“At what cost?” I glanced up. “We got lucky this time, sure, but what if we aren’t so lucky next time?”
“Then we deal with it,” Candy replied, looking over from the stove. “That’s what we do, right? We dealt with working with T-Built. We’ll deal with this too. Together.”
I frowned at that, not satisfied with the cliché speech and all its empty promises. “And you, Danny? You’ve already been shot over this! What if you aren’t so lucky next time?” I demanded, eager for a little sense to counter Candy’s blind optimism.
“Me?” Danny scoffed and shrugged, the look on his face almost childlike. “I been shot before, gonna prolly be shot again, I’m sure,” he smirked and shrugged. “Yeah, I got lucky. Luck’s part of the life, girlie. Explosion knocked me down, kitchen held together decent enough so I didn’t get burned up too bad from any falling nastiness. I got saved from a belly full o’ smoke, an’ T-Built is—was—a lousy shot. Missed all the good parts. Hurt like a whore…” he trailed off and gave the two of us a look. “Sorry,” he offered.
I blushed.
Candy smirked and shrugged.
“But, yeah, shit fuckin’ hurt good enough. So I stayed down after Jace emptied his piece into yer old boss. Somewhere along the line I musta gotten sleepy, fell into a sorta doze. Doctors called it somethin’ else, but—”
“‘Something else,’ in this case, being cardiac arrest,” Candy injected then, shaking her head and beginning to plate the bacon. “The big bear was saved by a heart attack of all things.”
I blinked at that, a myriad of questions coming up in response to this new information, but the one that burst forth was, “Should you really be eating bacon if—”
“SO HELP ME!” Danny growled, slamming a fist on the table, “If I gotta hear ‘bout my fucking heart and whether I should be eating this-or-that I swear—I fucking swear it—today will be the day that bitches die!”
“Yeah, yeah, tubby,” Candy said, rolling her eyes at him. “You’ll get your bacon, ya dick-loving oinker, but don’t you come sobbing grease to me when you’re doubled over all over again, got it?”
“Deal,” Danny said, perking up at the promise. Then, offering me a shrug, he continued on his prior point: “Either way, we’re past that mess and working to clean up any others, alright? It’s what we do, Mia; it’s what I do. I been doin’ it for a long time, too—ever since Jace’s daddy first ran things. I knew what kinda work it was then, and I’m still willin’ to do it now. Hell, I love my job! This ain’t gonna stop me. Ya’ve got a choice, though; ya both do,” he said, nodding to the two of us. “So if ya don’t wanna be a part of this, ya don’t have to be.”
“And leave those girls to the streets where the Crew can just pluck them up all over again?” Candy asked. “No fucking thanks!”
I frowned and shook my head. “I’m not going anywhere, either. It’d mean leaving Jace, and I won’t do that; not for the world. Plus, if what you paper says is right and the Carrion Crew is on the lookout for me, well, it’s only a matter of time, right? Wouldn’t be smart to cut out and run from the only people who can do anything to help me.”
Danny nodded at that and took a long, deep breath. I stayed quiet, glancing down as I fought to stay calm. Though it was vague and unclear to me, it sounded like Candy’s and my escape from our “employers” had started things moving in a dangerous direction. I wasn’t sure if it was me, personally, that they were after or if they viewed all of their prostitutes as nothing more than property that they were eager to reclaim, but, either way, it meant I was far from safe for the time being. Moreover, it was putting everyone else—especially Jace—in a great deal more danger. I clenched my eyes shut, needing to think. I’d have to be careful until Jace was awake.
If Jace ever does wake up…
“Let’s eat!” Candy said, interrupting my depression and setting down a plate filled with eggs and bacon in front of me.
I glanced down at the heap of breakfast food and while I had thought it impossible to feel hungry with everything happening, I was proven wrong as my stomach let out a loud growl. Deciding that there was nothing more we could do until Jace woke, I swallowed back the panic and concerns I had with the Carrion crew and began to eat.
