Burnt: A Devil's Spawn Novel

by Natasha Thomas

  After Kendall had been missing for a month I commissioned Reaper to do a full back piece tattoo for me. It took ten hours, and hurt like a bitch. It didn’t compare with the pain in my heart so I didn’t bother making mention of it. A detailed fairy in black and grey scale, with Kendall’s face, Kendall’s long ass hair, and her name scrolling across my ribs now permanently marks my torso. Covering from the top of both shoulders, down to the base of my spine. It’s perfect. Strangely I feel closer to Kendall with what I consider her ink under my skin. I can’t explain it adequately, but it’s like carrying a small piece of her with me.

  The only bright spot in the last seven months that comes to mind is two months after Kendall was taken when Lou gave birth to her and Billy’s little girl. Anna Kendall Andrews was born on the nineteenth of September at five-AM, screaming and hollering, with a temper as fiery as her mothers. Lexi fell in love with Anna on the spot, and the only tear I’ve cried to date was the one I cried when Lou told me Anna’s full name.

  The months that followed little Anna’s arrival consisted of more of the same as before it. No leads. No information. No fucking trace of Kendall anywhere. The cops in Blackwater, Clearwater, Boulder, and Denver know nothing. Even the ones on our payroll haven’t been able to gather anything other what we’ve know from the beginning. Other MC’s we’re friendly with, and traded in favours we’ve accumulated from cleaning up their shit know nothing either.

  I try to refocus on this bitch on the other end of the phone.

  “Now you know everything but my fucking shoe size lady, so who’s this patient that needs intervention?” Clearing her throat signals she’s finally going to begin. All I can think is please, fuck, let her spit it out so I can try and get another few minutes of shut eye in. That’ll probably earn me some bad karma, but I’m willing to risk it if that means I get half an hour more sleep.

  “Unfortunately I don’t have a name for you Mr Marks. The patient was brought in unconscious and unresponsive. Due to the severity of the injuries sustained our doctors thought it best to continue a medically induced coma until the worst of the pain the patient would suffer subsided.”

  Cutting her off because fuck if I’m not frustrated with this shit already I ask,

  “Can we get to it? I don’t have all day. What injuries, and how the fuck do you know this person knows me if they aren’t even awake?” I snap out.

  “Yes Mr Marks I’m getting to that. You need to understand why we haven’t contacted you before now however.” Continuing she adds, “The patient has been with us for two and a half weeks now, and has only just woken up three days ago. The first thing spoken was your name before the patient lost consciousness again. We assumed you’re an important person as patients often say the most integral person in their lives name when waking from a coma.” Going on she lays out a list of injuries most men in Devil’s Spawn wouldn’t survive. “The list of injuries is long Mr Marks so please bear with me. The most critical of which are a punctured lung that was caused by five broken ribs. A broken left arm that is fractured in seven separate places. This was repaired by fitting a plate and some pins during surgery. The patient has three gunshot wounds in total. One to the thigh. One to the upper left arm, and one that grazed the right side of the abdomen. These have been seen to and stitched immediately.” Holy shit. Poor fucking bastard is all I can think when I conjure the image of what this guy has undergone. “In conjunction with these injuries we have also treated for a broken nose, a fractured ocular cavity, and we stitched a large laceration on the back of the scalp that required seventeen stitches. Thankfully this scar can be hidden in the hairline, but that is neither here nor there in the grand scheme of things.”

  No shit lady. A fucking scar is nothing when I comes to that laundry list of injuries. The guy is just lucky to be alive by the sounds of it. “The patients’ status is currently critical, but stable and the long term prognosis is positive. However, rehabilitation will be necessary to regain proper use of the left arm, and the risk of infection due to the gunshots is still quite high. We are trying to combat that by administering a cocktail of antibiotics. Unfortunately we haven’t been able to obtain the patients name as yet. That’s where we hope you can help. We need to contact the next of kin as soon as possible to make sure we can provide the patient with the best possible support during recovery. As I’m sure you will understand with this list of injuries, these were certainly not caused by an accident. This amount of damage could only have been caused by repeated abuse over an elongated period of time.”

  And it clicks. FUCK ME! Panting heavily, barely able to catch my breath, my chest is tight, and I swear that shrivelled fucker I call a heart has woken the fuck up after laying dormant for what feels like ever. I can’t seem to manage more than a harsh whisper when I ask,

  “Please. Fuck me. Please. Can you describe the patient you’re talking about?”

  I seriously can’t fucking breathe right now. It feels like my lungs are collapsing in on themselves.

  “Please calm down Mr Marks. I assure yo…”

  I have to know for sure before I work myself up to the point I might actually pass the fuck out.

  “Just fucking tell me,” I roar.

  “Yes sir. The patient is female. Approximately twenty to twenty-five-years-of-age, with long dark hair, and a large…”

  I cut her off, and finish her sentence for her.

  “A large phoenix tattooed on her back. She’s got the names, Kane, Brenna, Jerimiah, Max, Declan, and Alexis Rose tattooed on a big family tree on her ribs too.” She doesn’t answer me quick enough for my liking. “Doesn’t she,” I roar again. This lady doesn’t deserve me yelling at her, but I’m not really in control of this shit at the moment. I’ll have to try and remember to apologise later.

