Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea (Brimstone Lords MC 3)

by Sarah Zolton Arthur

  “Wanna come, baby?” I ask Liv.

  “No. Thanks, though. I think I should take the first shift with Blue. He saved my life after all.”

  “Want me to stay?”

  “Not much for you to do here. But I’d love some good coffee.” She bats her lashes at me. Those big, beautiful eyes. Guess I’m hunting down good coffee. “Thank you, babe,” she says. “You remember what I drink?”

  I roll my eyes at her. Like I could ever forget. “Uh yeah, pumpkin spice latte,” I tease. Her face rumples. She hates pumpkin spice lattes. Plus, it’s not exactly the right time of year. “Please, Liv. How long have I known you? If it’s not made with chocolate, then it’s not worth drinking.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Boss pulls at my arm. “Make lovey faces later. I got to go.”

  Caitlin and Duke are taking it easy back at the hotel room they rented. Hero, Blood, Carver and Blaze head to the bar we saw when we rolled into town to decompress and maybe get laid if the pickings are good. We’ve been going so long that the sun’s on the downshift again. The boys are hitting happy hour. A stiff drink would be nice, but I’ve got more important things on my agenda tonight. Like seeing where Liv’s head is at.

  Boss’ll join Elise in their room when we get back from John’s. That is, if we make it back from John’s. Three different deer jump out in front of us before we make the three miles it takes us to get to his place. That’s more than a deer a mile. My phone rings. Drinkswine.

  “What can I do for you?” I ask.

  “Cartwright Sheriff told me they found the body, just as you said. There’d been significant damage, but from the big hole in his head, we’re thinking he probably set the place on fire, then shot himself.”

  Wait, what’s he saying? One body? “Who owned the cabin, do you know?” I ask, holding back my agitation. Drinkswine wouldn’t understand it.

  “Cartwright Sheriff will know that,” The officer answers. “They’ll want to question the man about his connection to Ms. Baxter’s kidnapper…”

  Fuck. Fuckity fuck, fuck, fuck.

  My woman might be in danger and he’s still talking. “…Mr. Longe gets released today.”

  I’ve got to shut him up. “Good. That’s good. Thank you for the update,” comes my hasty reply.

  “Not a problem. But if we need to get a hold of you—”

  “You have my number,” I tell him. “I’ll be happy to cooperate with anything you need.” He rings off, and I turn to Boss. “Turn around. Now.”

  A text pops up on my screen from an unknown number.

  The text just says: I win.

  20.

  Livvy

  Well, at least his color looks better. Poor Blue stays asleep, even with me holding his hand, tracing my thumb along the line of his finger. His skin feels different than Gage’s skin. Not quite as soft. But he saved my life, took not just a bullet, but several bullets for me. And then there’s the head injury.

  I use my other hand to brush his bangs off his forehead. He looks so young lying hooked up to all those monitors, younger than his twenty-two years. The low beeping becomes almost hypnotic as background noise. At least he’s breathing on his own. The brothers’ insurance, because they bought the good stuff, pays for a single room. Even if it didn’t, they’d chip in the rest so that Blue doesn’t end up even sicker with some gross MRSA infection.

  The guy in the room next door sounds like he might be hacking up a lung over there. That disgustingly loud phlegmy cough. I wonder if a solid wall between us is enough protection. Hospitals make me uncomfortable for so many reasons.

  Beep. Beep. Beep.

  Hack. Hack. Hack.

  God, it’s like “Dueling Banjos” hospital edition up in here. I wish Gage was with me to pass the time, but I sent him off to hang with Boss because I know how much he hates to sit unless he’s at home with me and we’re snuggled watching a movie or something. But that’s completely different.

  It’s hard to believe that the Houdini ordeal is over. Looking down at Blue, that’s one more thing he gave me by pushing me out of the way, by taking those bullets and that hit to the head, he opened the field and allowed the Lords to take Houdini out.

  I’m free.

  Elise is free.

  Caitlin. Trisha. Even though they never slept with Logan Hollister, he wouldn’t have stopped with me and Elise. The man was crazy. The absolute hatred he felt for the Lords. No, he’d never have stopped.

  Beep. Beep. Beep.

