My Perfect Drug (Reapers MC: Ellsberg Chapter Book 2)

by Bijou Hunter

  Quaid is silent for a long time. Then he speaks in a hollow voice. “When I was overseas with the Army, we dealt with some shady fucks. Our allies and our enemies were both evil, and we had to pick the most loyal one to play against the other. More than once, I wondered what the point was of taking sides when they were both awful. I feel the same way with your family and the Roches. Strategically, the Reapers ought to wipe out both families and install their own people to run weed, booze, and crystal meth.”

  “If that happens, don’t wipe out Sissy and her kids,” I mumble, feeling tired now. “They’re not bad people.”

  “I’m not wiping anyone out, and I suspect your sister is why Cooper doesn’t either. If he takes out the bad guys of the families, can the rest of the members survive? Besides, even the most surgical strikes usually create collateral damage. So Cooper doesn’t kill anyone and tries to work with the regimes currently in place.”

  “It won’t be forever,” I say, opening my eyes, seeing the car racing far over the speeding limit. Closing them, I continue, “Topher and Bobby Bo are similar. Neither wants their kids to rise up to challenge them. So they beat down the next generation until they’re no more than sheep. When they die, not a lot of people can take over. My cousins from Ohio will try, but they’re idiots, and I can’t imagine them lasting long in a town where they’re not the top dogs.”

  “No, I suspect in a generation both families will be a memory. As more shit is ruled legal, there won’t be a need to run illegal booze and drugs. Shit, why doesn’t your father already sell his weed legit?”

  “He doesn’t want to pay taxes.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Quaid parks the Tahoe at the ER entrance. When I reach for the handle, the muscles in my back catch and I don’t think I can pull myself out of the SUV. My feet dangle out the door, but I lack the strength to do much else. Quaid reaches inside, wraps a hand around the back of my neck, and leans me forward until I’m steady.

  “Pass out once we’re inside,” he says and takes me under the arm. “I’m getting too old to carry dudes.”

  I think to laugh, but the world is spinning, and I start to forget why we’re here. Quaid asks for someone, and I nod as if I know who. The waiting room is empty except for a man with a superficial head wound and a woman working her way through a bad dose of LSD. I smile at her babble, remembering the onetime Lily tried acid. She told me she was a dragon in another life and then she threw up on my lap. That might have been the night I fell in love with her.

  I’m moved to the exam area, and I think of all the times I’ve been here before. When Topher shoved me out of a moving truck, I got my leg torn up on the asphalt. Or when Cy hit me over the head with a bottle of bourbon he swiped from a liquor store. Or the other times Topher stabbed me in the back. None of them needed surgery like the doctor says I do tonight.

  “This is just not my day,” I tell Quaid who says something about Johansson women being worth the trouble. He isn’t wrong.

  I’m about to be wheeled off to be cut open by strangers. Even accustomed to spending most of my life feeling alone, I’m suddenly frightened by the concept of no one watching over me. Instinctively, I reach for Quaid’s hand and drag him closer.

  I want to leave Lily with a beautiful message just in case I die. Something poetic that’ll keep her warm when I can’t. A grand visual of words that’ll make my son wish he’d known me. All I come up with, though, is, “Tell Lily not to let anyone talk her out of the baby name she wants. If she loves Barnaby, then she should have a Barnaby. Will you tell her that?”

  “Yeah, man.”

  Quaid isn’t an emotional man, which is good. If he got choked up, I’d probably cry like a bitch. For the first time in my life, I’m really fucking scared to die. Earlier today, I thought I’d lost Lily. Then I got her back. Then I thought she might lose her pop, so I took a blade for him.

  Now I wish I’d stayed at her place and played house all day with my Lily Bear, my sister, and her kids. We’d been happy and safe, and I wouldn’t be stripped down and surrounded by strangers while my woman feels a million miles away.

  THE PRINCESS

  MJ decides popcorn doesn’t satisfy her son. She also announces she’s having a boy and plans to name him “Cheetah or something like that.” Mom leans back on the couch and rolls her eyes. Sissy, though, seems genuinely concerned.

  “Why Cheetah?” she asks as they stand in the kitchen chopping something.

