Thankfully, my dick was indeed still there. Unfortunately, there was a fucking catheter shoved up it.
“Christ.” I grabbed the tube with the intent of pulling it out, but before I could do anything, the door opened and a different Demon Runner came in shoving a sandwich in his mouth. Bits of the lettuce and God knew what else were falling out of his mouth and from the sandwich all down the front of his cut and to the floor.
When he saw me sitting up, his eyes went huge. “Trigger! He’s awake!” More food flew out of his mouth as he shouted with his mouth crammed full. My lip curled at his disgusting lack of decorum or respect for his cut. Piece of shit Demon Fucker.
Rapid footsteps approached, and the chick’s possible brother and a giant of a ginger that I hadn’t seen before stepped in. “Have a nice sleep?” The guy from before grinned, revealing a broken front tooth.
The ginger made a phone call as he warily watched me. Like I could do anything.
“He’s up. Come and get him the fuck out of our clubhouse. Our part of the deal is done.” Vaguely, I heard a man’s voice on the other end talking. “You’re fucking crazy. We fixed him up and kept him here just like we said we would. Viper said you either get him when he wakes up or he’s coming down here and finishing what you started without you.”
The ginger ended the call, but before he could say anything, the woman shoved around him. This time she was in pale blue scrubs. “What are you doing? Lie down! You shouldn’t be up!”
Her eyes worriedly traced the bed where I’d been lying, then I watched as relief registered in them. Still she came forward and helped me lie back. I didn’t like it, because it left me feeling more vulnerable than I already was. Then again, I was so weak it wasn’t like it mattered.
She’d obviously seen my intent where I’d been holding the tube coming from my junk, because she pulled her lips in her mouth. “Umm, trust me when I say you don’t want to do that. Now that you’re awake and moving, I’ll take that out and get you a urinal.”
“What are you getting so worked up for? It’s not like it’s gonna matter soon.” The ginger chuckled as he stared at her ass.
Ignoring him, she tucked the sheet around my waist.
“I need to change this dressing and take care of my patient. Get out, Roja.”
The ginger called Roja grunted then narrowed his eyes. “Don’t tell me what to do, bitch.”
“Hey! That’s my sister you’re talking to. Watch your fucking mouth!” the guy from before shouted. That answered that, she was his sister. So he could talk to her like shit but no one else could.
Fucking idiot.
The pig of a member stepped out, eating the last of his sandwich. Roja followed him, grumbling as he shoulder-checked the doc’s brother as he went by.
“Trigger, I need supplies from the cabinet. I don’t have keys. Remember? And grab a urinal from the last cabinet.” She stood with her hands on her hips. Okay, the brother’s road name was Trigger. I hadn’t been able to read it on his cut before.
After digging a ring of keys from his pocket, he proceeded to rummage through the cabinets. One by one, he dug through shit then locked them again.
“We ain’t got no more of them padded things,” he finally said as he tossed her a plastic urinal.
She sighed as she caught it and set it on the stretcher next to me. “The bleeding looks like it’s stopped. They may not need to be covered anymore, but could you please see if there are some in the storage room?”
Grumbling about it being a waste, he stomped out of the room.
“Look, he’ll be back soon. I try not to get involved in their shit. I do what I have to in order to keep them out of my life. But I can’t save your life only to let them do whatever they’re going to do. I can’t call the cops, though, so please don’t ask,” she whispered frantically.
“Then listen to me.” I stared into her worried eyes. “You got a phone?”
She shook her head. “They take it from me before I come in.”
“Can you remember a number?” Goddamn, the right side of my chest hurt.
She nodded, and I rattled off Snow’s most recent burner number and the clubhouse number, because I didn’t know Smoke’s number by heart. “You tell them the Demon Runners have me. Tell them wherever the fuck I am. If you hear any more, let him know. Can you do that?”
She nodded.
“There were two other guys with me. Are they here?” Her confused look was my answer.
“Only you that I know of.”
“A woman and kid?”
She shook her head.
My eyes closed, unsure of if that was good or bad news.
