Wrangled Mess

by Reese Madison

  “Chardonnay. Fuck.”

  “You want wine?”

  “No. Turner’s sister. She’s the rival club back east.” He explained getting a hug from Slider. “Hey bro.”

  “You okay man?”

  “I’m good. Can’t kill me that easy. Who shoots long range with a .38?”

  “Someone young and desperate for money. We’ll leave you two for now. Keep your phones handy. Joe has the place wired, pick up the phone and we’ll have ears on. Church tomorrow at nine. We need to figure out how, and if, we’re going to return this muther fucker.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Bring Celeste, and pack a bag. I may be putting you two in hiding until we get this Jackson asshole strung up in front of my sister.”

  “You talk to Turner yet?”

  “Nobody talks to Turner, you talk to his old lady, Georgia, and no. I left her a message, but last I heard he was dragging her up to Montana to do some hunting with Cord.”

  “How’d you catch the guy who shot me?”

  “I didn’t. Salina happened to be driving past you in AJ. She honked and waved when she saw you sitting in your truck at the light by the bank. That’s when she said she heard the shots and saw you slump over. She was on the phone with 9-1-1 when she saw a man running. Well, you know my wife. She ran him down like a police dog. I think he’s more afraid of her than Goat.”

  Trace looked at Salina. “I remember you honking now. Thank you for seeing me.”

  “You’re hard to miss handsome.” She waved everybody towards my front door. “Let’s go guys. We’ll hit this in the morning. Night Doc!!”

  “Night!” I’m trying to see how bad he’s really hurt. They can see themselves out.

  Trace lifted my chin when I touched his arm sling. “Stop. I’m fine.”

  I put my arms around him carefully. “I’ve never been so scared in my life. I knew in my heart you were alive, but I couldn’t stop screaming for you to come home on the inside. You don’t know how happy I am to see you. To hold you.”

  He put his good arm around my shoulders. “I love you too. I’m okay. Just hungry. Do we have anything to eat?”

  I laughed and resisted the urge to hug him as hard as I can, “No. You ate everything. And what your firefighter friends didn’t eat the other night, your biker friends and family ate tonight. Seriously. I think I’m tapped out.”

  “Go check the oven. Ten bucks there’s a casserole dish in there.”

  “What?”

  “Just go check. I’m going to go clean up and get comfortable.”

  “Okay. Can I get you anything?”

  “Just some water in the bedroom. I need to stretch out.”

  “I’ll be right there.” I got a quick kiss before he headed off down the hall to my room. Our room. Looks like we’re living together now. I should be nervous, instead I’m relieved, and a little excited at the idea of waking up to his kisses every morning.

  Sure enough there’s a lasagna in the oven. I turned up the heat from warm to 250 and went to feed Bits. It’s still early, but after today I want to shut out the world. I used the remote to close most of the drapes darkening the room to a nice secure cave.

  I did the same thing in my bedroom before turning on the fireplace for the second time since I moved in. Normally I’m outside or in the living room. The bedroom fireplace works, but it’s always been more for looks than use.

  Trace finally emerged from the bathroom in his boxers with wet hair. “Remind me not to get shot again.”

  “Don’t get shot again. Come sit.”

  “I can’t sit. One bullet grazed my ass, the other got my forearm. Both were clean through, but still. Fuck that hurt. Hurts. Oh God, don’t tell my mother.”

  “You have to tell her something. Don’t worry about it tonight.” I used a dry towel to press water from his hair.

  “She knows people at the hospital. Get my phone before…” My doorbell rang. “Fuck.”

  “I don’t have your phone honey.”

  “Shit.” He rolled to his right side and laid down.

  “I’ll be back.”

  “Use the peephole Cookie. There’s a step stool inside the garage door.”

  “Okay.”

  I didn’t bother with the peephole. The voices on the other side of my door told me we’d been ratted out by the nurses, and somehow his mother had tracked down my address.

