by K. S. Ellis
There are Wild Hawks cuts everywhere at the hospital, and Tammy-Lynn has a death grip on my wrist as she rushes us along the corridors, like she knows exactly where we are going. We approach the private rooms, in the wing where I stayed for the two weeks I was here, and I'm pretty sure I haven't taken a breath in about ten minutes. I can hear yelling, like, raging screams. Tammy-Lynn shoves a door open and drags me through, and as the door slams shut behind us, I sag in relief.
Aric is here, and he's absolutely fine. Well, he's not hurt. His face is a mixture of rage and sorrow, and he's sitting on Killer, whose face is a hard plane of pain as he screams and yells as he fights against Aric's weight. Bruiser is standing over them, and from what I can gather, he's the one Killer is cursing out at the top of his lungs. Strafe is sitting on the bed in the middle of the room, his legs dangling over the side. His shirt is off, and he has a bandage wrapped around his middle, and he's wincing as he listens to Killer's tirade. Tammy-Lynn has approached Strafe, and she's tenderly touching his bandage, and then his cheek, tears streaming down her face. Aric's eyes meet mine, and I can see the pain in them, and time feels like it's slowing down as Killer's expletive-laden words sink into my brain at the same time I notice Conrad's conspicuous absence.
Chapter 33
ARIC
After what feels like for-fucking-ever, the doc finally comes in and sticks a fucking needle in Killer's arm. Whatever it is, he's knocked the fuck out in about five minutes. Just before he goes under, Dad walks in, briefly patting Lena on the back as she stands next to the door, pale-faced and wide-eyed, hands pressed to her mouth. I can see the tears in her eyes, threatening to spill over. When Killer goes limp, I sigh and get to my feet. Bruiser grabs his shoulders, while I grab his feet and we heft him onto the hospital bed that Strafe has just vacated. Mom helps the kid sit in the armchair beside the bed, the doc quickly checking his bandage before he slips his shirt back over his head.
'What the fuck happened?' Dad asks, rounding on Strafe.
'We were riding security on the guns shipment,' he says, his eyes flickering around the room, looking everywhere but at Dad, or the bed where Killer is lying. 'Then out of fucking nowhere the feds pull a fucking road blockade.' He winches, pressing his hand to the gunshot wound he's just had fucking stitched up. 'They fucking opened fire and Goose went straight down. We took cover and fucking Dorian came out guns blazing. Fucking idiot. Lucky ordered that we fucking get the hell out of there, and then he took a shot to the face. Conrad,' Strafe falters and his eyes sweep Killer's prone form before he swallows and continues, 'Conrad grabbed my jacket and shoved me towards my rig, when he went to get on his, he took two to the chest. I managed to get him onto the back of a rig to get out of there, when I got fucking hit. I only got us away from there to the old warehouse out of Route 14, that's when I called Bruiser.' The kid trails off and Bruiser picks up the story. Lena's tears have spilled over, and a small sob escapes her. I move to stand beside her, slipping an arm around her waist and holding her tightly to me, my eyes still glued to Bruiser's fucking face.
'When I got there, it was pretty fucking obvious that Conrad wasn't going to make it. Strafe was losing a lot of blood, and barely fucking conscious himself. I called Aric, but I had to make a choice.' His voice is ice cold, and I see him glance at Killer again. 'Conrad was awake,' Bruiser continues. Motherfucker. He never told me that. 'He knew he had no chance. Told me to get the kid out of there, and to make sure we came back for his body.' Dad nods. Bruiser made the right call. No point leaving Strafe, who two hours later is fucking sitting up and moving around. If he'd left Strafe there and tried to get Conrad to the hospital, we would have lost four fucking men, instead of three.
'Fucking Dorian,' Dad sighs, moving over and clapping Strafe on the shoulder. Dorian always has been a fucking liability. He’s a great moneymaking asset for the club. Or he was. Always paid well for fucking security when he ran guns, but he was fucking hot-headed, and had no fucking sense. Should have cut his fucking losses with the feds. Our boys would have let the shipment be seized. We always have plausible deniability. We run the security, we don't fucking know what's in the van, that's not what we're fucking paid for.
'How the fuck did the feds know about the shipment?' Bruiser asks, running his hand through his blond hair. Dad swears.