“Thank you for the scalpel. Not sure what good it will do. Where am I, anyway?” None of the Demon Runners I’d seen looked familiar, and I only saw the Kansas bottom rocker on their cuts as they’d walked away.
“Wichita,” she whispered.
“What did you do to me?” I needed to know how bad the damage had been.
“Not much, honestly. Mostly stitched you up. You had a mild flesh wound to your arm, as I’m sure you can feel, but the shot to the back….” She huffed out a breath. “You were lucky as hell it was through and through. I can only assume most of it because I had limited equipment. I’m pretty sure it missed your scapula, but barely. Then it exited along your fourth and fifth ribs. Missed your lung and anything vital from what I could tell. Without opening you up or having an X-ray, I’m not one hundred percent sure. You could have some rib fragments in there if it nicked them. I sewed the chest wound up as best I could, but if I had to guess, it’s going to scar pretty bad. I just took the stitches out, but the chest wound still has some open areas I couldn’t stitch that are draining. They’ll heal but it will take time. Exit wounds can be a bitch.”
“I could give a fuck. Just please tell me these underwear were clean.”
She pointed to the waistband of the underwear in question as she tried not to smile. “I’m going to lower the front of the underwear I took out of the package so I can take this catheter out now. Okay?”
I nodded, and she said, “Take a deep breath and let it out slow.”
I nodded again and she slid it out.
“Motherfucker!” That was a feeling I didn’t ever care to experience again. Saying it slid out is being nice. Really fucking nice.
She tossed everything in a trash can. “You’ll need to pee within about four hours.”
Footsteps approached. “Make that call. You remember the number?” I groaned.
She nodded.
I closed my eyes, feigning sleep.
“What did you give him?” Trigger’s voice rang out.
“Nothing. I removed the catheter, then was checking his wound, and I think he passed out. I’m guessing it’s still very painful.”
“Pussy,” the guy muttered, and I wished for my usual strength because I’d have jumped up and beat the fuck out of him. I’d show him who the pussy was. I’d choke him out with the piss tube that had been up my dick.
She quickly and quietly applied the dressing to my chest. “The back wound doesn’t require changing. It healed up pretty good and I took the stitches out. I’ll come back tomorrow and change the chest one.”
“Don’t bother. He won’t be here. He’ll be collected by then.” The asshole gave a snort.
“Collected? Are his family members on the way then?” She was trying to sound like I was simply a friend of theirs when he had to know she knew different.
“Ain’t no family coming for him, but don’t you worry about it. He has information someone wants, and let’s say he has a debt that needs to be paid. He’s gonna wish you hadn’t saved him.” His laughter was sick and twisted.
“Trigger! What is wrong with you? How could you have me work so hard to save him if you’re just going to let someone hurt him?” Disgust filled her voice.
“Don’t you worry about it, I said. Go on. Get out of here. Tell Ma I’ll be there Sunday for supper.”
&n
bsp; I heard her snarl under her breath.
“Whatever.”
I sensed she had left the room, then I sensed her brother standing next to me. “I don’t know how you pissed Viper and that Italian guy off so bad, but damn, I almost feel sorry for you.” A menacing chuckle followed him as the door closed.
Shit.
“I Don’t Belong Here”—I Prevail
I still couldn’t believe we’d made it safely to Texas. For the last week and a half, Presley and I had been staying at what seemed to be a junkyard. At least that’s what it looked like from the highway. What I’d learned was that it was the Demented Sons’ clubhouse, which meant it was kind of like their home base.
Behind the rows and rows of pick-and-pull cars was a big metal shop. Behind that was what appeared to be another bigger shop but was more like a house. It had a big open room up front with a bar, tables, and some bathrooms, then in the back were several bedrooms.
“Pwincess Waiven? When my daddy gonna be hewe?” A frown marred Presley’s pretty little face, and her fists were propped on her tutu’d hips. She stood in the doorway as I wiped the blood and excess ink from my work in progress with a gloved hand.
With a sigh, I blinked away tears. Looking up at Smoke for help, I shut off my machine.
