by Joy Blood
“I want to talk to Brock,” I snap and storm outside to the dark night, straight to my bike, ready to tear apart the one person who said Wells would be here.
“Jesus. Why the fuck would I come all this way, to the fucking club, and betray you again! What kind of fucking death wish do you think I have?” Brock yells as I round the chair he’s tied to. I don’t respond. I’m not here to interrogate.
“Blood for blood, Brock,” I crouch down eye level with the man who helped our Chicago brothers tear apart this club for greed. Reaching down to my boot, I take out my knife and flip it open. Instantly, the man pales, knowing I’m not fucking around.
“Sage—” I cut off his plea when I take his pinky in my hand and start sawing away at the flesh with the other. The scream he lets out rings in my ears, but I keep going, blood pouring over his lap and down to the floor, splattering on my boots, but I don’t give a fuck. When my knife hits bone, I press harder, and with a flick of my wrist and the crunch of bone, the pinky snaps off, never to be part of Brock again. “Fucking hell! I had nothing to do with it!” he yells, pissing me off further. I’m ready to go for the next finger in line when my phone vibrates in my pocket. Standing, I toss the dismembered digit to the floor and walk out of the kill shed, uncaring what any of my brothers say about my abrupt exit.
I don’t bother glancing at the phone before I answer it, only I don’t get to say anything because the whimper on the other side makes the blood on my veins roll to a stop.
“Sage?” Her soft, broken voice brings my fist to my mouth, and I bite down to stop myself from reacting too brash.
“Brook, baby, where are you? Are you okay?”
“I don’t—”
“She’s alive. For now,” Wells’ weaselly voice cuts her off. “Meet us at the mill. Just you,” he barks out, then hangs up before I can yell out my threats.
Forty-Nine
Sage
It takes only minutes to get to the charred remains of the wheat mill I rigged to blow so many years ago in an attempt to take out each and every one of the turncoat motherfuckers. Only…I didn’t do a good enough job because one of the cockroaches managed to creep past us. The buildings are mostly gone, but there’s still one standing. That has to be where he has her. I go right up to the door—play right into the asshole’s hand.
I cut the engine to my bike and start walking to the door when a gunshot rings out. “That’s far enough.” Wells. He steps out from the side of the building, his gun aimed at me. “I knew you would be too hotheaded to worry about telling anyone to come with ya. Didn’t take you as long as I thought. Drop all your weapons,” he demands, and I turn around to face him. His face is almost completely melted off, and I inwardly smirk because he and the Chicago chapter assholes did the same to Gin. I start reaching for my weapon when he pulls the trigger, causing dust to rise up from the ground at my feet. “Don’t try nothin’ stupid, and go nice and slow.” I do as he says and drop my guns to the dirt, along with the knife in my boot he yells at me to give up.
“Where is she?”
“Your barely legal bitch? Inside.” He smirks. “Start walking and you can see her.” He nods toward the door, and I quickly start forward, the need to see if she’s okay taking over.
The heavy metal door pushes open with a scrape along the cement floor and the strong scent of gasoline hits my nostrils. A small bulb hangs overhead, lighting up the sparse room, along with two windows at the opposite end of the room. The light from the day starts to fade with each passing second. Then, I spot her—on her knees, looking up at me with sad eyes, tears flowing freely as she sobs silently on the floor.
“You got yourself a Rider. What are you going to do now?” I growl.
Wells doesn’t answer. Instead, I take a heavy blow to my back, right at my kidneys, and drop to the floor, my hands slapping the cold concrete. “Fuck!” I gasp, trying to regain purchase, but don’t get a chance before a kick from Wells’ boot lands hard on my ribcage, making me roll to my side. “That all you got, you ugly bastard?” I taunt him, pissing him off further. His boot comes down again and again, before he pulls my body up into a metal chair. The sound of zip-ties being strapped around my hands and my feet right to the chair catch my attention. I try to move, only to get a blow to my temple.