“And mine?” Danny asked, looking up as Candy settled in beside me and began to eat from her own plate of food.
“Burn a calorie; save your heart,” she said around a mouthful of eggs, nodding back to the counter where the third plate was waiting.
“Whore,” Danny grumbled, pulling himself up to retrieve it.
“Faggot,” Candy said back after him with a laugh.
The way the two said it, I could tell it was a back-and-forth they’d already shared—and, from the looks of it, laughed over—a few dozen times already.
Twenty minutes later and there was nothing left. We had killed almost a dozen eggs and nearly a pound of bacon. Groaning, full, I sat back on the couch, Danny and Candy sitting around me as we relaxed after the meal and I looked over at Candy.
“Thanks for this, Candy,” I smiled. “This was—”
“‘—exactly what I needed,’” both Candy and Danny said in unison.
I blushed, realizing I might’ve said that once or twice already.
“I know,” Candy said with a nod. “Glad to see you back to your usual self, at least somewhat.”
I smiled back at her, reminded all over again of how lucky I was to have her in my life, even if the circumstances surrounding our meeting weren’t the best ones. Then, sighing, I turned back to Danny and asked, “Mind if we go to visit Jace?”
“Ya sure ya want to? No call prolly means no change, y’know,” he warned.
I nodded and offered a halfhearted shrug, saying “Visiting hours,” like it really meant something. It did to me, anyway.
Obviously it did to him, too.
Standing, he said, “Ya promise to come back afterward? I have another guest room ya can stay in, an’ I’d feel better with ya here over slummin’ it in the ER’s waitin’ room.”
I realized that while it was phrased as a question, I didn’t have a choice in the matter. “I will,” I nodded.
“Good, then let’s get going!” Danny said, beginning to gather his things. “Ya need anything while we’re out, Candy?”
“Lube, licorice, and lice shampoo for you, you mangy beast!” Candy called after.
“Never gets old,” Danny grumbled, leading me to the door.
****
The heavy dread was upon me the moment we walked through the sliding doors and into the waiting room. It was like a thing—like a flesh-and-blood creature—that I’d left behind and had since been waiting for me to return. Now I was back, and all that heaving, panting negativity was reclaiming me.
I must have made a sound or moved somehow in response to the shift, because Danny suddenly placed his hand on my shoulder and squeezing gently. Reminded of the night before and remembering how good it felt to leave, a part of me felt suddenly eager to turn around all over again. But something—the something; my everything—kept me from doing so. I clenched my eyes shut, fought to regain my composure, and then exhaled what I imagined to be all the toxic air in my system.
I liked to consider myself something of an expert in that subject at the time.
Then, nodding my appreciation to Danny for his support, I stepped free of his hand and started for the front desk. The receptionist, despite knowing that I already had all of the details memorized, ran through the details regarding visiting hours and where we could find Jace before nodding us towards the doors—the divide been us and him, I thought—and buzzed us through. As I crossed the imaginary divide, Depression began to chatter-rape me:
What if he doesn’t wake up?
What if he doesn’t want you after all this?
What if he thinks you aren’t worth the trouble?
I frowned at all the “what ifs” that swam through my mind and I could feel myself heading towards another breakdown.
Danny, ever the (seeming) psychic, wrapped his arm around my shoulder and helped to steady me. We walked the rest of the way to Jace’s room that way. I couldn’t find the words to say just how thankful I was that he was there, so I just leaned against him and hoped that it would be enough.
Then, finally, we stepped into his room.
I saw Jace lying on the stark white bed. The peaceful look on his face helped to relax me and I stepped forward, walking around the IV station and glanced down at him.
“Jace…” I croaked.
“Want me to leave ya alone for a minute?” Danny offered.
I nodded and didn’t look back, knowing he was already leaving and moved one of the hospital chairs beside the bed. I sat down and took Jace’s hand, squeezing it gently as I looked down at him.
