His opening words don’t offer much comfort, and I regret coming out of my room.
“You’re scarin’ her, Peg.” Wraith points out the obvious.
For an answer, he just nods, and his lips curl up into a not very attractive smile. It does nothing to calm my fear. And it only worsens when he walks behind the chair and starts pushing me. When Wraith takes his place alongside, Peg pauses.
“Leave her with me, Wraith.”
Wraith frowns, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
Peg stares him down, “It wasn’t a request.”
I find my voice, “I’d like him…”
Now Peg’s eyes flash, “You’ve had it easy up to now, Princess. Now you’re gonna do things my way. Wraith stays here.”
“I promised Horse…”
“I’m not going to fuckin’ hurt her, man.”
The two men stare at each other, and to my disappointment, it’s Wraith who backs down. And then I’m left alone with this daunting man as he wheels me away to God knows where.
Wondering where the hell he’s taking me, and for what reason, I’m surprised when he takes me out to the back of the club, wheels me over to a picnic bench and parks me beside it. He sits himself down, his bum on the table, feet on the seat. Putting his elbows on his knees, he rests his chin on his hands and stares at me for a moment.
“You had phantom pains, earlier,” he starts, “They can be a bitch. Anyone told you how to deal with them?”
It wasn’t what I expected him to say. He’s tone isn’t sympathetic, just matter of fact. Lifting and lowering my shoulders I tell him, “My physio suggested some things, but…”
“But,” he takes over without letting me finish, “You don’t want to think about the part of you that’s missin’, do ya? You spend your days wishin’ it hadn’t happened, and fuck, I can relate to that Princess. But it did, and now you’ve got to learn to live with it. Or without it more’s the case.”
Christ, what’s up with me and the waterworks today? Tears prick at my eyes, “You don’t understand.”
“Like fuck I don’t.” He raises his voice, “I gotta show you my fuckin’ leg again?”
I shake my head, letting him know there’s no need for him to do that.
Reaching over, he places his fingers under my chin and raises my face until I’m looking at him, “I’m gonna tell you how this is gonna go. You’re going to do everythin’ I say, got it, Princess?”
He frightens me, so I don’t dare disagree.
“Right. It’s happened, babe, you’ve lost your leg.”
“Part of it,” I correct him, “From below the knee.”
“Sounds much the same as me,” he nods, “You’ve got to move on and deal. Instead of ignorin’ it, try to imagine it, crunch your toes together. Go on, do it now.”
“I haven’t got any toes,” I whisper.
“Imagine them,” he instructs.
I’m worried what will happen if I disappoint him, so I concentrate and try to do exactly what he says. My facial muscles tense with the effort.
“Good girl.”
For some reason, his approval warms me.
“If it’s easier, do the same with the other leg. That’s it, good. Now raise and lower both legs and scrunch those toes together.”
I do what he says.
“Good. Now it helps some people. The problem is, your brain can’t accept you haven’t got a physical limb there, so it can help if you fool it into thinkin’ it’s still there. It can help with the pain, princess. Keep doing that a few times durin’ the day, every day, and maybe it will help. It does for me.”
“Okay, thank you.” I start to feel grateful that someone who knows precisely what I’m going through is taking their time to help. I’m sure he’s got better things to be doing. “People don’t understand how much something that’s not there can hurt.”
“Exactly!” His face creases into the first real smile I’ve seen from him. “I know how fuckin’ hard it is to come back from somethin’ like this. But I’m telling you now; you can get up out of that chair and walk again.”
I start shaking my head to tell him he’s wrong, it’s too hard, but again he’s there before me.
“Your prosthesis is hurtin’ you, you can’t balance, and your other leg is too weak to support you. Yeah, I’ve been there too. And that’s why I’m gonna help you.”
He jumps down off the table – jumps! Without even a wobble, and grabbing the handles of my chair, starts pushing me again. I let him in silence, as I digest how he understands exactly how I feel. Sure, I’d met other amputees at the hospital, but I’d steered clear of them. Peg’s right, I’ve been avoiding accepting what’s happening, preferring to wallow in misery rather than dealing. Perhaps it’s time to make the switch?
