Translation: If putting Ironwood in charge of the Louisville route doesn’t go well, it’s war between the Lords and the Dos Santos cartel. A war that will leave only one of us standing.
Chaco looks at me. “You tell Angel I accept the terms. For now.” His eyes move back to Axel. “I expect, as you say, that the cartel will notice no difference during the transition.”
“You can count on it,” Axel scowls.
Now that Chaco seems satisfied with Axel’s leadership, it’s time to bring up the matter of the other cartels. “We know the turf wars between you and the other two cartels have been heating up,” I interject. “Angel wanted to make sure Dos Santos has enough strength to keep the product safe and the pipeline open. We’re looking to expand our distribution up north, but we can’t do that unless we know the product will be there when we need it.”
Chaco gives me a steely look. “Dos Santos has entered into an arrangement with Los Caballeros. Our two cartels together have more than enough strength to push back against Sinaloa.”
I’ll nod. “I’ll tell Angel.”
Axel and Chaco go back and forth for a while, arguing logistics and working out methods of payment and drop-off locations. At this point, I just ease back and leave them to it. They’re gonna have to build a relationship in order to gain trust, and there’s no fuckin’ time like the present.
Once that business is taken care of, Chaco turns back to me and asks after Angel’s health. We bullshit for a couple of minutes until he stands again, signaling that the meeting is over. Axel stands too, and shakes Chaco’s hand this time. Then the Ironwood chapter of the Lords of Carnage MC files out of the room, picking up our guns as we leave.
Tank moves into place beside me as we head out of the restaurant. “That went about as well as could be expected,” he mutters.
“Yeah. Chaco’s not really gonna be good with this until Ironwood has a track record with them. It’ll work itself out.” At least I fuckin’ hope so. Both of our chapters are on the line if Axel and his men fuck up. Chaco’s cartel is powerful, and he’s easily got three times as many men as we do. If shit goes south, the Lords are gonna be in the fight of our lives.
The club rides back to Ironwood in formation. I feel the tension ease from my shoulders as I ride. When we get back to the clubhouse, I can call Angel and brief him, and then at that point, my work here is technically done.
Tank seems to be thinking the same thing. After we park our bikes back at Ironwood, he tells me he’s thinking of taking off the next day and heading back to Tanner Springs.
“You’ve blown through all the Ironwood pussy already?” I joke.
“It’s a small town, brother,” he snickers. “Didn’t take that long. Besides, the bed in that apartment they’ve got me in is hard as a goddamn rock. Be good to get back and get a decent night’s sleep.”
“You disappoint me, Tank,” I shoot back, echoing his words to me earlier. “You’re getting old, man.”
“Fuck you,” he says easily. “I’ll never be as old as you are.”
“Your dick will never be as big, either.”
Tank snorts but leaves that one alone. “You wanna leave tomorrow morning?” he asks. “After we get up and grab some breakfast?”
I pause. “Actually, I’m thinking of sticking around for another day or two,” I admit.
Tank raises a brow at me, and then grins. “You still workin’ on gettin’ into Kylie’s tight little pants? Jesus, Hale, you must be losing your touch. I ain’t never seen you struggle like this with a female.”
“No, dickhead,” I scowl. “It ain’t about that. I wanna make sure all of Axel’s business shit is solid so I can report everything back to Angel. I don’t wanna have to come down here again.”
“Right,” he drawls. “Whatever you say, brother.”
I resist the urge to argue with him, because I know the more I do, the less he’ll fuckin’ believe me, anyway. Instead I just push open the clubhouse door and go in, shaking my head in irritation as he cackles behind me. At least there’s no more club business to be dealt with today. I can just kick back, drink some beer, and shoot some pool. The tension in my body eases even more thinking about the prospect of a relaxing evening. Hell, I tell myself maybe I’ll even find one of the club girls, let her take my mind off shit for a while.
Inside, Axel and his men are already shaking the dirt off their boots and starting to party. Tank looks over and gives me the thumbs up, and I have to laugh at the motherfucker. We join a table of Ironwood men, including Mal, at a big round table, and two prospects arrive with cold beers and shot glasses for all of us. Four club girls come up, just like clockwork, and drape themselves around four of the willing brothers.
