by K. L. Savage
“Hey, look at me,” I say as Doc gets ahold of her wrist. She lands those green eyes on me, and I’m a goner. A tear falls from the puddles filling her eyes, and I watch as it slowly flows down her cheek, causing a wet shiny path. “Yer okay here. That’s our doctor. We call him Doc. Yer okay,” I repeat, hoping my words calm her.
“Skirt here found you on the side of the road.” Doc nudges his chin in my direction while holding her wrists. “He got in an accident to avoid hitting you.”
“You should have left me there,” she sobs and yanks her wrists away from Doc’s grip. “You should have left me.”
“We will never leave a woman in harm’s way. What’s your name?” Doc asks as he places his stethoscope in his ears and listens to her heart.
“Dawson West. My friends call me Dawn.” She gives Doc and I a once-over with her eyes, lingering on me for a bit longer than normal. “I guess you can call me that since you saved me,” she says. Dawn wipes her eyes on her arm, but it’s no use; the tears are replaced again. “I’m sorry you got hurt because of me. I tend to do that to people,” she whispers, tangling her fingers together. Then she cups her face with her hands and shakes her head. “My son. I need to get out of here. I need to get my son. He has him! He has him! He isn’t safe there, please. Let me go. I need to find him. I need to get to Aidan before he hurts him.” The words get slower and slower until her eyes start to droop.
I roll off the bed when I see Doc putting something in her IV. “What are ye doing? She was just waking up.”
“She needs more rest. She’s hysterical. She can’t think like that.”
“That wasn’t yer decision to make. She was asking about her son,” I sneer at him. For the first time in my life, I’m questioning his ability to be a good doctor.
“I’m her doctor. It’s my decision. It sure as hell isn’t yours. Go back to bed, and when you have a medical degree, that’s when you can question me.”
He’s right, but still, I don’t have to like it. I push her hair out of her face, feeling more connected with her than I have anyone. Where do I know her from? She’s familiar, but I can’t put my finger on where I could have seen her.
My eyes fall to her lips, and I grin when I remember how sassy they get. They are big, plump, almost too big for her face, but they aren’t injected with that fake shit. No, they look soft, like pillows that I want to lay my mouth across for comfort. I bet they taste like berries, sweet, and with that attitude of hers, I bet she’d leave me with a sour taste in my mouth that I’d want more of.
Yeah, she’s got a set of lips on her, that’s for sure.
And I want them.
Chapter Three
DAWN
You think you can walk all over me? Then let’s see how you do walking home from the desert. Maybe when you’re half dead and walking through the door, you’ll know better. Your ass does what I say; it isn’t the other way around. You’re such a stupid bitch thinking you can tame me. I tame you! You hear me? I own you, and Aidan too.
I sit up with a violent gasp and cough. My chest hurts. It feels like someone hammered nails into the thick bone of my sternum. Cohen did punch me in the chest before he tossed me out of the van; that’s probably why it hurts. I hold my hand to the side of my head as everything starts to swim. I can’t focus on anything around me. It’s dark, cold, but I remember glimpses of unknown faces, and I know I’m safe.
It’s strange. I don’t know why I feel safe, but my gut is telling me I’m okay here. Not that it matters. I need to leave. I need to get my son. Aidan is my everything, and Cohen always uses Aidan against me so I stay in line. It’s the only reason I’m still with him. Cohen will never let me leave unless it’s through death. I’m stuck in his grasp forever.
He controls me no matter where I am, including this room I find myself in.
What is this place? How long have I been here?
I glance to my left to see if the man with the accent is still here, but the bed is empty and the sheets are crumpled. I flip the lamp on the nightstand to be sure I’m alone. When the bulb flicks on, I lift my arm to block the sudden burst of light. Damn, it’s bright. I blink a few times, and different colored spots float in my vision. That’s when I notice the IV in my arm. The needle is pierced in the soft space of my elbow in the vein. I follow the tube to a bag hanging on a metal stand.