“Quit moving,” he grumbles as he gets the last strap into place. “You are going to sit here while this whole fucking place lights up around you.” Stepping away, he pulls out a lighter and taunts me with it, flicking it open to light it, only to slam it shut again. “I sat there in one of those fucking buildings, pinned under a beam while my face melted away. The only way I got out was from the beam laying on top of me burning through enough to fall away from trapping me! I sat there, the smell of my own flesh burning, the heat from the fire telling me to die, but I didn’t. Do you have any idea how that feels?” he yells out, as if I would care. “Look at my goddamn face! You burnt it to shit!”
“That he did. Just like you did to mine, asshole.” My head snaps to the still open door where a ghost stands, pointing a gun right at Wells, ready to pull the trigger and end all of this shit once and for all.
Fifty
Gin
Grace is going to kill me. I’m supposed dead. When she finds out I’m only fake dead, she might just make it really happen after all the hell I put her through. When the nurse tried to off me in the hospital, I decided…well, forced Rock to agree with me—that me dying would be the perfect way to get whoever was after me. How better to catch a killer that to pretend you’re dead, only to come back and bite him in the ass when he least expects it? And by the look on Wells’ face, he didn’t expect shit, and by Sage’s dropped jaw, neither did he. Hell, the whole club and my family buried me. Fucking cremated me and stuck my ashes in the ground. Rock was the only one with the knowledge of my plan. I stayed laid up in his panic room recovering. All the while, Wells wreaked havoc. Took my daughter and cut off her fucking finger. “Got any last words, prick? Before I drop you where you stand and let the fire finish you off for good this time?”
“You’re supposed to be dead!” Wells calls out.
“Yeah. So were you, but that didn’t work out for me either, now did it?” he tries to talk, to start flicking that lighter again, but I don’t let him get far. My trigger squeezes easily, and the bullet flies from the barrel directly between Wells’ eyes, dropping him dead—fucking finally—right on the gasoline covered floor.
“Son of a bitch,” Sage says, still in shock.
“Right back at you. Can you cut yourself free?” I ask Sage as I cut away one of his restraints and hand him my knife. Nodding, he takes the knife and starts cutting away at the ties while I go over to where Brook is slumped on the floor, reeking of gasoline. “Brooklyn.” Her name coming from my mouth has her cracking her eyes open for only a second before closing them again. I quickly remove the gag from her mouth and get her hands free. She murmurs something I can’t make out as I pull her to my chest. “Easy. It’s okay.” I hold her tight and let myself smile for just a moment. I don’t think I held her in my arms like this since she was five years old. My little girl. “I need to get her to a hospital. She’s hanging on by a thread,” I say, getting to my feet.
“Yeah. Let’s get the fuck out of here, G,” he says. He doesn’t have to tell me twice. I carry my daughter out of the building and watch as Sage takes something from the floor on our way out. The lighter. We both stand back as he brings a flame to life and tosses the small medal square into the soon to be nonexistent building. Without a second look back, I get Brook settled into the truck I stole from Rock’s garage and nod to Sage as he climbs onto his bike. We both head off toward the clubhouse, a pillow of smoke blooming behind us as we go.
Fifty-One
Brook
Soft whispers pull at my ears brining me in and out of sleep. I can’t make out one word anyone is saying, but my senses let me know they are around me. The presence of someone by my side making the hair on my arms
tingle but not move. In. Out. In. Out. I breathe. They talk. I listen, trying to hear, but can’t.
Go back to sleep.
I want to open my eyes. Why can’t I open my eyes? Open your eyes! I scream to myself so loud, it bounces around in my skull. Nothing. I try to move my arms, but they feel tied to the floor, gravity pressing down on them with enough force to make me mobile.
Go back to sleep.
“Brooklyn. Can you hear me?” His voice is deep and rumbles through my chest like it always did, only this time it’s almost at a whisper—the only kind of whisper he can do. I must be dead; otherwise, he wouldn’t be here. Why can’t I see him? “Open your eyes for me.” I’m trying! I want to yell at him, tell him I don’t want to be dead, tell him I want to go back to before I was taken—back when things were good.
“Please,” the word croaks past my lips, a plea to whatever afterlife I’ve found myself in. Please don’t let me be dead. Send me back.