  I opened the door and waved in a woman in her mid fifties, a man who looks like a smaller clean-shaven version of Trace, and a woman with no family resemblance whatsoever.

  Trace’s mother, Bina, waited until I closed the door before holding Trace’s phone out for me to take. “Where’s my son?”

  I took the phone and motioned for her to follow me. “He’s laying down. I was just about to serve up some lasagna. You’re welcome to join us.”

  She didn’t seem to hear me as she went quickly to inspect her son. “What happened?? Who would do this to my baby??”

  “Quit Ma. The guy was a lousy shot, he barely grazed me. I’m sore, but not hurt.” Trace lied to appease his mother. The shot went through his flesh taking two big chunks with them. He’ll be sore for a few weeks.

  “Who is trying to hurt my son??” She looked up at me.

  I mustered up all the strength I could, “My exboyfriend. It seems I underestimated his hate for me. He stole over a million dollars from my royalties, and cheated on my taxes to cover up his funneling of the money into offshore accounts. Trace not only stole me from him on a personal level, but thanks to Trace looking into him, I found out he was not only conning me, but trying to kill me.” Whew! That should about cover it.

  “We’re going to talk more about this later.” She looked back to Trace, “Sit up. Let me see you wounds.”

  “No Ma, I have Celeste to take care of me. Go home. I’ll call you first thing in the morning.” He caught her face in his big hands and kissed her nose and forehead. “Go. And take that idiot brother of mine with you.”

  His brother hugged Trace harder than any of us had dared. Tears filled both their eyes before they let go. We said our goodbyes at the door a few minutes later.

  8

  “This is a mess.” I fed him another bite.

  Trace nodded as he chewed. When he finished he said, “I think we should go away for a few days. Maybe a week. Let the club sort this out. I’m no use to them, or my job, right now anyway.”

  “We’ll talk to Slider in the morning. He called me your old lady.” I’m trying to change the subject.

  “You’re not old.”

  I bopped his nose leaving sauce behind before feeding him the next bite. “I’m not exactly a lady either.”

  “You’re very much a lady Cookie. You don’t have to play nurse maid. I can feed myself.”

  “I know. I’m keeping busy so I don’t have a nervous breakdown. You’ve been in my life for three days, and almost went right out of it before I got a chance to enjoy you. I can’t tell you how freaked out I am right now.”

  “Want my good shoulder?”

  “No. I want to keep busy. For a little while.”

  “When I pass out from the pain meds you can go hunt down all the scraps of toilet paper I blew all over your house.” He suggested trying to cheer me up.

  “That was pretty funny.” Except I’m not feeling too amused right now.

  “Eat some more of that. I think I’m done.”

  “You’re not done. You just want me to think you are so I’ll eat the rest. Then in ten minutes you’ll tell me you’re hungry again.” I’ve seen him eat, and there’s no way he’s had enough of this lasagna.

  “I’ll be asleep in ten minutes.” He assured me and sunk down into the bed.

  “I’m going to go clean up. Come on Bits. You need to go out one more time.”

 
He snorted his agreement and followed me to the back door. I let him out and went to the kitchen where I promptly lost my composure. To make sure Trace can’t see me break down and cry, I sunk to the floor and pulled my knees up to my chest.

  Normally I’m stronger than this. I don’t break down and cry when things go wrong, when somebody gets hurt. Except my dad. That was different. He not only got hurt, he had his heart torn out when the doctor told him he’d never ride again.

  Trace will ride again. Maybe not for a couple weeks, but he’ll ride. Will I be able to ride with him? I can’t think about that right now. He’s just been shot. Twice. By a guy hired by the jerk I dated seriously for over a year.

  Maybe Jackson didn’t pull the trigger, but he paid someone to do it for him. Someone that could start a war for the whole club. Jackson is not only coming after me and Trace, he’s gunning for the club by involving Trace.