'We paid that fucking slimy senator to make sure that run was fucking clean. He's the only one who could have fucking known,' he growls. Looks like Senator Mitchell Herschel has made himself a fucking enemy of the Wild Hawks MC.
Chapter 34
LENA
I think I'm going to burn this dress. I had to go out specifically and buy it. It's black, with three quarter sleeves, a boat neck, and the A-line skirt finishes just below my knees. I wore it first for Lucky's funeral, and then for Goose's. Then today, I wore it for Conrad's. Now I'm standing in the kitchen at the clubhouse with Tammy-Lynn, getting a tray of food ready to hand around out in the bar, where people are gathering after coming back from the cemetery.
Killer gave a beautifully moving eulogy. Then he punched Bruiser in the face and had to be held back by Aric and Fangs. When he got back to the clubhouse, he took two bottles of whiskey from the bar and went up to his room. Holton suggested sending up a groupie, so that he could fuck his way out of his depression, a suggestion which pissed off Tammy-Lynn. Aric shot the idea down by pointing out that right now, Killer would be just as likely to kill a woman who walked into his room as he would be to fuck her.
The whole clubhouse has a somber mood, and Tammy-Lynn is doing her best to try to cheer up Strafe, who, I think feels responsible. Like he could have saved Conrad if he had managed to get them both to the hospital, or something. I know Bruiser doesn't really like Killer, they have some weird rivalry going on that Aric told me not to get involved with, but he's really surprised me over all this. He made the right call to save Strafe, everyone agrees on that. Well, everyone but Killer. But not once has he defended himself when Killer starts losing it and shouting accusations. Even today at the cemetery, when Killer punched him in the face, he just stood there and let it happen. Then, when Aric and Fangs were holding Killer back, he wiped the blood from his mouth, pointed his finger at Killer, and looked at him with his horrible, ice cold eyes and told him "you only fucking get one." I like Bruiser and, like I said, he's really surprised me with the way he's been handling things, but his eyes still creep me out.
Once everyone has left, it's almost midnight, and Bruiser and Strafe have gone up to their rooms. Aric and I sit at the bar, he's nursing a bourbon, and I know that he's taken Conrad's death harder than he's letting on. Just as I'm taking his hand to suggest we head up to bed, there's a noise on the stairs. It's Killer, pulling himself up using the banister, from where he's stumbled and missed the bottom step. I'm pretty sure he's downed both those bottles of whiskey he took earlier, because his eyes are crossed, and he's having trouble standing, even with the banister for support. I squeeze Aric's hand and then get off my stool, crossing over to Killer, and I offer him a sad smile.
'Come on, let's get you something to eat, sugar,' I tell him, as kindly as I can. He frowns at me, and for the first time since I met him, a mean sneer crosses his face as he looks at me.
'Oh, fuck off, Lena,' he snaps at me, shoving me roughly aside as he heads for the bar. 'No one fucking has time for your fucking Southern manners.' Aric's on his feet, his fists clenched, and I'm pretty sure he's going to hit Killer, so I quickly hurry to his side, putting my hand on his chest to, I don't know, hold him back?
'Let's just go upstairs,' I tell him. 'He doesn't mean it, he's just upset.' Aric looks down and smiles at me, his fingers tangling with mine, and nods, but his eyes are still tight. But Killer hears me too, and he freezes where he's leaning over the bar, picking up another bottle of whiskey.
'Upset?' he spits out. 'Fucking upset? He was my fucking blood and now he's fucking gone. How the fuck would you feel?' his voice is rising to a scream. 'You have no fucking idea, eit
her of you. You were fucking happy when Aric shot your fucking cunt of a brother between the eyes. Probably sucked his dick as a reward for it. And you,' he rounds on Aric, who has his jaw clenched and has stepped forward against my hand. 'You wouldn't fucking blink if your sister took a fucking bullet. You haven't fucking spoken to her in fucking years! Neither of you fucking heartless cunts have anything to fucking say to me today!' He launches the bottle at us and Aric barely flinches as it almost touches his cheek when it sails past us and smashes against the wall. Then Killer seizes another bottle and weaves his way back upstairs. Once he's gone, Aric relaxes, his hand coming up and cupping my cheek, his thumb stroking my lip.