“Hey, little Elvis. Your daddy is still working. Where is Mattie? Isn’t she supposed to be watching you?” Smoke asked her. The guys had all taken to calling her little Elvis like Gunny did.
“Hers sweeping. I wanna caww him,” the little munchkin demanded.
“Sweeping? What the hell is she sweeping?” His brows dropped, and a crease developed between his eyes.
“No, Unka Smoke. Hers swwweeeeping. On da couch.” Her little blue eyes rolled in frustration at what she saw as his lack of intelligence.
Despite my earlier emotional response, I had to laugh at her.
“I’ll be back,” he announced, then stood and left the room. I set my equipment on the small work table and stretched my back. I’d started doing tattoos at the clubhouse out of boredom. The guys had supplied me with everything I’d requested and cleaned out a small storage room for me to use. I’d had no shortage of members wanting new shit when they saw my past work on my social media.
Peeling off the gloves, I slid the small table safely out of the way and sat sideways on the chair. I held out my hands to the sweet little girl.
“Come here, sweetheart.”
Bottom lip stuck out, she dropped her arms and shuffled over to me. I lifted her into my lap, reveling in the way her hair smelled like the detangler I’d used on it that morning and sunshine. When she rested her head on my shoulder, my heart lurched.
“Daddy will call you as soon as he can. I know he loves you and he wouldn’t want you to worry about him, so he must be very busy.” Hugging her close, I fought the tears that hit me at random times throughout the day. There had been no word regarding Matlock, and I was beginning to give up hope.
Her small arms wrapped around my middle, and my stomach flipped. The past week had brought us very close. Something I never thought I’d have in my life. Especially with someone else’s kid.
In fact, if I had to put a name to my feelings, I’d almost be willing to say I loved her.
“I miss him vewy much. What if he went to heaven like my mommy?”
I froze. I’d completely forgotten that Matlock had told me that Presley’s mom had died, for fuck sake! Then I realized the poor thing might have lost both of her parents before she was even three years old. It made my depression at missing and worrying over her dad seem insignificant in comparison.
It also made me realize something. If it turned out Matlock hadn’t made it, Gunny would probably take her back to Iowa. The thought was so painful, it was suddenly hard to breathe.
Jesus.
Before I could answer, Smoke filled the doorway with his teenage daughter in tow. Looking properly chastised, she stood slightly behind her dad.
“Hey, Presley. Did you still want to go paint pictures?” the young girl said to the little one in my arms.
Presley’s head popped up from my shoulder, and I missed it immediately.
“Wiff da big gewl paints?” Excitement shimmered in her words and the tense expectancy of her small frame.
“Of course!” Mattie smiled at Presley.
“Yay! I’m gonna paint my daddy a picture!” She jumped down and grabbed Mattie’s hand. The two of them chattered all the way down the hall. I choked on my tongue at her happy exclamation. I barely heard Smoke talking.
“Sorry about that. She stayed up all night watching damn movies. Teenagers.” He rolled his eyes and settled back into the chair.
“It’s okay. I’m almost done.” I quietly pulled on new gloves and got my machine going again.
The only sound in the room was the buzzing of the machine as I finished the last of the tattoo on the president’s shoulder. Surprisingly, he had very few tattoos for a biker.
I was finishing up and letting him look in the mirror when Styx and Gunny came to the door.
“Prez, need you now.” The seriousness in Styx’s tone and the somber expression on Gunny’s face left my stomach bottoming out.
“Thanks, Raiven. It looks great. I’ll settle up with you when I’m done.” I dumbly nodded.
He barely gave me the time to coat it and get the plastic seal on before he rushed down the hall, pulling his shirt on as he went. Styx gave me an empathetic look and was then on Smoke’s heels. Gunny remained in the hallway, shuffling from one foot to the next.
“Gunny?” My voice quavered.
He shot a glance over his shoulder before stepping into the room and closing the door. Nausea grew as he scrubbed his face with both hands. I barely knew Matlock; I had no rational explanation for why his safety meant so much to me. Other than that I’d come to care immensely for his daughter and he’d likely saved our lives.