Taking me around to the back of the club he opens a door and pushes me through, then flicks on some lights. My eyes open wide; it’s not what I expected at all. “A gym?” There are all sorts of equipment in this large room and a boxing ring in the middle. At the moment we have the place to ourselves.
“Yeah, Drummer likes his men to keep fit.” He points to the area in the centre, “We have sparrin’ matches once a month.”
“You spar?”
He humphs, “Of course I do. I might not be as nimble as some of the others, but I can hold my own.” Then he’s moving me again, over to some equipment at the side of the room, a set of parallel bars and it’s then I know what he’s got planned. It’s a similar setup to the one at my physio’s; I’d seen it once, the only time I’d attended a session.
“Right, now let’s get you to your feet.”
My physio would have encouraged me to support myself and use my arms to get myself onto the equipment, not so Peg. His broad arms reach down, and he manhandles me out of the chair, holding me until my hands grasp the bars. When he’s sure I’ve got my balance, he lets go.
My knuckles turn white as I try to take all my weight on arms, afraid to rely on my legs to hold me up. “I can’t do this.” I rasp out.
“Yes, you can. And you will. Relax, and get your legs under you.”
He’s moved the wheelchair out of the way. My arms are shaking with the effort to hold myself up. He steps away, a statement he’ll be no help at all.
Gingerly I put weight on my weakened leg.
He’s noticed. “Good. Now balance on the prosthesis.”
With some difficulty, I do that too.
His next instruction is to walk to the end of the bars. One glance at his set features shows me he’ll take no sympathy on me, and the only way to get out of here is to do what he says. Slowly, very slowly, I shuffle along until I reach the end. When I get there, I look up with a smile of achievement.
He comes across, and his hand touches my shoulder, “I’m going to work you hard, princess. It will take time to build up your strength and balance, but one day you’ll be walkin’ again, and you can lose your fuckin’ handle. You want that, Wheels?”
There’s something about the way he speaks, the conviction he puts into his tone that has me believing him for the first time since my accident. I feel I have to say something to him, “Peg, I…”
But he’s moved away again, his posture one of dismissal, “Now fuckin’ turn yourself around and walk back again.”
Sergeant-at-arms? He ought to be a bloody sergeant major!
He keeps me going until my muscles are screaming out in protest. Only when the sweat’s pouring off my brow and my lungs are heaving does he relent; helping me off the bars and back into my chair.
Waving at the equipment, he tells me, “The boys put these in for me after I came back from Afghanistan. I know what you’re goin’ through, darlin’. And it’s gonna be the hardest fuckin’ thing you’ve ever done in your life. But just promise me one thing?”
Still breathing heavily, I glance up at him curiously when he doesn’t continue and prompt him, “What?”
“You’ll have your first fuckin’ dance with
me!”
A laugh bursts out of me; it was the last thing I’d expected him to say.
And I’m still grinning when he pushes me―I haven’t the strength or energy to propel myself―back to the clubroom. Wraith jumps off his bar stool and comes over, the anxiety in his gaze which goes between Peg and me before he stares intently into my eyes, then checks me from head to toe. I know he can see I’m still flushing red and sweat is still beading on my brow from the effort Peg made me put in.
“You alright?” He’s still checking me over.
Peg snarls an answer for me, “Of course she’s fuckin’ alright.”
My reaction might have called him a liar, as involuntarily I let loose the tears which have been threatening all day. But instead of being those of frustration or self-pity, I can feel the difference. They’re of hope.
As Wraith moves closer, I reach out my hand to reassure him, “I’m fine.” Then looking him straight in the eyes, and although my words are punctuated with sobs, I manage to stammer out, “Peg’s going to get me walking again.”
Wraith’s face beams as he hears the elation in my voice, and he slaps Peg on the back.