Where the hell am I? I’m not in a hospital. It’s too quiet for that. Plus, the room is different than any hospital I’ve ever been in. The walls and floors are made of stainless steel, I think, since the light reflects off it. There’s a room to the left that has a barricaded door, which only makes me curious, but since I don’t know where I am, I won’t get snoopy just yet. For all I know, these people are going to keep me prisoner just like Cohen does.
There is a plus to being here; the linens are so soft.
The blankets are soft under my hands, and I bring the cotton to my cheek and rub my face against it. Cohen only lets me sleep with scratchy wool blankets. And the bed is soft. I haven’t slept on a bed in years. Cohen makes me sleep on the floor.
I lay the blanket over my lap and continue to study my surroundings. There’s medical equipment, but there are bookshelves stacked with books, and between each bed is a rocking chair with a cute patterned rug beneath it. My eyes follow each bed, and every single one is empty except the bed at the end.
That was the man who had the seizure, if I remember correctly. Or was that a dream? Everything is so hazy. I wonder what happened to him. Seizures aren’t easy. Aidan has them and every time he has one, my heart breaks, and I feel so helpless. It’s emotionally and mentally debilitating for me, but it wreaks havoc on Aidan. He will sleep for hours after one. He’s only four. His little body crumples in my arms with every jerk and spasm the seizure causes. Aidan cries because he doesn’t understand what’s happening to him and why. Aidan knows it’s something he has to deal with, and now he is in the hands of Cohen, that monster.
He thinks Aidan is a freak and I know that man won’t help him. I need to get to him. Aidan won’t survive long in the hands of a beast like Cohen.
The floorboards above me creak and groan as someone walks above me. Boom. Boom. Boom. The boots pulverize the hardwood like a meat hammer. Whoever is walking up there, I bet they can smush me like an ant.
“I need to get out of here,” I say, my voice echoing back to me in the lonely room. I press my thumb against the needle of my arm and take a deep breath as I pull it out. I toss it on the ground and throw the warm, cozy blankets off me.
Okay, maybe I’ll take one blanket. They don’t need them, right? I take the soft blue cotton off the top, take the ends and fold it together, then tuck it under my arm. Aidan will love a blanket that is soft, as long as Cohen doesn’t steal it.
I hate that man with every breath I take. I met Cohen O’Roarke in Vegas five years ago after he moved here from Ireland. He’s a beast in the cage. No one has been able to beat him. I watched him fight, and when we locked eyes through the hexagon shapes of the fence, I thought I had found the person I was going to spend the rest of my life with. He made me swoon. Cohen was a gentleman, always made me laugh, cared about me when we had sex, and was handsome? Whew. The man was so good looking with his bright blond hair and blue eyes. I even loved to hear his Irish accent when he spoke.
Now, I hate everything about him.
Something changed.
Like all relationships, passion was lost, and we fell into a routine. He turned hateful. His accent was like toxin, and it made my body shiver with repulsion every time I heard it. Cohen started yelling, mentally and verbally abusing me.
Then, that wasn’t enough.
He kicked me, punched, and shoved me. He thrived off hurting me just like he hurts opponents in the ring. Every time he saw a bruise on me, it was his own personal victory.
All of that happened within months of meeting him, and then we broke up. I thought that was the end of it.
Until I found out I was
pregnant.
And Cohen was not the father.
We got back together soon after that. I know. I’m an idiot, but at the time, Cohen was all I had.
No one knows about Aidan not being Cohen’s. It will be my secret until the day I die. If Cohen ever finds out that he’s raising a kid that isn’t his, he’ll kill Aidan. I’ll protect my son until my last breath, and if lying is what I have to do to save us, then I’ll die a liar.
Fast forward until now, my beautiful Aidan is four and the only father he has ever known hates him. Cohen is a mean, hateful drunk and with every fight in the cage, I pray to whatever god that his opponent kills Cohen.
Wishing for death on someone isn’t kind, but I’m okay with that. If it earns me a front row seat on the ride to Hell, so be it. It can’t be much different than my life now. I welcome the change.