  I’m guessing Jackson did a little digging and found out Trace’s last name is the same as the notorious Robert “Slider” Colson Jr. Son of Robert “Bull” Colson, notorious founder of the largest motorcycle club in the country.

  Some come close, most are friendly. Slider has worked very hard to make peace west of the Mississippi since he forced Bull into retirement twenty years ago. He hasn’t told me what he used as a tool or weapon to pull that move off, but I’m sure I don’t want to know.

  Now I have my very own Colson laying in my bed with bullet wounds because of me. I had no idea Jackson was such an asshole!! I found myself crying harder at my own stupidity, than my anger. I’m mad at myself, mad at Jackson, and mad that I’m sitting here falling apart on my kitchen floor.

  “Come here Cookie.” Long supportive fingers hooked under my forearms and gently helped me up. “Come here baby. I got you. I got you.” Trace rocked me in his arm as I tried not to crush the one in the sling.

  “I’m sorry. I’m used to being strong for other people, not for myself.”

  “That’s why you have me, to be strong for you. I let Bits back in, and the house is locked up. Let’s get you naked and between the sheets.”

  “I am so not in the mood for sex.”

  “Who said anything about sex?”

  “If you weren’t injured I might reconsider my stance on us rushing into things.”

  “You have a stance?”

  I stopped at the side of the bed and untangled myself from under his arm to take off my shirt. I kicked out of my sweat pants earning an approving eyebrow raise, then dove into bed.

  He followed so I can sleep in the crook of his good arm. “What’s your stance on us rushing things?”

  I stifled a yawn, “Doesn’t matter, you’re hurt.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Go to sleep.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Shh. I’m sleeping.”

  “I’ll keep asking.”

  “Go ahead, I’ll be asleep.”

  He kissed the top of my head and shook slightly telling me he’s chuckling silently. “Goodnight Cookie.”

  “Ah shit. Cookie. Honey. Wake up love. I need your help.” Trace sounds hurried, but not frantic.

  “What?” I hear his phone now.

  “I need you to go get that, it’s Stan. I haven’t talked to him since I left the hospital.”

  “Speaking of which, why didn’t you call me when you got shot yesterday??”

  “You were on the air baby. Go. Hurry up, please.”

  I groaned and rolled to retrieve his phone from the kitchen bar where I’d left it last night. Instead of risking it going to voicemail I answered it, “Hang on, he’s right here.”

  “Is this Celeste?”

  “Yes.” I need coffee.

  “How is he? Did he sleep last night?”

  “He’s fine, and yeah, I think so. Here.” I handed Trace the phone and climbed back between warm sheets.

  “Hey man, sorry I didn’t call you back. No, I’m fine. I got my girl here looking after me. We’re going to need some east side coverage for a while. Can I give you a prospect to train? He’s done a few jobs with me. Shouldn’t take but a couple weeks overlap to get him worked in. Thank you. I’ll call you back in an hour or so.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yes and no. We won’t be getting those contracts this year.” He tilted his head and reached up with his good arm to twist my hair between his fingers. “Don’t worry about it. It’ll happen when it’s meant to happen. Sorry to rush you out of bed. How do you feel this morning?”

  “Don’t worry about me. How are you? Are you hungry?”

  “I am, but we need to get over to the club. It’s past eight.”

  “I have some quiches we can eat on the way over. Want some help getting dressed?”

  “Depends. Do you want to leave this house today?”

  “Honestly? No. I’d rather stay right here with you.”

  He smiled and bounced his eyebrows once at me. “I like the way you think.”

  “I’m sure you do.” I kissed his neck a couple times then rolled out of bed and pick my clothes off the floor. We joke about the sex stuff, but when it comes down to it we know exactly where we are, and what the boundaries are.

  I set the boundaries with my body language. Just a gentle push of my hands and he backs off. I let him get away with the wandering hands more than should, or normally would.