  If he’d only open his eyes for me, that’d be good. I know he’s sleeping, not in a coma. Pain meds on top of the head injury knocked him out. Gage told me this morning about Smitty. That’s another hospital visit before we head home to Thornbriar.

  But— Stop, Liv. He’s alive. That’s what counts. He’s still alive. I swipe at the tears with the back of my hand. Apparently, I shouldn’t be alone with my thoughts today.

  Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Okay, emotions in check, I pull the phone from my pocket because hearing Gage’s voice right now would help. There’s a missed call notification. I put it to my ear and press play for the voicemail. It’s the secretary for the therapist I’m supposed to start seeing as soon as we get back to Thornbriar. The therapist works out of Milton, the next town over. She’s a friend of Caity. Caity called in a favor to get me in right away.

  They’re all afraid I’ll break again. Even promising I wouldn’t, the consensus is that my “compartmentalizing the trauma I’ve experienced is actually repressing the trauma,” which is just a fancy way of saying they think I’ll break again.

  To give Gage peace of mind, I’ll go and I’ll do it happily. What could it hurt, right? Houdini won’t control any more of my life.

  Gage hasn’t gotten back a hold of me to tell me if he’s found me good coffee yet or not so because as much as I want to be here for Blue, staring at a sleeping biker does nothing to help with my melancholy thoughts. So yeah, maybe seeing that therapist is a good idea after all.

  I stand and stretch, patting Blue’s foot before I go. It twitches under the weight of my hand, but he stays sound asleep, hopefully dreaming of beautiful biker bitches as I make my way into the dimly lit hallway. Dimly lit for the head injury patients.

  There’s a coffee pot in the waiting room down by the nurses’ station to the right, but there’s a restroom to the left. I opt for the restroom first because drinks in a restroom—ew. Outside Blue’s room, the hallway stays quiet. All those medical shows on television would have us believe that hospital hallways are busier than Grand Central Terminal.

  It’s actually a bit too quiet. I almost miss the beeping. And now I sound like a whiny nut job. Passing door after door, I try to get a glimpse of the other patients as I walk by. What can I say, I’m nosy. At the end of the hallway I take a left and find the bathroom. It’s an odd placement, off in its own little restroom world. If not for the signs, no one would know they existed down here, as there are no more rooms and you can’t see the doors from the hallway with the rooms.

  Inside, the light flickers on overhead when I enter. One of those movement sensors. There are two stalls. I take the one closest to the door because studies show those are the cleanest stalls. I hear the main door open and someone shuffle in, then take the stall next to mine while I finish my business and go to wash my hands.

  I have two fists full of foam when the second stall opens and like most people do, I look over my shoulder to see my stall neighbor. And I blink. Then I blink again. My mouth hangs open, even though no words escape. There are no words because forming words takes air and the air in my lungs left in a whoosh. I think I might faint.

  Heart palpitations. Brow sweats. The signs are there. Fainting imminent.

  “Wha—how?”

  “Miss me?” he asks, exactly as he had the first time we found ourselves alone together since Chicago. “Because I missed you, Livvy. It wasn’t nice of you to leave before our game ended.”

  “N-No. No. You’re supposed to be dead. I saw
you drop. They killed you.”

  “Why do you think they call me Houdini?” He takes an ominous step closer, and I’m not sure how he managed past the nurses or assistants in the hallway, covered in dried blood and smelling of dirt and char. Leering. Licking his cracked lips. I’d retreat, but there’s nowhere left to retreat to. The sink juts into my hip as it is. Paper towel dispenser into my back.

  “Please, leave me alone. It’s over, Logan.”

  “Logan’s dead,” he hisses. “And it won’t be over ’til you are. This is all your fault. I planned meticulously. There was an order. All the other girls cooperated. You were supposed to die, and then I’d have Elise.”

  He steps closer. I put my hand up in a feeble attempt to stop his progression, as if my will would be enough, because my strength sure won’t be.

  “You couldn’t die like the others, could you, bitch? And I lost my in. Oh, I waited and watched. Waited and watched. Nothing for months. Then you take off in the middle of the night. The new plan had sucked, but this. You handed me you on a fuckin’ plate. Stupid, stupid woman takin’ off.”