With my son in mind, I know I need to get out of here and get to him. What if he has a seizure while I’m gone? He only has a few days of his medicine left, and it’s so expensive. Cohen already said he wasn’t going to buy the pills for Aidan anymore.
I don’t know what I’ll do, but Aidan needs his medicine and I’ll do anything within my power to take care of my boy. Lie, cheat, steal, kill—Aidan will live.
I slump against the beam against the wall when fatigue hits me out of nowhere. My entire body feels like I was thrown out of a van.
Oh, wait… I was.
The steps are high and intimidating as they escalate further into the unknown shadows. Only a faint glow of light from the crack at the bottom of the basement casts along the steps. I take a minute to catch my breath.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Why is life so hard? It isn’t supposed to be this way. Life isn’t meant to be a constant struggle or an exhausting journey through quicksand to try to overpower you. There are hard times, I’m not naïve to that, but when does good balance the bad? Is that the way the universe works? Where’s the goddamn good? Where’s the break?
I roll against the wall and push myself off, closing my eyes when the pain throbs on my left side. My fingers grab the hem of my shirt and lift. “No wonder,” I say under my breath when I see a big black bruise spreading over my ribcage. I tug my torn, dirty shirt back down, and take the first step up the staircase.
“Fuck.” I slump against the wall as the pain possessing my body becomes too much already. Aidan. I have to get to Aidan. The bottom of my foot finds the wall, and I push off. My foot slips on the slick staircase, and my hand flies out to catch myself before my body hits the hard surface. I bite back the cry of pain as my ribs burn with agony. My nostrils flare and bile rises up my throat, but I swallow it down.
Nothing perseveres more than a mother fighting to be reunited with her son.
I lean against the wall for support and take aching slow steps by lifting each leg until I’m at the door. I’m sweating, my stomach is turning, and my mouth is watering. Any second now, I’m going to puke. Closing my eyes, I bring up Aidan’s face in my mind and focus. His bright green eyes staring at me with love and warmth. His memory, his need for someone to protect him is enough for me to reach for the door handle and turn it. I take my time opening the door. I peek my head through and survey the room.
I’m alone.
I’m staring at a kitchen with yellow curtains and updated appliances. The dining table has seen better days. It’s worn with carvings and scratches, the stain of the wood is faded in certain spots, and the left corner is jagged from being broken off. I look left and right, but most of the noise is coming from the front of the house. Soft rock music is playing low, and the clank of balls tells me someone must be playing pool.
Which also tells me not to go in that direction. I slip out the door and flatten my palm against the grainy wood, then push it shut. I close my eyes when it clicks. My pulse spikes with a rush of adrenaline as the possibility of being caught crosses my mind. I don’t wait to find out.
I slip to the left and take the sharp turn down the hall. There’s a door at the end, and light shines through the window in the center. It’s stained glass with reds, blues, and greens. Sunlight shines through, and a kaleidoscope of colors glitter along the floor. I haven’t seen something like that in a very long time. I didn’t know people still cared about the simplistic beauty of stained glass.
Granted, even from here, I can see the skull artfully designed in the middle. If the goal is beautiful and intimidating, they have achieved it.
There are photos scattered along the wall, ranging from old black and white to new age color. I love pictures, and I want nothing more than to stop and look at them, but there’s no time. Aidan needs me.
I need him.
A bubble of tangled emotion tightens my chest the more distance I close between me and the door. I reach my hand out, tighten my palm around the metal knob, and swing it open. I don’t bother closing it because freedom is an inch away.
There’s small step between me and the ground, so I jump, ignoring the pain all over my bruised body.
There’s only one thing left to do.
Run.
I limp faster and faster, and I ignore the pain in my thigh completely, the deep ache in the core of my bone, but it’s nothing compared to the pain of losing my son if I don’t get to him.
The wind whips through my hair and the rumble in the sky has me tilting my head back to look up. The clouds are rolling with shades of gray and black. It’s about to pour.