“Jace,” I whispered. “I’m… it’s me. I-I don’t know if you can hear me—I hope you can—but… fuck,” I whimpered and hung my head, whimpering and shivering; holding back a wail of sobs. Much as I wanted him to wake up, I hated the idea of that being what he might wake up to. “Please, Jace. Please, come back to me soon…”
Nothing.
He didn’t move; didn’t show any sign of acknowledgement. I frowned, continuing to fight back the tears that threatened to fall. It had been two days already and the doctors didn’t know what was wrong. It was just like he refused to wake up and I couldn’t fight the wave of emotions at the idea that he would never wake up.
“Come back, please,” I repeated. “We need you here. I know it’s not fair, but we need you, Jace. I need you.”
I looked up into his face and thought I saw his mouth twitch. I blinked, watching to see if it would happen again.
Nothing.
He didn’t move, and I looked down again, wondering I had just imagined it. I clenched my eyes shut, working to get a grip. I needed to stay strong. Jace would come back to me and I had to have faith in that alone. I looked over as a nurse walked in with a chart and bit my lip.
“How is he doing?” I asked her.
“His vitals are fine,” she offered a kind smile. “The doctor said it’s only a matter of time.” Then, pausing to look around, she whispered, “Men have a way of milking things like this to get a few extra days of lounging. My boyfriend, every time he gets a cold, acts like it’s the end of the world and just lies around for almost a whole week playing Playstation and eating Ramen. It’d be cute if it wasn’t so annoying.”
I forced a giggle, deciding I didn’t care much about her, her thoughts, or her idiot boyfriend, but knowing this was just her way of reassuring me. The act served its purpose and she offered a “it’ll be okay” before excusing herself to continue her rounds.
Annoying as they were, her words had relaxed me, though. I took another deep breath and nodded to myself.
A moment later, Danny stepped in.
I gave him a smile, sincere in its emotion but an effort to show all the same, and nodded to the unspoken question. I knew that he knew I should leave—just like he’d known the night before. It was a theme that wasn’t yet done running its course: “Danny is right; you need this.”
Knowing that nothing would get done just sitting around the hospital, I stood up and planted a small kiss on Jace’s forehead. I thought I might have seen another twitch as I did, but passed it off as a trick of the light. If he was about to wake up then it would happen, but if I kept standing around and waiting after every little “maybe” I’d likely never go.
All the same, I held my breath, watched him, and counted to five.
Nothing.
Sighing, I turned away and followed Danny back out.
“He’ll be awake soon,” Danny assured me, “but it’ll be when yer not around.”
“How do you know that?” I asked, glancing over.
“’Cuz he’s the sorta guy that likes to be on stage before the audience takes their seats,” he explained.
I raised an eyebrow at that. “You saying Jace is dramatic?” I pressed.
Danny chuckled at that. “All guys are dramatic, girlie,” he assured me, “but Jace… that boy’s all about showmanship.”
He sounded so sure and I glanced over. He offered me a smile filled with confidence and I couldn’t help but return it. As we made our way out of the hospital, I realized I felt a lot lighter than I had for the past few days. Thanks to Candy and Danny, I knew I’d be able to stay strong until Jace woke.
The stage is set, Jace, I thought. Now come back to me. I’m waiting.
TWO
~JACE~
Fuck…
I’d been here before.
More times than I could count—but, to be fair, that wasn’t saying too much—and enough to let me be sure I likely wasn’t visiting for the last time, but I knew I’d been here before.
And why-the-hell-not? Let it never be said of Jason Presley, after all, that he’s not at least consistent with his insanity. At least, not in his dreams.
Lately my madness was going through something of an identity crisis.
Or something. Fuck, I don’t know. I wasn’t a shrink. If I was I likely would’ve never gotten into this mess.
But then I wouldn’t have met…
A palm made of pure, unforgiving flame hauled off and slapped me across the face. Another swept at my ankles, knocking me flat on my ass.
Oh… right.
I’d been here before…
Fuck.