  “I feel like my son will be fast and exotic.”

  Sissy glances back at me, wearing a frown. I shake my head, and she understands how MJ is likely kidding.

  “I wanted to name Haydee something else, but Topher said it was stupid.”

  “Yet he named you Sissy,” MJ says because she’s allowed to say whatever she wants.

  “I know, right?” Sissy cries. “I hate my name. People always think it’s a nickname.”

  “Why don’t you change it?”

  “Topher won’t let me.”

  “Then kill him.”

  Sissy’s mouth pops open and remains that way until I join them in the kitchen.

  “She’s messing with you,” I tell Sissy and take over her chopping duties. “Let me help. You know what they say about many hands making light work. Besides, you shouldn't cut onions when your eyes are swollen. It’ll make them hurt.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “I know, but when you cry, it makes me sad.”

  “Not me!” Hart yells.

  I’m not sure if the boy’s responding to my comment or something Haydee did with their cars full of kids from the game “Life.”

  “I’m sorry,” Sissy says, looking guilty. “I didn’t think about that.”

  “No, you never think of me,” I say and then nudge her over with my hip. “Now I’m messing with you.”

  “Oh, well, okay.”

  MJ looks at me before dumping onions into a pot. “I wasn’t kidding about killing Topher. He’s bad, and someone should just shoot him in the head.”

  “That’s true. Why don’t you do it?”

  “I will if he comes here and stands still. I apparently don’t shoot well with a moving target,” MJ says before working on the celery. “Hey, you shot that Rudy Roche. Now go shoot Topher.”

  “If he came at me and it was in self-defense like with Rudy, I would.”

  MJ’s eyes light up. “Then let’s get him to attack you. That way, you can shoot him and claim self-defense.”

  “That really isn’t self-defense, though.”

  “Oh, who’s going to know?” MJ says, smirking. “I won’t tell, and Sissy isn’t even listening. Mom probably can’t hear us either.”

  “Yes, I can!” Mom calls out. “What are you cooking?”

  MJ shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe soup.”

  “With onions and celery?” I ask.

  “What part of ‘I don’t know’ do you not understand?”

  “We could make a stew, but that’ll take a long time to be done.”

  MJ sets down her knife. “I think we have stew in the fridge.”

  “Then what are we cutting?” I cry, losing my temper because I hate pretending Dash isn’t suffering and alone.

  Mom hurries to the kitchen where I stand with a knife in my hand, likely looking similar to how she did yesterday when I announced the baby and my relationship with Dash. Oh, my, was it only yesterday when I told my parents what I’d hidden for so long?

  “He’s okay,” Mom says, hugging me.

  “But how do I know?”

  “Quaid says Dash is out of surgery and should be fine,” MJ announces.

  I find my sister holding Sissy’s phone. She shows me the text from Quaid.

  “Problem solved,” MJ says before handing the phone to Sissy.

  “Why didn’t he call here?”

  “He doesn’t call people. It’s against his worldview,” MJ says and returns to cutting celery for a meal we’ll never finish. “He might have called my ph
one, but it’s not here.”

  “Ask him if Dash is awake.”

  “No.”

  “Please.”

  “Why can’t you just type the words?” she asks, chopping a carrot now.

  Sissy hands me the phone, and I type in what I think will sound like MJ. “Hey, wise lover, are Dash’s eyes open?”

  A moment later, Quaid responds with, “Lily, don’t call me wise lover.”

  Rolling my eyes, I nearly hand back the phone. Before I do, I see the words.

  “Lily Bear, I want our mutt named Champ.”

  Giggling tearfully, I type, “Barnaby Champ Mullen is a bad name.”

  Mom looks over my shoulder and whispers, “Not as bad as Cheetah.”

  “I don’t know what I’m making,” MJ says and rests the knife in the sink. “I wish Quaid was here to tell me what to cook.”

  “Let’s order pizza,” Mom announces.

  The kids perk up and stare at Sissy with their excited, owl-like eyes. She notices their interest and reaches for her purse. “I don’t know what I have.”

  “It’s on us,” Mom says, patting Sissy’s hand. “You just relax while I figure out what to do with the chopped veggies.”