  He lunges and I stumble back, my head hitting the wall. His hands go around my neck and he begins to squeeze.

  “I knew when I got you…” Fingers dig into the skin at my throat. I can’t catch a breath. “Everything would fall into place.”

  My lungs burn from lack of oxygen. My head feels cloudy.

  “Elise is here. And she’s mine.” His fingers give one last painful squeeze. Gold spots pop in front of my eyes, then darken to black.

  “My name’s Livvy, what’s yours?”

  “Gage…”

  “I love you, Liv. I’m in love with you…”

  “You don’t call me Chaos, to you I’m Gage…”

  “I’ve wanted to marry you my entire fucking life…”

  My eyes begin to droop and there’s no way for me to open them again.

  “Gage,” I whisper his name in my head. My last goodbye.

  “No.” A voice screams and I don’t know if it’s real or in my head, too. Then Houdini’s hands are torn from my neck. His large body hits the wall across the tiny space. “Breathe, Liv.” Tender touches brush down my cheek. “Breathe, baby.”

  And I remember my airway no longer has fingers digging in, constricting. I suck in a ragged, painful breath, filling my lungs to max capacity. The double vision begins to clear. There’s a thud, and two men begin to roll around on the tiled floor throwing punches.

  I blink.

  Gage. My Gage. He’s come for me. Somehow he knew to come for me. He has his hands fisting Houdini’s ears, lifting the maniac’s head and smacking it against the tile, cracking it at the point of impact.

  Houdini manages a heavy punch to Gage’s chest. The punch stuns Gage and might have knocked the wind out of him. I don’t know what to do—what am I supposed to do?

  Back and forth. Back and forth. The men trade punches. Blood and spittle flying everywhere. I don’t know who’s winning.

  “How did you get away?” Gage swings. The punch connects with Houdini’s ribs.

  “So fuckin’ stupid.” Houdini spits out blood as he swings his return aimed at Gage’s jaw. Gage leans far enough to avoid the blow, but it lets Houdini regain his balance enough to swing again. “Superficial wounds and playing possum. If you’d have actually checked for a pulse, you punk-ass bitch…” This punch hits Gage’s shoulder.

  Gage swings wide and backhands Houdini.

  “You’d have put a bullet in my brain,” he finishes, and I see him pull something from his cut. It glints in the light. “Now I’m gonna put one in yours.”

  “Gage,” I shriek his name, though it comes out hoarse and gritty. I sputter a cough. My man knocks the gun as it discharges, puncturing the hollow metal stall door to crack the wall tile above the toilet. It happens fast, but I see it when the door swings open.

  The men wrestle for the gun. Each vying to turn it on the other. Both of Gage’s hands have Houdini’s wrist and he’s banging it against the wall. Houdini’s grip slips and the gun drops to the floor.

  I blink.

  The men continue to fight.

  The gun.

  On the floor.

  I blink again to shake off the fuzz. Then I throw myself over to the gun and pick it up. I know how to shoot. One of the few beneficial lessons I learned growing up in the club. My head feels fuzzy again. It’s now or never.

  “Gage,” I croak out again. “Move.”

  And then the tiny room fills with deafening pops. Pop, pop. Pop, pop, pop. Then someone wrestles to get the gun from my hand. I fight to keep hold.

  “No,” I’d scream if I had any voice left. For now it’s just me frantically mouthing the word.

  “Liv, baby.” Gage. His voice comes softer. “Give me the gun. It’s over. This time it’s really over.”

  I blink and my vision clears. The room now smells of organs, blood and death mixed with his dirt and char. Holes in his head and chest. I see his brains. Brains. It’s too much. I try to hold back the vomit enough to make it to the toilet but only get two steps before I erupt like a puke volcano all over the floor.

  My whole body begins to shake violently. Shouts fill the space as bodies storm in.

  I blink.

  And then…

  21.

  Livvy

  one year later…

  “Get your fine ass over here, Mrs. St. James.”

  I plan to do as he asks, but seeing Gage lounging on the hammock with the soft breeze rocking the ropes and lapping the waves so close to his feet. The palms swaying… It’s too pretty a picture to let go of just yet.