“Just like home,” Tank calls over the music with a grin.
I’m just about to take my first pull on the beer in front of me when Cyndi comes into the main room. She notices the club girl hanging on Mal, and pointedly strides over and detaches the chick’s arms from him, one by one. As the girl howls in protest, Cyndi steps around her and settles herself onto Mal’s lap.
“Missed you, baby,” she croons, and nips at his ear. “Y’all get your club business taken care of?”
“We sure did,” Mal murmurs. “All good.”
“Oh,” she blinks then, and looks over at me in surprise. “Hale, you’re here.”
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“No reason, I guess,” she frowns. “But I figured you might be with Kylie.”
“Why would I be with her?” I ask irritably. Cyndi seems to think Kylie and I are a goddamn item, and it’s time someone set her straight. But her reply stops the words in my throat.
“Didn’t she get a hold of you? She’s at the hospital.”
“Hospital?” I repeat, alarmed. “What the fuck happened?”
Cyndi’s brow furrows as she drapes an arm around Mal. “She got a call at work. It’s her dad. I guess he collapsed this afternoon.”
16
Kylie
I’m sitting in my father’s hospital room in the cardiac ward. My hands are trembling like leaves in the wind, and I’m powerless to stop them.
The last hour has been one of the scariest of my life.
Dad is lying in the bed in front of me, his chest rising and falling so fast it reminds me of a hummingbird’s. They brought him in because he’d started having shortness of breath, and then collapsed on the floor of the living room. Thankfully, our neighbor Mrs. Helman was over at the house at the time. She was the one who had the presence of mind to call the ambulance.
If Dad had been alone when he started to have symptoms, I can’t bear to think what would have happened. Knowing him, he probably would have decided just to wait it out, because of the expense of the ambulance ride. Which means if it wasn’t for Mrs. Helman, he might be dead.
By the time I got to the hospital, the doctors thought they had stabilized them, and had moved him to this room to recover. But then his heart rate started to speed up, making the machines he was hooked up to start to howl, and he started to have a second heart attack right in front of me. I started screaming just as the docs and nurses hurried into the room and rushed me out into the hallway — where I stood, helpless and sobbing, as they struggled not to let my father die.
When it was all over, and they had once again gotten his heart rate stable, one of the doctors — a crisply dressed middle aged woman — came to talk to me in the hallway. She told me that the attack was likely an effect of the lung cancer — that the extra work it took to draw air into his lungs meant his heart couldn’t get enough oxygen. It’s likely he has a viral infection too, which we probably missed because he was coughing so much, anyway.
Thankfully, he’s hooked up to an oxygen line now, and he’s resting more or less comfortably. And when he goes home — assuming they’ll let him go home — he’ll need to have an oxygen tank for the foreseeable future.
My throat aches with the effort of holding back my tears as I wait for my father to have
the energy to speak. When he finally does, he lifts a frail hand a couple of inches off the bed and gives me a weak chuckle. “Too bad I couldn’t have waited to have this attack for a few weeks, until your health insurance thing kicked it,” he observes. “This is gonna cost a pretty penny.”
Reflexively, I say the first comforting thing that comes to mind. “Don’t worry, Dad,” I lie, reaching over to stroke his arm. “I already got the paperwork in. This should be covered, no problem.”
He turns his head slightly and raises an eyebrow. “You work fast.”
I manage a smile. “Yup. I’m on it. So don’t fret. Okay?”
Sighing, he closes his eyes and leans his head back against the pillows. “Wonder when I’m gonna get out of here.”
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll find out. We’ll get you out as soon as we can. Okay? Now, you rest. I’ll be right here.”
Within a minute, he’s asleep, his mouth falling open to a soft snore under the oxygen mask.
I swallow painfully, relief mixed with sorrow, and stand up. My hands are still trembling, and I’m practically jumping out of my skin, half-terrified that Dad’s going to have another attack. I’m hoping that a walk around the floor might calm me down a little bit.