  MJ and Sissy walk to the living room where they sit on the couch and don’t talk to each other. The kids return to playing with the tiny people from the “Life” game. Mom takes the home phone and calls for pizza, ordering way more than we could ever eat, but I’m sure we’ll have muscled men around soon.

  Sitting at the kitchen table, I text Dash until Quaid takes over to say my man’s zoned out on the good stuff. He also sends a picture. Dash smiles lazily, drools a bit, and looks better than I could have hoped. If not for the medical device in the corner of the picture, I’d think he was stoned at a party rather than drugged at the hospital.

  Calm now, I don’t think about today. Goodness gracious, today was the absolute worst. Even worse than yesterday. No, best to forget all about today. Now I only see tomorrow, and I believe with all my heart—despite so much evidence to the contrary—that it’ll be a better day.

  By the time Tucker arrives to keep us from leaving, we’re spread out in the living room, full of pizza and staring at the Avengers on the big screen. On the floor, Sissy acts as a pillow to her kids while she rubs their heads. On the couch, Mom does something similar with MJ and me. We’re a six pack of people without a care in the world.

  That’s our story, and we stick to it for the rest of the night.

  THE LOSER

  The night goes by in a weird haze. I feel awake the entire time, but every time I blink, shit changes. People come and go. At one point, I text Lily. Quaid maybe takes a picture, and I tell him I probably look stoned. He says that’s about right. Then I blink, and he’s gone, and I’m alone in the hospital room.

  I keep wondering who the hell is going to pay for me to stay overnight and receive rich people care. In the past, when I got shanked, I was home an hour later after getting a few stitches. Sure, Topher hasn’t aimed his attack with me in mind, so maybe it went deeper, and maybe surgery was necessary. All those maybes have price tags attached to them. My family has the money to pay, but that doesn’t mean they will pay, and I sure as shit don’t have insurance.

  The pain medication makes my problems go away for the short term. I’d prefer a joint to the hardcore shit the hospital offers, but less pain is better than the shit I suffered before they doped me up for surgery.

  I must sleep for hours. At least, the view out the window goes from night to day. Another change is how the chair to my left goes from empty to filled with Cooper Johansson’s ass. He’s already frowning at me before I even notice him. How long has he worn that pissed-off glare while I slept? The possible answer makes me smile.

  “Are you here to break me out?” I ask in a voice that sounds phlegmy.

  “They won’t discharge you today.”

  “They will if you tell them to. You're very tall and intimidating. Do that thing with your lip. The Billy Idol move that makes men piss their man-panties.”

  “Are you stoned?”

  “Not in a fun way but in a high-scale suburban way,” I say, trying to sit up in bed. “I’m not a fan. I’d be much happier with ACDC or Blackberry Kush to kill the pain.”

  “Potheads irritate me.”

  “Really? I find drunks more annoying. C'est la vie.”

  “Don’t talk to me in French.”

  “It’s the only other language I know,” I say, chuckling, “and I only know two phrases. Is that gonna be okay?”

  I don’t know what I find funny about Cooper Johansson's disdain for French. The guy just cracks me up. Or maybe the pain medicine does. Either way, I laugh until I hurt.

  “You fucked up last night,” he says when I finally fall silent.

  “Okay.”

  “What were you thinking?”

  “Thinking isn’t my strongest skill.”

  “No, it fucking isn’t.”

  “Am I supposed to apologize for taking the blade instead of letting you have it?”

  “Not to me, but you owe one to Lily.”

  I study him for what feels like forever. “You feel guilty, and you’re taking it out on me. I get how that works. What I don’t get is what I need to say to make you quit your bitching?”

  “Watch your tongue, boy.”

  “Why are you even in here?”

  “I wanted to keep an eye on you until Lily arrives in a few hours.”

  “That’s mighty sweet of you,” I say, laughing again until the pain in my back forces me to shut up. “Lily has amazing hair.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “It’s like the thickest hair on anyone ever. If there were a Guinness World’s Record for best hair, she’d fucking win it.”

  Cooper leans back in the tiny chair and exhales roughly. “This is why stoned people piss me off.”