'Are you okay?' he asks, and I sigh.
'Not really.' I lean into his hand, trying to take comfort from the warmth. 'Not about that,' I hasten to add when his lips tighten. 'He's upset, he's allowed to be, and he's right. I wasn't upset that Cory was dead; I was even a little bit glad. But I think it's going to take a little while to get used to the idea of Conrad not being around.' Aric nods, tangling his fingers with mine and leading me upstairs.
When we get into the bedroom, his hands are in my hair and his lips are on mine, and I feel my zipper sliding down my back. He needs this, I can feel the desperation in his kiss, so I slip off my heels and tug off his shirt, and we collapse onto the bed in a tangle of limbs. Given the urgency of his kisses, I expect it to be hard and fast, but when he finally gets my panties off and thrusts into me, he sets a slow, tender pace.
'Fuck, angel,' he murmurs against my mouth as I lift my legs to hook my ankles together at his back. 'You feel so fucking good.' I moan as his tongue slides along my jaw and he starts to pick up the pace, and I'm so, so close. 'I love you,' he breathes against my jaw, and I tumble over the precipice. He stills as he comes moments later. Rolling off me, he tugs me into his arms and we lie there with his face buried in my neck until I hear his breathing start to even out.
Chapter 35
LENA
I blow out the breath I've been holding for the past two minutes, staring through the Chevy windscreen up at my momma's house. I can feel Bruiser's eyes on me from where he is sitting on his motorcycle, watching me from up the street. Aric didn't want me to be alone when I had to do this, and then he got upset when I said he couldn’t come. But I didn’t trust him not to do something crazy like go off at my momma. Aric really doesn’t like her. Thinks she was a terrible momma to me. Maybe she was. Probably she was. I just need some closure. Need to know if there’s any relationship there worth salvaging, or if this is it and I’m going to be walking away from her for good when I say goodbye today.
Smoothing down my white dress, I pick up my pocketbook and exit the truck, shutting the door behind me and walking slowly towards the house. Glancing over, I see the outline of Bruiser, sitting on his motorcycle, one leg stretched out; balancing it as he watches me and I take a deep breath, drawing confidence from his presence.
My finger is shaking slightly as I press the doorbell, and I plaster a smile on my face as I wait for a few minutes until the door opens. Momma looks at me in surprise and then smiles, drawing me in for a hug.
'Lena, sugar,' she drawls, drawing away, her hands resting on my shoulders as she looks me up and down, inspecting every inch of my attire, my makeup, and my hair. 'You need a haircut, sugar,' she chides me. 'And did you do your makeup in the car?' she sounds horrified, and I feel my smile slip slightly, before hoisting it back into place. She sighs, shaking her head gently and drawing me into the house. Leaving me in the sitting room, she bustles into the kitchen to make the tea. My eyes flutter over the room, pausing briefly when they get to the empty place where the picture that now sits on my nightstand used to be displayed. My smile becomes real as I imagine Aric in this very room, looking at all the pictures, and deciding to bring that one back for me. I wonder if Momma has even noticed its absence, and if she has missed it.
A noise at the doorway to the kitchen brings my attention back to the present, and Momma comes in, setting down the tea tray. As she pours the tea, her eyes sweep the tray and she smiles at me tightly.
'I left off the biscuits, as you don't seem to have had much of a chance to use the gym in Los Angeles, sugar.' I say nothing, sipping my tea, remembering how much I used to hate all her little jabs. It's funny, in the months that I've been at the clubhouse, I didn't even notice that no one constantly criticized me, and now I really notice her tiny cuts.
'Have you heard from your brother, sugar?' she asks me, and I realize that this is why she has been calling and texting me nonstop, pestering me to come and visit. She doesn't want to know how things are supposedly going for me in my new life in LA; she wants to know where Cory is. They never mentioned what they did with his body, but I'm pretty sure he's probably buried in a shallow grave somewhere, never to be seen again. I shake my head at her, sipping my tea again.
'I'm afraid not, Momma. He never really was one for staying in contact unless he needs something,' I add snidely.