I make a loop around the oncology ward. The cold, sterile lighting, the mass-produced art work on the walls that’s meant to be soothing, do nothing to distract me from everything that’s just happened. Now that I’m alone, Dad’s words come back to ring in my ears. This is gonna cost a pretty penny. Hell, it sure is. This emergency visit to the hospital is going to make things even harder. The ambulance ride alone is going to cost a mint. We haven’t even started his cancer treatments yet, and already I’m in the hole. Inwardly I cringe, hating myself for even thinking about money at a time like this. The last thing I wanted to do was worry him, though, in the state he’s in. Hell, I’ve already lied to him once about having insurance through my non-existent job promotion. What’s one more lie, at this point?
After I complete my first circle of the floor, I come back to peer into Dad’s room. He’s sleeping soundly, chest rising and falling a little more slowly now.
I pull the door almost closed again, and start another turn around the ward, my mind still on how to pay for all this. I’ll just have to ask for more work from the MC. Maybe I can persuade them to let me handle more jobs. And I can ask Melda to schedule me out for a while, so I know when I’m off at the salon. That way, I can be free to do more drop-offs for the club. I know they’re considering me for their Cincinnati run, whatever that is, and I’m guessing that’s more risk, so therefore more money. Maybe I can talk them into letting me start that right away, since the Dayton run went off without a hitch.
My second tour of the floor completed, I go back to Dad’s room and settle into the uncomfortable chair next to his bed. I watch him sleep and play with my phone until a nurse comes in and tells me visiting hours are coming to an end. Regretfully, I reach out and touch Dad’s hand one more time, being careful not to wake him. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” I whisper, and kiss him softly on the forehead.
Back outside the room, I start to walk toward the exit. I thought I had managed to calm myself down, but somehow the stress of the last couple of hours all comes flooding back up at once, and my legs start to crumple under me. I manage to get to a small, deserted waiting alcove and slump into a chair. And there, half in the dark, I put my face in my hands and cry like I haven’t cried since I was a little girl. I’ve never felt so alone, so afraid, so abandoned. Suddenly, I’m sure the chemo isn’t going to work — that my dad’s going to die, and I won’t have anyone left. I feel so selfish even thinking about myself instead of him, but I’m so scared to be an orphan. It feels like an enormous chasm of death is opening up in front of me, and I’m standing on the precipice, about to fall in and disappear.
I know I have to be strong for my father. But God, I don’t know how I’m going to do it, when all I want to do is fall into his arms and sob my heart out, hoping with the hope of a five year-old that he’ll be able to wrap his arms around me and make everything better.
I don’t know how long I stay like that. A few people walk by and stare into the alcove with concern on their faces, but thankfully none of them comes in to ask me if I’m okay. Eventually, I make myself stop crying, because I’m embarrassed, and because the last thing I want to do is talk to a complete stranger about any of this.
I pull myself up and stand, my eyes and throat raw from crying. I suck in a long, ragged breath and let it out. Then I do it again. Finally, with a last sob that I swallow, I shake my head. No. We’re done crying for now.
Half-blinded by the tears I won’t let myself shed, I leave the alcove, turn down the hall, and exit the ward. I find the elevators, and when I punch the button one opens, mercifully empty. I ride it down to the first floor, hugging my arms to my chest as though if I let go, I’ll fly apart. Then, when the doors open on the first floor, I burst out of them and start to run, not stopping until I get to the front entrance.
I’m pushing through the front doors of the hospital, trying not to look anyone in the eye, when I almost bump smack into a brick wall of a man in dark leather. As I rear back and put up my hands to stop the collision, strong arms come out and grab me by the biceps, stabilizing me so I don’t fall.
“Whoa,” a deep, familiar voice rumbles, and my stomach instantly does a sickening flip as I realize who it is.
“Cam?” I stammer as I pull back and try to pretend I wasn’t about to fall right into him. “What are you doing here?”
“Your friend Cyndi said something happened to your dad.” His dark eyes stare down at me with something like concern. “Said you got called at work and had to leave.”