  The lady manages to splutter out a quiet,

  “Yes Mr Marks. Yes she does.”

  I start throwing on clothes. I don’t fucking care if they’re clean or not, I just need to get dressed and the fuck out of here. Sweet fucking relief surges through my veins. Finally my heart can beat normally again. Kendall’s found. She might be fucking broken, but she’s found and that’s all that matters right now.

  “Jesus Christ. Thank fuck. She’s being missing for seven months now and you’ve just made her huge family very happy fucking people. Give me the address and I’ll be there in half an hour tops.” She hurriedly tells me what I need to know, and I end the call.

  I know everyone will want to know the news ASAP, but there’s only one phone call I HAVE to make before I get the fuck out of here. I’m not wasting a second hanging around her that I don’t have to, but I’d be put to ground if I didn’t make this call, so I don’t delay any longer. It rings once before being answered just like I expected. He always answers quickly these days. It’s like he fucking sits on the thing. I don’t give him time to talk when he greets me.

  “Don’t talk just fucking listen. I’m heading out now, and you’ll want to get the fuck up and get dressed. Same goes with Brenna. We found her.” A violent curse breaks free on the other end of the line. “I don’t have time to fuck around, but she’s in Mercy Urgent Care in Clearwater. She’s alive. Critical but alive. It’s not good brother. Prepare. Prepare your Ol lady too. I’m not going to fuck around listing all the shit they told me, but it’s fucked up. I’m on my bike heading out in two. I’m not waiting for your ass, I’ll meet you up there.”

  Growling into the phone Priest rasps out,

  “Fuck Cage. My fucking baby.” He’s trying to catch his breath.

  I know how he feels, and the man has my sympathy, but I don’t have time to hand-hold him.

  “Lock it down prez. She needs strong right now. She’s fucking broken from what I know. Take a minute. Calm your shit. Get your wife, and get on the fucking road. Call my dad and Reaper they’ll want to know ASAP.”

  Agreeing immediately he asks as I grab my keys and head out the door,

  “How’d they fucking know to call you t
hough Cage?”

  “Apparently she woke up briefly and said my name. Fucking beautiful girl had enough smarts to tell them my full name too so they could track me down. I’m going to fucking kiss her for that, and every-fucking-thing else when I see her.” Swapping hands so I can straddle my bike I add one last thing before hanging up,

  “No one else yet though prez. Me, you, Brenna, dad, and Reaper. That’s it. If Reaper wants to do a group fucking announcement later telling everyone she been located, fine. Just make sure he goes out personally to tell Lou and Billy first. I’m out. I’ll catch you there.” In normal circumstances I’d never give the prez orders, or come across as anything less than completely respectful. In this case I’m pretty sure he’ll overlook it and the beat down that shit would have earned me. Now. All I can focus on is that she’s found. I’m on my way to her. She’s broken, but she’s alive. It doesn’t fucking matter what state she in to me. I’ll put her back together again. Piece by piece.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Kendall

  It burns. People say pain is relative. It’s true. It is. But, where most people can only claim the worst pain they’ve experienced was child birth, broken limbs, tattoos, or piercings, I can assure you, this is FAR worse. This however is not pain. This far surpasses the flimsy definition of the word pain. This is on a level all of its own.

  I woke up a few minutes ago, and when I did it brought a wave of agony over my body that threatened to take me straight back under. It was that intense that I almost begged it to take me back to the dark place full of confusion I thought I’d never wake from. If it wasn’t for the insistent voices telling me to open my eyes I probably would have given in and let it take me. Now isn’t the time for that though. Now I have to try and work out what’s going on, and what the staff here know.

  From what I can piece together so far, I’ve been in the hospital for a while. Doctors that have come in keep firing information at me. Nurses are poking and prodding, while shining lights in my eyes. They ask me questions when they can see I’m barely conscious for Christ’s sake. The sensory overload is overwhelming, but my eyes actually open now, so that was my first clue that I’ve been here for a while. The fact I haven’t been beaten for some time means the swelling has reduced, they don’t hurt when I blink, and my vision is becoming less blurry. My nose isn’t throbbing, constantly dripping blood down the back of my throat anymore either. My left arm is casted sitting heavy at my side, and the searing pain from the bullets that drilled in to my flesh is more of a dull ache than the raging fire burning deep in my muscles and skin. The agony I’m feeling must be radiating from my chest.

  I worked out when I was being held prisoner they must have broken some ribs, but I’m not sure how much other damage they’ve managed to inflict. Seeing this pain is so horrific I can only imagine they did a superb job. I can hear the doctor explaining my injuries to me, and I quickly pick up that the source of the pain is actually a punctured lung. Apparently one of the ribs that had been snapped in half sliced through it. Breathing is difficult, but I seem to be holding my own because there’s no tube down my throat like you see on TV. That’s my only frame of reference, but it works for me so I go with it. I’ll just try not to breathe too deeply. The shallower breaths are far less torturous so panting it is.