“You’re okay, Brooklyn. Wake up,” he encourages, rubbing something along my forehead. “Wake up,” he coxes, brushing the thing along my cheek. His hand. It smells like cigarettes, rough and familiar.
“No.” I don’t want it to be true. Not that I’m dead—not that I can’t see him again.
“Come on, Brooklyn. Show me your eyes.” My head shakes, not wanting to open my eyes and let it all be true. That mad man succeeded in killing me, now I’m in limbo. “Open them.”
I do. I crack open my tired scratchy eyes with all the force I can muster. They hurt. Right along with my lips when I move them again, but nothing comes out. I’m too shocked at who’s beside my bed. The man holding my hand and stroking my cheek, willing me to wake up. “There you are. Damn, it’s good to see your eyes.” His relief rolls over me. I’m caught between being happy to see him again to being sad I died and won’t be able to see Sage again.
“Gin?”
A smile pulls at his lips underneath his bushy beard. “Yeah, Brooklyn. It’s me. Here.” He brings a cup of water my way, offering me a straw. “This will help your throat.” I take in a small sip, the cold water lubricating what’s left of my parched throat. I thought maybe I had screamed all the tissue away when Peter cut off—instantly, my eyes seek out my damaged hand, finding a bandage wrapped around the stump of my pinky. It hurts. Why would it hurt if I were dead?
“What—?”
“You are safe now. Wells is dead and gone. Not coming back again.”
“But you—am I?”
“No, no. You’re alive. We both are,” he assures me. “I’m so sorry about all this. You have no idea. I’m going to be paying for it for a very long time. Grace is so mad, she doesn’t know whether to kill me again or hug me.”
“I’m leaning more toward hugging at the moment.” Grace’s voice comes into the room along with the squeaking of boots.
“Damn glad you’re okay, sis.” My brother comes to the opposite side Gin is on, clasping my other hand. “The asshole here was playing a fast one on Wells.” Gin’s free hand shoots out and smacks Jason upside the head.
“Language, boy,” he scolds, getting a chuckle from Jason.
“Not going to lie, I miss having you do that.” He smirks and looks down at me again.
“Sage?” I ask, because his face is the last one I remember before my eyes closed until I woke up here.
“He’s fine,” Jason answers, flicking his eyes to Gin, then back down to me. “Kinda smells like gasoline, but otherwise, still kicking.”
“Couple cracked ribs and a knot on the head, nothin’ he ain’t had before,” Gin finishes.
“It’s so good to see you awake.” Grace smiles, coming to Gin’s side and placing both hands along his back.
“It’s good to see you smile,” I tell her honestly. If Gin really had been dead, I’m not sure how long it would have taken her to crawl out of the haze she was in.
“Yes. I was a little bit of a zombie, wasn’t I?” At her words, Gin’s face cracks from happiness to complete sorrow.
“Babe, I will never be sorry enough for how I played this. But we got him in the end and everyone is safe. Alive. All of us.” Gin pulls back enough to capture Grace’s lips in a slow kiss.
“And that’s my cue to leave. Get better, sis. I’ll be by later.” Jason gives my hand a squeeze before he walks out the door.
“I’m going to go check on Tanya. She went down to the cafeteria to grab some lunch. Can I get you anything, Brook?” Grace offers, reluctantly pulling away from Gin. The sound of food makes my stomach roll.
“Soup maybe? I don’t really feel hungry.” She nods and kisses Gin once more before leaving me alone with my dad. Oh god. Just thinking the word has my heart cracking in two.
“Daddy,” I choke out, tears spilling from my eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“No. Brooklyn. I’m sorry. I was so damn pigheaded, I couldn’t see past my anger to tell you were hurting. Grace made me see how much of an ass I had been. She wouldn’t let me just storm off to get you, though. Told me I needed to let you come back. I couldn’t force it.”
“I was so stupid.” I shake my head.