  Our joking is more of a breaking of the ice. Neither of us could deny the attraction between us. Denying our attraction to each other, would be a flat out lie, and disrespectful to something that is precious, and rare.

  The only reason I’m not throwing myself at the gorgeous man who seems to worship the ground I walk on, is trust. I trust him, I don’t trust myself. Trace and I have a long way to go before I can give so much of myself again. I want to be intimate with him, I miss intimacy of any kind, but I can’t let him all the way in, yet.

  “It was an unprovoked attempt on the life of a member. You can’t just send him back home with a slap on the wrist!” Gunner almost yelled.

  Goat shook his head, “You don’t get it. If we send him home in a body bag there’s nothing to say he really came after Wrangler at all. We’d be basically sending them an open invitation to war.”

  “So he gets off scott free?”

  “If we could reason with them, I’d say no. If I could kill him without starting a war, I’d say no. Our only choice is to send him home with a story to tell, then go after the guy who paid the bill to have trigger pulled.” Goat explained. For a young guy he’s pretty smart. Well spoken too.

  “Are we taking him down on, or off, the record?” Gunner asked. He’s the trigger happy one. The big guns of the club.

  Slider looked at me, “That’s kind of up to doc here. How do you want to avenge the attempt on your old man’s life?”

  “I want to do this legally.”

  “I’ll have my lawyer contact yours. You would be wise to find an untraceable way to warn Jackson, if he makes another move against a brother, this club will rain down on him so hard he’ll find himself six feet under in more than one hole.”

  “I can’t hear that Slider.”

  “I want you two out of town. Somewhere Jackson wouldn’t think to look for you. When the lawyers get enough to put him behind bars, then you can come back.”

  “I can’t leave my show for an indefinite amount of time.”

  “Work it out Dr. Skye. You run the show from home, you can run it from the road. Figure out where to go, shoot the information to Goat, and nobody else. Got it?”

  “Yes sir.” I feel like I’m in the principles office. Only my principle never had a laser cut glass conference table with the clubs patch carved into it.

  “Joe, I want surveillance on Jackson twenty-four seven. Goat take Gunner and see our trigger happy friend to the border. Take his tat and
his colors. He won’t be welcome back to her gang, but they’ll want to know why and how he lost his colors before they kill him.”

  “Yes sir.” Goat replied turning his hat around backwards.

  “Alright, that about covers it for now. Goat, see me when you’re done. Joe, text me when you’re done.”

  “It’s already done.” Joe chimed in for the first time this morning.

  “Good. I’m going to go deal with scumbag lawyers.”

  “Call Georgia.” Joe chimed in again.

  “Not a bad idea. Red?”

  “On it.” Red replied. She’s Joe’s wife, and one of very few female members. She looks innocent enough, but she’s not a small girl. Not much smaller than me in fact. I wouldn’t want to piss her off. Any woman who is capable of earning a patch is one you want to befriend, not anger.

  Trace stood up limping a little, or just enough to warrant putting this arm around my shoulders. “Where would you like to go my love?”

  “Home. I have an idea.”

  “Does it involve cookies?”

  “No.”

  “Can we change that?”

  I sighed, we’ve been out of treats for over a day. My man is not happy, and becoming a nag. “Yes. I’ll make us a batch of cookies for the road.”

  “No pie?”

  “Good grief Trace. I don’t have time to make a damn pie.”

  “Are we in a hurry?”

  “Did you hear Slider say to take our time getting out of town?” I’m getting snappy with him now. The idea of running my show from a hotel room does not appeal to me. My team works better when we can see each other. Read each other’s signals and body language. Video chats never work as well from hotel internet services.

  “I didn’t hear him say to run either.” He argued opening the driver’s door to my car for me. He could probably drive, but I want his butt to heal. Literally.

  “Stop being a pest. I’m in a crappy mood.”

  He shut my door and came around to drop slowly into the passenger seat. “It’s going to be okay Cookie.”