shelf. Exactly the kind of bandage that Carmen currently had wrapped around her head because of these assholes. It was a poetic kind of justice, really.
Minutes later, I stood back to admire my handiwork. The unconscious Sangre had the stretchy white bandages wrapped around his wrists, knees, and ankles, and quite a few more wrapped around his head. Like Carmen’s, but lower. More in, say, the mouth region. I’d stuffed some gauze in the guy’s mouth before beginning the wrapping project, and I was fairly damn sure that when this man woke up, he’d regret his choice to be a Sangre. Or to be alive, for that matter.
I dragged the thug over to the corner, pulling dirty laundry out of the way, shoved him into a ball, and piled the dirty laundry back on top of him. Perfect. No one would discover him for a while, at least not until Carmen and I were long gone.
I grabbed boxes of bandages and gauze, and then left the supply closet, closing the door behind me quietly. No reason to wake up the bastard before I had to. The longer that guy stayed quiet and still in the corner, the better. I picked up the syringe from the hallway floor and then, juggling the items, managed to open Carmen’s door. I dumped my armload into her giant purse - some things never change - and then pulled out my phone. 3:32 a.m. Bishop was going to appreciate a phone call at this time of night like he’d appreciate a Sangre showing up on his front doorstep, but I didn’t really care. Couldn’t really care. I had to protect Carmen.
I slipped my phone back into my pocket and then reached over and shook Carmen’s shoulder. “Hey darlin’,” I said softly as her eyes fluttered open. She looked at me through bleary eyes and I felt a stab of pain go through me. Goddammit, the very last thing I wanted to do right now was wake her up. She deserved to sleep. She needed to sleep.
“I’m sorry to do this to you, but we gotta go.” My whisper took on an urgent edge and her eyes focused a little more, questioning.
“What—” she croaked and licked her lips. Her eyes flitted around the room and I straightened up, looking around too. I found a glass with a straw and a little water at the bottom on a table in the corner.
“Here you go,” I said, and cradled her against me as she sucked the water down. I felt her soft body against me and swallowed hard. Only a pervert would be thinking about her curves at a moment like this, but my dick didn’t seem to mind that title.
“What’s going on?” she finally said as she lifted her head from the straw. “What…what time is it?” Her voice was rough with sleep and deep exhaustion, and I fought down the feeling of guilt that I’d been the cause of all of this. If the Dead Legion hadn’t agreed to sell the guns to the Sangre, they wouldn’t have dared to kidnap the Catholic schoolgirls, and Carmen wouldn’t have been shot. It was all my fault - I hadn’t stood up and fought Ghost when I should have.
I would never forgive myself, and she wouldn’t either. If she found out.
“It’s about 3:30 in the morning, but…the Sangre are looking for you. They sent a guy into the hospital with a syringe. I don’t know what’s in the syringe but I’m pretty sure that it wasn’t a vitamin shot.”
Dead silence. Not a breath, not a movement.
“WWWWhhhhattttttt?!?!” she shrieked. I clamped my hand down over her mouth, afraid a nurse would come busting in at any moment. She licked the palm of my hand and I jerked it away in surprise. She was glaring at me.
Yup, she was fully awake.
“Listen, buster, you can’t come marching in here at three o’clock in the morning and tell me that someone is out to kill me, and expect me to be quiet about it.” She appeared to be getting angrier by the moment, instead of calming down. I grabbed my thighs to curb my impulse to put my hand across her mouth again. Somehow, I didn’t think that would go over so well.
“I can damn well get mad if I damn well want to!” she ended in a half-shout and then crossed her arms across her chest and glared at me.
Well, she tried to cross her arms across her chest, but the IV tubes hooked to the back of her hand got tangled up and she had to unwrap them before she could complete the maneuver, and by time she finished, all of her anger had dissipated, replaced by panic. She looked up at him with desperation in her eyes.
“Really? The Sangre were here?” she finally asked in a small voice.
“Yes. And Carmen, you can yell at me all you want later, I promise, but right now I’m worried that another one is going to come waltzing along, looking for his buddy. We don’t have time for you to tell me which way is up, but if we make it out of here alive, I promise I’ll let you then.”
She looked at me suspiciously for a moment. “For as long as I want?”
“Yup, you can yell at me as long as you want,” I said in a mock solemn voice and then added a crisscross over my chest for extra emphasis. I felt like I was 10 years old all over again, but it worked.
“Well, let’s get this party started then,” she said in a strangely cheerful voice, and swung her legs out of the bed. I wondered if her mood swings were something that developed after we’d graduated from high school, or if it was being shot in the head that did it to her.
Either way, I figured this was another observation I should probably keep to myself.
She held her hand out towards me and I went to help pull her up off the bed when she instead closed her eyes and turned her head away. “Pull it out straight and don’t monkey with it,” she said, squeezing her eyes shut.
Oh.
Oh fuck.
When I’d been contemplating our escape plan (which, admittedly, I’d only spent about 10 seconds doing), I hadn’t thought about disconnecting her from the various machines hospitals liked to connect their patients to, specifically her IV. Blood and gore didn’t bother me, but suddenly, the idea of hurting my Carmen terrified me.
She sighed impatiently, her eyes still squeezed shut. “If I heard you right, there’s a time factor involved here,” she said drily.
“Right!” I said, and cleared my throat. I took her hand in mine and pulled off the tape securing the IV in place, and then slowly pulled the needle out, keeping it as straight as possible during the withdrawal process.
Once the end of the needle cleared her skin, her eyes popped back open. “All right, let’s bust this joint.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. Some things never changed. Always up for an adventure, always excited to take on the world - that was my Carmen. She grinned up at me and for a moment, we just stared at each other, lost.
Yup, some things never change.
And then, she stood up and headed for the bathroom, which was in the opposite direction of the door we needed to be walking out of Right Now.
“Carmen, where are you going?!” I whisper-yelled, afraid to holler like I wanted to and attract attenti
on to us, but seriously, what the fuck!
“I have to change,” she said, closing the door behind her. “You don’t think I’m going to wander around El Paso in a hospital gown, do you?”
I closed my eyes in frustration and groaned. As much as I hated to admit that she was right, she was goddamn right.
Not that I was going to tell her that, of course. It might go to her head or something.
“At least hurry!” I hissed, and then went to gather up her giant purse and all of her get-well cards sitting on every available flat surface in the room. I skipped on the flower bouquets, even the daisies I’d bought. I’d buy her a hundred more bouquets if we just made it out of this alive.
Finally, she was opening up the bathroom door, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, tennis-shoes on her feet.
“Where’d you get the street clothes?” I asked her as we began hobbling down the hallway together. Slower than I wanted, but it was at least forward motion.
“They didn’t know when I’d be released from the hospital, so Dad brought clothes in just in case. He didn’t want to have to drive back to Deming to get clothes for me if the hospital decided to release me early.”
Carmen was walking, but not fast enough for my liking, so, ignoring her shouts of protest, I swung her up into my arms and started striding down the hallway and then into the stairwell leading to the ground floor.
At least this time she’s awake enough to be impressed.
Far from being impressed with my ability to carry her without getting short of breath, she instead began slapping my arm, demanding that I put her down.
Ignoring her, I pushed out of the glass door and into the cool night air.
It was time to go home.