“Yeah…” I sniffle loudly clear my throat, brushing at my face with the backs of my hands. I’m embarrassed to be seen like this, especially by him, of all people. I still don’t understand why he’s here, but I don’t know how to ask it. He’s made no secret of his dislike for both me and my dad. And with good reason, I guess. “He’s, uh… he had a heart attack. I guess the strain on his heart from the cancer was too much.”
“Was?” Cam is alarmed. “Jesus. Shit, Ky, I’m so fucking sorry.” He runs a rough hand through his short-cropped hair. I realize he thinks I’m saying that Dad’s dead.
“Oh, no… no.” I shake my head, giving him a faint smile. “I mean, he’s okay for now, at least. They have him hooked up to oxygen. He’s sleeping right now.” I gesture vaguely behind me, toward the inside of the hospital. “He’s in a room in the cardiac unit. So, crisis averted, I guess.”
“Glad to hear that.” He pauses, then nods at my face. “So, why are you crying, then?”
“I’m not,” I protest, though even as I say the words, I can feel the tears running down my face.
Cam looks down at me. His lips curve just slightly, into a smile that’s not mocking, but gentle. “Okay, then,” he murmurs softly. “Why are you not crying?”
The last thing I want to do is talk about this. But somehow I find myself telling him exactly what’s in my mind at this very moment anyway. “Because… this is just a temporary reprieve,” I choke out, hating the tremor in my voice. I look up at him, really look at him, for the first time. “He’s so sick, Cam.” The wobble gets worse. “The doctors say the reason he had the attack is probably because his system is so compromised. Maybe a viral infection in his lungs, or maybe a blood clot. They don’t know. But —”
Suddenly, a gut-wrenching sob tears through me, ripping from my throat before I can stop it. I stumble, and Hale catches me, his warm hands, then his warm arms, wrapping tightly around me. I start to cry again, even though I thought I’d cried myself to the point of dehydration. I cling to him, mortified but helpless as I weep, the sound muffled against his chest.
A Hale I’ve never seen before holds me closer. He murmurs words that I can’t quite hear, but that sound soothing and kind. He doesn’t tell me to stop crying — d
oesn’t tell me to do anything. He only stands there and holds me up.
“I’m so afraid, Cameron,” I weep. “I’m so, so afraid…”
“Sshhh…” he whispers. His mouth is close to my ear, his breath in my hair. “I know, Ky. You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay.”
“I’m not, though. What if I’m not?” I let myself ask my worst fear. “He’s all I have! I know he’s not perfect. I know what he did… but he’s all I have…”
Cam stiffens for a second, and then relaxes. “Come on, Ky. You need to rest. You need to get away from this for a little bit. Let’s get you out of here.”
And then — because the idea of not thinking or making any decisions right now sounds too good to resist — I let Cameron Hale lead me away from the hospital, to wherever he has in mind.
17
Hale
I lead Kylie away from the hospital, and to her truck, because I don’t think she’s gonna be any good on my bike right now. I ask her for the keys, which she hands to me numbly.
At first I’m gonna take her back to her house. But as I start the engine, I realize she’s in no shape to be alone right now. Especially not in a space that will be filled with the absence of her sick dad. I ain’t about to take her to the Ironwood clubhouse, either. So I just put the truck into gear and start to drive, without any particular idea of where I’m gonna go.
Kylie doesn’t seem to notice or care that I’m not heading to her house. She stares ahead, lost in her own private agony. I head out of town on the first road I find. I keep the radio off, and we just drive in silence for a while. It’s dark now, and in the country the stars shine bright in the night sky.
“It’s beautiful out here,” Kylie finally says, quietly. “I don’t ever come out this way. I don’t really ever get out of town much, actually.” She waits a beat. “Except to go on runs for the club.”
She doesn’t say more, but it’s clear what she means. Kylie’s life is work, and taking care of her dad. Even I can see that. I think back to last night, to her at the clubhouse, all dressed up in that tight-ass dress and fuck-me heels. All of a sudden, I feel pretty goddamn bad that I got so fuckin’ mad at her, even though she was crazy as shit to wear that getup in a room full of raging testosterone. She probably just wanted to have a night out. To have some fun.
HALE: Lords of Carnage MC Page 10