Regardless of why, I couldn’t quit thinking about him, worrying about him, and insanely enough, missing him.
“Gunny, what is it? You’re scaring me.” Since he’d arrived here in Texas three days after I did with a skinned-up Soap and their wrecked bikes in tow, I’d asked about Matlock every day. Hollywood, Joker, and Hacker had arrived the same day with my aunt and uncle. Other than Joker and me bouncing ideas off each other since I’d found out he owned a studio in Iowa, no one had much to say.
“Snow got a phone call. Some chick who said the Demon Runners had Lock in Wichita.”
Hope blossomed in my chest. “So he’s alive? Is he okay?”
I had no idea who these Demon Runners were other than that they had been the ones asking for me in Omaha.
His Adam’s apple jumped as he swallowed hard. “I’m not sure. It sounds like he was, but I didn’t get the details. He wanted to talk to Smoke about it first.”
“Oh.” I wasn’t sure how to take that. I didn’t like the emphasis he’d put on “was.” The little tendril of hope that had begun to unfurl slowly began to wither. “How is Soap feeling today?”
“Still whining about being stiff and itching under his cast.” He gave me an indulgent tip of his lips.
I returned it with what I knew was a sad imitation of a smile. I’d been so glad to see Soap had been relatively okay and walked away from being hit by Stefano with only a broken leg and a lot of road rash. I’d overheard them say they reported it as a hit-and-run.
“He’s going to be okay. I feel it in my guts.” He ran a hand through his hair.
“Well, if he’s able to bitch about itching and all, I’m sure he’ll be fine.” I gave a small quirk of my lips.
“No, I mean Lock.” He spoke softly as he studied his hands.
Clutching his hands in mine, I crouched down next to where he’d sat in my chair. “I believe it too. I have to.”
He looked up at me with a strange and questioning expression.
“What?” I asked.
Eyes slightly narrowed, he studied me. Then he gave a short shake
of his head. “Nothing.”
I heard a thump-click-thump-click repeating down the hall and I knew it was Soap hobbling along on his crutches. He’d taken to visiting with me in the afternoons, and we’d started the artwork for a leg piece for him. We wouldn’t be able to do it until after his cast was off, but he still came by each day.
The door swung open, and at Soap’s surprised, “Oh!” I looked over my shoulder at him. He was staring at where I was holding Gunny’s hands. It dawned on me that he was misinterpreting the situation. I gave Gunny a fortifying squeeze, then stood.
“Hey Soap, how’s that leg today?” I gave him a soft smile. He was a sweet guy, but he wasn’t really my type. It seemed my type was the dark blond, broody type, with little girls in tow.
It was too bad, because Soap was a great person and good-looking. So was Gunny, but they didn’t stir anything in me other than familial feelings.
“It sucks. That’s how it is. If I see that fucker again, I think I’ll break both his legs to get even,” he grumbled.
Gunny heaved himself from the chair. “I’m going to see if Smoke is off the phone.” He pressed a brotherly kiss to the side of my head. I nodded because I could barely swallow around the lump in my throat, let alone get words out.
Soap dropped unceremoniously into my chair, and his crutches clattered to the floor. He didn’t say anything as I cleaned up my mess, so I thought he’d dozed off.
When I dropped the last of my soiled items in the trash, I jumped to find his bright eyes following my every move. “Jesus, Soap, you scared the shit out of me. I thought you were sleeping.”
He shook his head. I could tell he was weighing his words.
“Raiven?”
“Yeah, Soap?” I leaned against the chipped counter and crossed my arms and ankles.
“You and Gunny? You, uh, I mean… well, are you two sort of a….”
“Spit it out, Soap. We’re adults here. If you have something to say, just say it.”
Huffing out a heavy breath, he rushed, “You two a thing now?”
“How did I know you were going to ask that?” I rolled my eyes but tried to soften my tone. “Look, Soap, nothing is going on with me and Gunny, but I’m not in a position to be involved with anyone. My life is in limbo until Stefano shows his face again and I can get him to promise to leave me alone.”
Lock and Load: A Demented Sons MC Texas Novel Page 11