Hell. I was in Hell. Not in any sense of “Here I am, paying for my sins,” or some hokey shit like that. No, this wasn’t a religious story—not unless I’m preaching the gospel of pussy and motor oil, though I wouldn’t disbelieve it if someone told me I was—and I certainly wasn’t dead enough to be going to the great Downstairs anytime soon. Nope. This Hell was the very Hell I’d escaped from—what?—a day ago? A week? Hard to tell; it was all just one big cycling dream, after all. I’d slide into consciousness long enough to know I was spread out on a hospital bed somewhere. Seemed nice. Somebody with the Crows must’ve put up some good money to make sure I had a private room all to myself.
Place even smelled nice, but that was only because I knew a certain someone was visiting…
But there was nothing so pleasant as that here. Here was the stink of a freshly blown meth lab, melting plastic, and the pungent stink of my life as I all-but threw it away.
And things were just starting to get nice, too.
The dream, like it always did, dropped me off just in the middle of the clusterfuck. I was already in the apartment—Candy’s and her apartment; or, rather, the apartment that had only just recently stopped being theirs—and the drug lab in the next apartment over had just gone off. That, I suppose, there was no rewriting in the cycling narrative of my mind. As an author of dreams, I was something of an asshole—an especially heinous realization when one considered that the only audience to such creative nut-fuckery was myself.
You can tell a lot about an artist based on how they treat their audience, I’m told.
Actually, nobody’s ever told me that…
Maybe the nurse should have turned up my oxygen. I was in Hell and digressing; philosophizing and…
And there was a fiery chunk of wall sailing through the air towards my head.
Philosophize later, Jason, I scolded myself as I rolled free of the debris.
A scalding mass collided with the back of my hip and I seethed, sucking in hot, toxic air through clenched teeth and feeling the sting through both time and reality. A shrinking sliver of my mind held onto the fact that this wasn’t real—that, sure, it had been real, but I was only reliving it all in the safety of dreams—but it did nothing to curb the pain.
Nurse? I thought, hobbling through the smoke-filled living room and calling out to Danny, I think my morphine’s runnin’ dry.
Still I called out to Danny, the part of my brain that knew this was a dream not on happy speaking terms with the part that was certain this was the first time all over again. I was there for Danny—had gone there f
or Danny!—and, dammit, I wasn’t going to leave him now, then, or ever!
“MERC! MERCURY, WHERE—”
A fresh burst interrupted my words. Wood screamed, splintered, and spilled out through the living room. I felt a swell of new air as the door exploded off its hinges; the gust blowing the rational bits of my dreaming mind into…
The stink! Fucking hell, it was awful!
I could practically feel the hairs in my nose curl; could almost hear them saying “FUCK THIS!” and preparing to evacuate my nostrils and head for more pleasant pastures. A nice manure patch or a perhaps a Florida landfill in the throes of summer.
Christ, I wouldn’t be far behind at this rate!
And yet, despite the stink, I spun on my heels to face the doorway—turned away from the kitchen where I’d been headed; away from Danny—and caught sight of something I already knew to be waiting there: a tall, lanky silhouette—all hunched and heaving and already hauling ass through the opening it had opened up for itself.
“YOU!”
I could have lived this moment a thousand times—and, fuck me sideways, I felt like I already had—and I’d never, never know for certain which one of us said the word. Long as I’m being honest with myself, I don’t think I could say with any real certainty if it was even truly said aloud.
But I want to say it was; want to believe I wasn’t just making that up.
“YOU!”
It seemed to hang there like a hot, smoky word balloon in some oversaturated comic panel. A shrink could tell me the word was written over our heads in smoke and fire and, yeah, I’d believe him. Time was certainly moving slow enough to up and freeze then and there, capturing us in an eternal “oh fuck”-moment to be paired beside other “oh fuck”-moments in a sequential tale of fire and friendship and…
Fuck!
T-Built!
The son-of-a-bitch who’d haunted any number of prior nightmares.
The son-of-a-bitch who ran the Carrion Crew’s drug and sex rings.
Riding On Fumes: Bad Boy Motorcycle Club Romance (The Crow's MC Book 2) Page 4