Bright side, the desert needs rain.
Downside, I’m about to get soaked which will make my journey colder and longer.
Dirt swirls around my feet from my shoes kicking up dust. Rows of bike fill my vision, and I nearly break my neck looking at them and the building I ran from. They are all different shapes and sizes, miles of shining chrome and long exhaust pipes parked along the front of the porch.
What the hell is this place? There’s nothing to tell me who or what they are, just a skull sign that stares at me with its hollow eyes uprooting the fear I try to keep buried inside. My eyes burn with too much familiarity from the dark voids staring at me.
My eyes are so focused on the bikes and the skull, I don’t keep an eye out on what is in front of me, and I slam against something hard that has my head ringing and my body falling to the ground. I groan, holding my arms across my stomach as my ribcage screams at me for pushing myself too hard.
Fuck, that hurt.
I gag, the amount of anguish is unbearable, and I roll over to my hands and knees, spewing up yellow bile, the acid burning my throat and leaving a bitter taste in my mouth, which only makes me gag more.
Wiping my mouth, a black blur catches my attention out of the corner of my eye, and what I see sucks all the hope out of me, the air evaporating from my lungs. “No.” I follow the gate as far as the eye can see. I push myself up until I’m standing on my unstable, trembling legs. The gate looks like it goes on for eternity in either direction. “No!” I shout and follow the iron bars in desperate search for a way out.
The further I walk, an unsettled reality falls over me like a veil. I’m in a fortress. There isn’t a way out unless they let me out. I’m getting dizzy with all the circling I’m doing. There are other buildings that look like homes, a garage, and whatever the hell this main building is that has a saloon appearance. Below the skull is a sign that says ‘Unwelcome.’
Fitting.
I don’t feel welcome at all. Mission accomplished.
The door to the main house opens, and a few men file out. All of their outfits are the same. Black jeans, boots, some are wearing chains, but all are wearing these leather vests. What the fuck is this place?
All eyes are on me, and their laughter dies down while a man at the end with shaggy hair and a psychotic look to his face takes a swig of beer. I press my back against the gate to get away from them, the bars digging into my back, reminding me of how trapped I am.
I’m a mouse, and they are definitely the cats.
No, fuck that.
They are lions and they have their predatory eyes set on me. If I run, they will give chase. Cohen, I can handle. His abuse is just from one man, but all of these mean looking bikers? I’ll die quicker here than I will with Cohen. I’ve heard horrible things about bikers. What if they pass me around?
Oh, god. I’m feeling sicker by the second.
“Let me. Get yer arse out of the way, Bullseye.” The crowd of intimidation parts for a man with red hair wearing a green kilt.
It’s the man I saw laying in the bed earlier. He was real. He jumps down the stairs, and I turn left to bolt when he holds up his hands. “Aye, now. Wait. Just hold on a minute. No one here is going to hurt ye, okay?” he says in an accent I’m not familiar with. It’s similar to Cohen’s but different. Scottish, maybe?
With every long stride he takes, his black boots get too close for comfort. I notice is how gorgeous he is. He has red hair and a beard to match. He has his hair half up, half down. He’s wearing a black shirt that is tight across his body and the kilt, while different than anything I’ve ever seen before, looks damn good on him. He has tattoos up and down his arms and a silver sword hanging off his hip. I’m not sure what that is about, but I don’t want to find out.
“Please, I won’t tell anyone I was here. Let me go. I need to get to my son.”
“Dawn, we will get ye where ye need to be. I swear it, no one here is going to hurt you.”
The men in front of me are telling me something much different. Plus, what he’s saying, I’ve heard before.
I hate liars.
Chapter Four
SKIRT
Oh, shite. She looks like she’s about to run. I hope she doesn’t. I hate running in my kilt, especially when I’m wearing the sword. It’s just for show. I guess I could learn to wield it, use the sword instead of my fists, but it’s a family heirloom and whenever my brother is heavy on my mind, I clip the sword to my belt.