“Maybe. But I should have helped you, instead of how I handled it. Damn, do I regret how I handled the situation. Forgive me?” His tired eyes are wrinkled at the corners, the skin giving away how much time has aged him. My dad, a burly member of the Hell’s Riders MC, is asking me for forgiveness, and I don’t know what to say. I can only cry. I cry so much, I think I may be dehydrated again as he reaches out to clutch me to his chest. “Shhh, baby girl. I got you. All of this is over,” he tells me in my ear, his beard brushing along my face like it did when I was five. I’m a little girl again, Daddy’s little girl, and everything is going to be okay.
Fifty-Two
Sage
It’s been two days since Gin rose from the dead and saved my and Brook’s ass. I still smell the pungent odor of gasoline on my cut and sometimes on my skin. It just won’t go away. I want to see Brook. Want to sit by her bed and wait for her to wake up. See for myself she’s still alive and Well’s hadn’t hurt her. “She’s awake,” Jay informs me, sauntering through the club. Instantly, I’m off the barstool and ready to ride out to see her, but he stops me, hand on my shoulder. “She’s awake and with her dad.” I pause at that. I knew Gin would be there, and there’s no problem with that. Except there is. He doesn’t know I’m in love with his daughter. And when he finds out, he’s going to maim me. “She asked about you. Knows you’re alive.”
“I’m goin’ to see her,” I say, as if he might stop me. I’m not sure how much he knows, or if he even does. Rock has kept it to himself, but wasn’t the only one to see the video clip sent from Wells. Fuck, I want to go back and kill that fucker again—really fucking slowly.
I bypass everyone and climb on my bike, not caring that the weather is getting colder. I have my thick leather jacket on instead of my cut since it still holds the essence of gasoline. It doesn’t take long for me to reach my destination, each and every speed limit broke, not a cop in sight. We’ll see if my luck holds steady when I see Brook. And Gin.
I try to calm myself as I pound my way through the halls up to where I was a told I would find her room. The door is cracked open and I hear voices, giving me pause. “Ms. Mathers, you were severely dehydrated and lost a lot of blood from the poor amputation you suffered.” Someone—I’m guessing the doctor—explains as I stop myself right outside her door. “We didn’t find any evidence of sexual trauma. However, your blood work came back with high HGC levels.”
“What does that mean?” Brook asks. It sounds broken, raspy, almost as if it hurts for her to talk.
“You are pregnant, Ms. Mathers. Is there a chance you would have conceived before you were abducted?” the doctor asks, but she doesn’t answer.
Pregnant.
She is pregnant.
My head spins. The room doesn’t seem to stop as the conversation on the other side of the door becomes one sided as the doctor starts talking. I
don’t hear him, though. My ass is finding the nearest chair to sit in. Jesus. I fucked up bad. Forget Gin maiming me, he’s going to fucking kill me.
“Sage? Something wrong, brother?” Gin’s booming voice pulls me from my funk, but he doesn’t stop. He continues into his daughter’s room.
Shaking off the news I shouldn’t be at all shocked to hear, I get up from the chair I planted my ass in and follow Gin inside. I may just have a death wish. A smart man would run as far away as he could if the father of the girl he knocked up was about to find out.
“What’s going on? Brooklyn, you okay, baby girl?” Gin asks, placing down the bag I didn’t notice he was carrying. “Doc, why does my daughter look like she is about to pass out?” Gin towers over the thin man in a white coat. The doctor backs up a step or two before his legs bump into the bed.
“Uh…um…I’ll let you speak with your daughter, Mr. Mathers,” the man says, doing the smart thing and rushing out of the room when Gin shoots a look back to Brook on the bed. Still not talking. Not looking at anything. Her gaze suddenly shoots to mine, as if she sensed me walking in behind her dad.
“I’m pregnant,” she breathes so softly, Gins doesn’t hear it, but I do. It hits me square in the chest as she holds her eyes on me, then quickly shakes her head, coming back to Gin, who’s hovering over her.
“What was that, Brooklyn? Goin’ to have to speak up.”
“I’m pregnant,” she repeats, a little louder this time to her old man. A silent pause steals all the air from the room. It hangs heavily, crushing all of us to the floor before Gin’s bellowing voice breaks into the quiet.