  “I didn’t get stabbed to make you like me,” I say, trying to be serious despite my mind mostly focused on Lily’s hair. “It was all about your daughter. If she loved you like my sister loves our father, I wouldn’t have bothered getting shanked for you.”

  Cooper says nothing for a few minutes, and I start counting the stars floating in front of my buzzed eyes.

  “What’s the deal with the blue bear tattooed on your chest?” he asks, refusing to hide his disgust.

  “Wait, were you checking me out when I was naked?”

  “Freak.”

  Grinning, I look at him for a few seconds before finally remembering his question and answering. “Eight years back, Lily and I went to the Autumn Festival in Lexington. It was our first public date, and I won her a blue stuffed bear. She would send me pictures of it with her while she studied or ate or hung out with your family. It was her way of making me feel as if we were together. So I got a tat of the blue bear over my heart, so she’d know she was always with me.”

  “Fuck, I know what stuffed bear you’re talking about,” he growls. “This shit has been there right under my nose for years, and I didn’t see.”

  “Lily couldn’t be square with you.”

  “She could, though.”

  “Not really.”

  “Shut up.”

  “What if Farah was a Mullen? Would you have rushed to tell your parents?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re a very brave man,” I say, snickering.

  Cooper stands up, and my laughter dies in my throat. Trapped in bed with a tube in my pisser and a needle in my arm, I can’t do anything if this man decides to pound me. My brain says he probably won’t. He’s Lily’s pop, but more importantly, he isn’t Topher.

  But I remain very still until he struts to the window and I accept I’m not in danger.

  “I don’t like you,” Cooper says with his back to me. “Some of that’s because of your last name, and some of it’s because no one is good enough for my daughter.” Sighing, he turns to me. “But Lily wants you, and I can’t pretend it’s a fad since sh
e’s been sneaking around for years with your blue-bear-tattooed ass.”

  I think to point out how my ass is tattoo-free and maybe throw in a comment about how his daughter asked me once to get her complete named inked on my butt. Despite the drugs flowing through my system, I’m able to shut down the urge to blurt out crap that’ll ruin this almost beautiful moment with Cooper Fucking Johansson.

  “And she’s carrying your kid,” he says through clenched teeth. “So I’ll try to pretend as if your face isn’t the most punchable damn thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “And I’ll do my best to keep my face from smiling smugly whenever possible.”

  “You couldn’t just say thank you, could you?”

  Snorting with laughter, I shrug. “In my defense, I’m pretty high on morphine.”

  “True.”

  Closing my eyes for a second, I open them to find Cooper now sitting in the chair. Before I can doze again, Rudy Roche’s face pops into my head.

  “What happened to the asshole?” I ask in a rough voice and look around for a cup of water I remember the nurse mentioning. “Is his family in the hospital? Do they know about Lily?”

  “Rudy Roche was transported to a hospital in Edgewood. Last I heard, he might not make it.”

  “Good.”

  “I won’t lose any sleep over his death, but the Roches might want revenge. Delusional as that might be, they might try, and it might get messy for them.”

  “What about Lily?”

  “I’ll have someone watching her at all times.”

  Adjusting in bed, I sigh. “Yeah, about that. You had someone watching her a good chunk of the time we were sneaking around.”

  “My guys weren’t watching Lily. They were watching the people who might be a threat to her. I don’t know why they didn’t notice you.”

  “They were distracted by Lily’s disguises,” I say, smiling. “It was like when Superman puts on his glasses and people don’t recognize him. She has the same ability with changing her outfits and becoming invisible to those who know her. It’s a pretty sweet trick.”

  Despite Cooper’s unimpressed expression, I remain mighty fucking proud of Lily for twisting people’s assumptions about her in a way that allowed her more privacy. He can’t understand why she couldn’t tell the world what was in her heart. Maybe he’s been Cooper Fucking Johansson for so long that he can’t imagine being anyone else. Or possibly as a guy, he’s never realized life works differently for chicks. Whatever the reason, he can’t put himself in Lily’s shoes and understand how she might want to go a little wild. Or even how she might fear to disappoint a man accustomed to getting his way.