The unaccustomed exercise has awakened my appetite, so when my biker protector suggests we join the others for dinner, I quickly agree. All the old ladies are there; Carmen, Sandy as well as Crystal, and I’m amazed to see how gently the rugged bikers treat little Amy, even curtailing their colourful language at the fierce glares from her mother. Surprisingly, I have a good time, joining in with laughing at inappropriate jokes and innuendoes, and even find I’m getting used to responding to the tag, Wheels. And perhaps, with Peg’s help, I can rid myself of that name.
I’m surprised when Carmen walks past me and seems to ruffle my hair. Now I might be in a wheelchair, but I’m not a bloody child. I glare up at her.
“Whoops, sorry. Occupational habit.” She takes the seat beside me and sits down, her eyes examining my bob, “I’m a hairdresser.”
Ah, that makes sense now.
“That your natural colour?” She’s staring at my roots.
“Yes.” I’m lucky to have been born the colour blond most people get out of a bottle.
“Well, if you want a trim or try somethin’ different just give me a shout.”
“I’ll do that,” I agree. I didn’t expect the club to have a resident hairdresser on site, and I must admit, I could probably use her services soon.
I lean a little closer to her, while I’ve got her attention I decide to take advantage, “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course!”
“The girls that hover around the clubroom, who are they?” I ask quietly, having noticed they don’t join the rest of us for meals and come to the conclusion they’re not probably old ladies at all.
She laughs, “They’ve sweet butts or club whores.”
Dart’s overheard though I tried to be quiet about it, “They’re here to provide their services to us.”
My eyebrows rise, “Do you pay them?”
“No,” he grins, “They get food and lodgin’ for taking care of us.”
“And by that, I don’t suppose you mean cooking and cleaning.”
Now he laughs, “Not sure their talents would run to that.”
“Nah, they’ve got other talents like suckin’ dick.” Slick butts in.
Well, he’s made their services quite clear. “How many of them are there?”
“Four who live here, Jill, Chrissy, Allie and Pussy. And on the weekends we have girls up from Tucson too. We’re well taken care of.” Dart takes over the conversation again.
What the hell kind of name is Pussy? I don’t ask as I really don’t want to know, but at least I’ve a better understanding of their place in the club now.
When Wraith finally takes me back to my room, I enter feeling tired, but for the first time in months, with optimistic thoughts of the future. Perhaps I could have gotten back on my feet again if I’d kept up with my physiotherapy, but it had all seemed so pointless. But I didn’t have someone with the determination and the understanding of Peg, to give me the kick I needed. I go to bed even looking forward to the day ahead.
Over the next week, I start to get used to living at the club. Being alone was no hardship for me, I’d learned to amuse myself back home reading and keeping my own company, but here I’m not given much chance to be on my own. Wraith would drag me out of my room, and there was always someone around in the clubhouse. I started to get to know the brothers, some more approachable than others but, with the exception of Buster, all treated me with respect. I grow particularly fond of Dart, who’s always giving me a cheeky wink, and also Rock, though it takes me longer to get used to his habit of constantly cleaning his gun. At first sight of the weapon made me shudder, but somehow, seeing how the brothers openly carry arms does give me a feeling of safety. If somehow, Hargreaves turned up here he’d certainly meet his match. One constant who seems to live in the clubroom is a biker named Adam. Once I really examined him and noticed the huge bulge in this throat that certainly looked like he’d swallowed a real apple, no one had to explain how he got his name. Not that I have much to do with him, he spends his time glued to one of the arcade machines.
I fast become friends with the old ladies and, feeling guilty about eating their cooking, soon start to try helping them out in the kitchen, though being in a wheelchair I’m limited as to how far I can assist. I never thought I’d be envious of someone lifting pots and pans off the cookers before, but now I certainly am. But something’s different now, I’m not looking at things thinking I’ll never be able to do that, no, I watch them knowing that with Peg’s encouragement and gruelling exercise regime, I’m gradually getting strength back into my injured leg, I’m starting to believe one day I’ll actually walk.