  Tangerine sunsets are my favorite. My skin has tanned nicely for someone so fair. But it’s nothing compared to the golden tone of my husband. My husband. Finally. After so many years and so much heartache. Gage and I are exactly where we’re meant to be.

  As it turned out, they’d been right about the compartmentalizing being bullshit. And I lost it.

  I wish I could say I was stronger. That I was like Elise, who had a baby and went on with her life. Or even Caitlin, whose ex held her and her daughter at gunpoint and used them as a shield when Duke showed to rescue them. Still, she returned to her life like it never happened.

  But I’m not.

  Not stronger. Not like them.

  I’m Livvy Bax—no St. James. At least now. Then I was still Baxter. Not Elise Hollister or Caitlin Brennan-Ellis. Dr. Ambrose says I’m not supposed to compare our stories. But sometimes I still feel embarrassed. Like I let Gage down somehow. It took us an extra year to get here. After a three month stint as an in-patient at a mental health facility, and six months of intensive therapies after I’d been released. Even a month retreat for Gage and I to learn how to deal with the nightmares that will probably plague me sporadically for the rest of my life, and get to know the new me that’s emerged since the kidnappings. He stayed by my side. His love never wavering. Not once.

  “Woman, you don’t come now, you won’t come now.”

  I sigh my happy sigh and push off the doorjamb.

  We have so much to be thankful for. He rented us a private villa on the beach in Barbados to surprise me for our honeymoon. I’ve never been out of the U.S. before. Since neither of us wanted a big wedding, he decided we’d go big another way. We married at the clubhouse six days ago. Carver officiated just like he had for Boss and Elise.

  My brother stood at Gage’s side as his best man. Elise as my matron of honor. Crass finally made the switch to the sticks to join the Kentucky chapter while I’d been in Smithfield.

  The women surprised me with a small wedding reception. They even had an all black and red Lords wedding cake made. “You should’ve seen the look on that woman’s face when I ordered it,” Elise said. “She made me pay for the entire thing upfront instead of just the deposit. I think she thought I was pranking her.”

  I untie the yellow string from my bikini. First the back tie, then the neck, and I let it fly,
carried by the wind. Gage’s eyes drop from my face to my chest. They sparkle with no doubt evil intent as he licks his lips.

  Next goes the flowery sarong tied at the waist. It flits and flutters behind me, though I don’t let it go. Reaching Gage, I wrap it and my arms around him and I’m swathed in glorious heat from him and the sun. His wicked smile radiates a certain kind of love that has me aching for whatever he’s about to give.

  And boy, am I rewarded. Rather than kiss my mouth, his head dips and his soft lips press to the pulse in my neck. Love and excitement ripple through my body. He’s always had this effect on me.

  From my neck, his lips roam up, blazing a trail. Jaw. Cheek. Nose. And then finally lips as his hands roam down. The touching, tender and reverent. As if securing a memory to keep with him for future reference.

  The hammock rocks, throwing the both of us off balance. I squeal and hold on to Gage as we slip, then fall to the sand. He twists his body to take the hit. I look up into his eyes. It’s official—there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than at his side.

  Grounding my foot in the sand, I push up and roll us so I lay on the bottom, the sarong beneath us doubling as a thin makeshift blanket. Breathing heavily. My Gage. My husband.

  Two thumbs capture the strings of my bottoms. He drags them down my body and tosses them by the water, tickling our toes. Much more quickly, he sheds his board shorts. So much space between us won’t do. I reach up, locking my fingers behind his head, through his hair, and tug him back on top of me.

  His thick length pressing hard against my sex, he begins to grind languorously. Every time I try to move us along, to go faster, he pulls back, then kisses me, moving even slower the next time.

  It’s driving me mad. Can’t he see I’m an exposed nerve ending and I’m completely at his mercy—of which he shows none?

  Ugh. “Please, Gage. Fu—”

  His mouth drops heavy on mine this time as he uses his hands to wrap my legs around his hips, and then—oh, damn—he glides effortlessly into me. When he begins to move, when I begin to move, we’re the last two people on Earth. Nothing else exists outside the sounds of our love making.