'That's enough, Lena,' she scolds. 'Your brother is a busy man; he doesn't have time for gossiping.' I stare at her. She's spent the entire half hour I have been here insulting me, but she can't even say one thing against him, even if it's true? And he's not even her flesh and blood. She's known me my whole life; she's only known him for the last fifteen years. I guess I just got the answer that I came here for. I swallow the last of my tea quickly, and then set down my cup and saucer, flashing her a brilliant smile.
'I really should get going,' I tell her. 'I borrowed my vehicle, and they really are expecting me back.' She looks surprised, but rises with me, trailing me to the front door.
'Are you sure you can't stay, you only just got here. We haven't had a chance to catch up,' she whines. And whose fault is that, Momma? I think bitterly. You've done nothing but bitch and moan to me and lament Cory's absence since I got here. I realize with a jolt that I'm a million times better off at the clubhouse with all those criminals than I ever was here. It's like a weight has lifted from my chest, and the smile I flash her is bright, wide, and genuine.
'I'm not sure when I'll be back again,' I tell her truthfully. 'I hope you hear from Cory soon,' I then lie. 'I'll let you know if I hear anything.'
The front door is closed by the time I get back to the Chevy, and I flash Bruiser a wide smile as I drive past him, heading back to the clubhouse. I swear I see him grin back at me.
Chapter 36
ARIC
The gavel bangs, and the muttering around the room stops. As people start to rise to leave the chapel, Dad turns to Killer, who hasn't said a single word the entire meeting, apart from voting "yes". Strafe's in, a full member, he'll be patched in after this and then there will be a party tonight. It needs to be a 100% vote to get in, so Dad spent most of yesterday holed up with Killer, talking him into voting yes. I think, somewhere very fucking deep down in the black hole that Killer is fucking wallowing in, he knows that Strafe did everything that he could, and that Bruiser made the fucking right call. But right now, I think he's too fucking far gone in his grief to function. Lena says that he's shut down, that it's some sort of fucking coping mechanism.
After that first week, he's no longer raging and throwing fucking bottles, or threatening Lena. Fucking cocksucker almost got a beating for that one. He does what he's told, hell, the fucker even sometimes does what he's asked. But he's turned into one fucking mean cunt. With everyone. He snaps at Lena, he even insulted my mother the other day. Both Mom and Lena make excuses for him, but I know he took a punch to the face from Dad for it. The next time he fucking talks to Lena that way, his face will be getting intimate with my fucking fist too.
Right now, we've got other problems. Julianna's fucking disappeared. Fangs has organized another one of the groupies to take over managing the nightclub; Lacey Clyde, I think her name is. She used to be a bartender at the club. Normally Killer would have put forward at the meeting that we go after Julianna and bring her back into the fold. The woman know
s too fucking much about the club, which makes her a dangerous loose end. But Killer has a fucking one-track mind right now.
He knows he can't touch the fucking feds who put the bullets into Conrad, and Dorian is dead too, killed by the feds that day, so instead, Killer has dove headfirst into digging up any information he can possibly fucking find on Mitch Herschel. I'm pretty sure that the only reason that he hasn't ridden down to Sacramento and put a bullet in Herschel's head on the steps of the State Senate, is because Dad talked some reason into him. Probably told him that Conrad wouldn't want him to throw away his life and endanger the club or some fucking shit like that.
As soon as Dad wraps up the meeting, I'm out of there. Lena is curled up on the couch in our room again, researching cafes on her phone. She hasn't said anything, but I'm pretty sure from the stuff she's been reading about, she wants to open one. I'll have to let her know that if she takes a good fucking business proposal to Dad, the club might back her financially. But I can do that later. Right now, I have one fucking thing on my mind. She's dressed in that fucking blue dress she wore to watch Fenton fucking die, that's hugging her in all the right places. I'm pretty sure she's dressed up for the party tonight, but she can always redo her fucking hair before heading down.
As she looks up, Lena catches the look in my eye, and she fucking smirks, making a show of tossing her phone aside as I drop to my knees in front of her on the sofa, tugging her into my arms and kissing her senseless. She straddles my lap, grinding down on my cock and I break the kisses to trail my lips down her throat, and bury my face in her cleavage. She sighs, bringing her hands to either side of my head, and she tugs it back so that she can look into my face.