When Horse returns, he only stays a few days before he’s off again, full of apologies for leaving me again. But he goes off with a lighter heart as I’m able to convince him I’m fine here among my new biker friends. It sets a pattern for the next few weeks. Whenever Horse is away, Wraith steps in to keep me company, but I know it’s only because Horse has asked him to. Otherwise, he keeps his distance; I suspect grateful to be rid of me as a burden. And if my heart beats a little faster when I’m in his presence, I’ll be keeping that little fact entirely to myself.
With regard to the contract, I don’t become complacent, but the gentle giant, Mouse, is keeping tabs on things and making sure I’m updated. As the days pass I stop looking over my shoulder, as there’s nothing to suggest anyone is any closer to finding me.
I only have two problems with staying in the compound; one is quite obviously Buster, who makes crude gestures at me when no one else is looking suggesting his ‘invitation’ is obviously still on his mind. I could have told Wraith, but I didn’t want to get Buster into any more trouble than he’s in already. And Wraith, as VP, must surely have better things to do with his time than worry about me.
The other issue is the club whores.
I’m sitting alone in the clubhouse, engrossed in a great novel on my iPad, when I become aware that someone’s taken the seat opposite me. Glancing up I’m surprised to see it’s Chrissy, one of the sweet butts who have, up to this point, avoided talking to me. She’s staring at me, waiting to get my attention. Deciding I don’t need any more enemies, I greet her with a smile, still unable to get my head around how they can let any man who wants to touch them. Sure, I used to enjoy sex, but who I did it with and when was always my choice. I couldn’t imagine anyone submitting willingly to Buster, but I’ve seen enough now to know that’s what they have to do. And sometimes to multiple men on the same night, or even at the same time. Still, it doesn’t seem to bother them, so each to their own.
“Hi, it’s Chrissy, isn’t it?” I’ve had the dubious pleasure of seeing a Viper’s cock disappearing into her mouth while Beef’s hammering into her from behind. I left the clubhouse pretty quickly that afternoon. I’m not a prude, far from it, but some
performances, in my opinion, should take place behind closed doors. Like a broom cupboard, for example. A grin comes to my face at the memory.
She acknowledges her name with a dip of her head, then gets down to what she’s come here for. “You ain’t anyone’s ol’ lady.”
She’s telling me what I already know. “No, I’m not.” I agree, pleasantly.
“Only women in the club are either ol’ ladies or sweet butts,” she tells me. “Don’t understand what you think your place is here.”
“Well, I’m not a sweet butt.” I cough out.
“Nah, none of the brothers would want you like that.” She points to my leg, the one with the prosthesis.
She’s right, but I don’t appreciate her pointing it out to me. I shrug, “Your point?”
She shakes her head, “We don’t know what you’re doing here.”
“As far as I’m aware, the club have given me their protection.”
“Only because of Horse, and he ain’t even a full member. You better watch yourself, sweetheart. And don’t get too friendly with Wraith. He’s mine, you feel me?”
Is she threatening me? And I don’t recall Wraith even passing the time of day with her in the time I’ve been here.
“Me, and the others, we take care of the brothers, you understand? Don’t need another bitch here.”
Seeing as she’s just said that none of them would want me anyway, I don’t understand why she’s bothering to talk to me. I’m saved when Slick approaches our table. His eyes go cold as he sees her talking to me.
“Get lost, Chrissy,” he rasps out, “Wheels ain’t one of your kind.”
“She’s not an ol’ lady, neither.” Her face scrunches in disdain.
Slick grabs ahold of her long dark hair, wrapping it around his fist and pulling her head back so she’s forced to look up at him. “She’s more akin to them than your whore ass,” he says, in a voice that would brook no argument, “So get back and don’t forget your place. Reckon Tongue’s lookin’ a bit lonely over there.”
His voice isn’t quiet, and the man he’s just suggested looks up with a leer. His tongue comes out and waggles suggestively as he crooks his finger towards Chrissy. She looks aghast at the suggestion, which I don’t understand. Isn’t her job to service any of the men? As he releases his hold, she gets to her feet and with an unhappy look on her face, and a final sneer in my direction goes off towards Tongue.
Turning Wheels (Satan's Devils MC #1): A Blood Brothers Spin off Page 12