  “Wa-wa-water.” I manage to rasp. My throat is scratchy, dry, and it feels like I’ve swallowed handfuls of gravel. The sound of my own voice, altered by dehydration, lack of use, and starvation, is foreign to me now. I haven’t spoken a word to anyone in months. It’s been so long that I can’t even remember a specific month I last spoke a single word.

  An older nurse that’s heavier set, with kind eyes, and a warm looks down at me from the side of my bed. Thankfully she’s the only person left in the room at the moment. The doctor and other nurse left when they realised I won’t be answering any of their questions just yet.

  “Sure thing little bird. Small sips through the straw though.” Helping me by holding the plastic cup, positioning the straw for me, and lifting my head with her forearm she continues to talk. “Now my name is Darla. I’m going to be taking care of you honey bunch. I’m only going to ask you one question though, not like all the others, then I’m going to tell you a whole lot of stuff while you listen and get your barring’s.” Nodding stiffly I wait for her question. I really don’t feel like talking, so I’m glad she’s not expecting a conversation from me. “What’s you name little bird? We’ve been taking bets on what your name will turn out to be. My guess was Lily, or something delicate like that because you’re such a tiny thing.”

  I try to laugh but it comes out more like a dry hacking cough. Laughing makes my chest burn so much worse that I’ll have to remember no laughing for a while. When I feel I have it under control I answer her softly.

  “Kendall. Kendall Bethany Jacobs,” with that, I start to cry. Tears I’ve contained for months spill free from my eyes soaking the neck of my hospital gown. I didn’t cry often when I was held captive. The sick bastards enjoyed my misery, so I controlled myself as much as I could. When the pain became excruciating I may have screamed occasionally, or whimpered, but I never gave them the satisfaction of my tears.

  Darla holds with her arm behind my neck, stroking my hair around the wires and IV lines. She explains where I am, and the damage my captors did to my body. I’m not surprised by the seemingly never ending list of injuries. I felt every fist, every boot, and all three bullets that entered my body. My broken nose and the agony that made up the almost daily beatings was the least of my suffering.

  The part of her informative speech is when she tells me the hospital called Dec. I don’t know how they knew to call him, but I’m so grateful I don’t question is. I must look confused though because Darla says,

  “Well Miss Kendall. The only thing your sweet self, told us the whole time you’ve been visiting with us was the name of a Declan Abraham Marks. We looked him up quick smart, and low and behold he’s in the next county over and headed this wa…” Her voice cuts off when the door flies open banging against the wall.

  In walks Declan. He is a sight for sore eyes, and I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see a familiar face. My next thought is; it’s funny how your mind works when you’ve been through a trauma. After everything that I’ve been through in the seven past months, taking in what Dec looks like should be the furthest thing from my mind. Especially when my own appearance is so horrible. Maybe it’s because of some kind of latent fear, or expectation that I might not see him again, but I catalogue everything about him from his position in the open doorway while I can.

  Dec has always been big, but never this big. The man is huge. He practically fills the doorway, and those things are built with extra width for moving hospital beds in and out. His shoulders are wider, and his chest is nearly bursting his t-shirt at the seams. He looks tired, a bit rough around the edges, but my God he looks good. He looks like home.

  Looking me over. Up and down. Dec takes note of all my fantastic new additions no doubt. Finally his gaze stops on my eyes. The love I see reflected back at me, the utter relief at seeing me again is apparent. He looks a little shocked, and a whole lot of angry too. Blinking rapidly it’s almost like it plays out in slow motion when Dec suddenly drops to his knees frightening the crap out of me of me by letting out a pained bellow, and lowering his head into his hands. I hear him whisper over and over,

  “No. God no Baby. I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

  Wow. I must look like shit I muse internally. I haven’t seen my face in a mirror for a long time, but I can only imagine what he’s seeing. I’m just glad I got out alive I could care less what I look like. I know it matters to him, and I want nothing more than to reassure him that I’m honestly okay, but I can’t speak. The words are right there on the tip of my tongue, but they just won’t come. I don’t know if there’s anything I can say to soothe him, but I know I want to try. Seeing this big, strong, stubborn, biker fall apart is mor
e than I can bear. Making the decision to do something, anything to ease his struggle I attempt to push myself forward closer to the edge of the bed. Noticing my desperation at trying to get up, Darla halts my progress with a light but firm hand on my arm.

  “Stop Kendall. Lay back right now young lady. If you try to move off this bed I will personally sit on you to keep you there little bird. You’re going to end up hurting yourself even worse if you move before it’s time, and I will definitely hurt you worse if my big butt has to sit on you to keep you there.”

  Hearing Darla’s directive seems to snap Dec out of the trance he’s in instantaneously. In mere seconds he’s at my bedside shoving Darla out of the way cupping my face gently. It’s such a vast difference from the way he was holding his own head less than a minute ago, but I shouldn’t be surprised Dec’s always been gentle with me. This is different though, he’s almost reverent in the way he’s touching me. Then his beautiful voice washes over me. It invades my very soul and calms me in its wake.

  “Hold still baby. I’m not going anywhere, Sweetheart. Lie still for me, Baby. Let me take care of you.”

  The depth of emotion in his gorgeous grey eyes speaks volumes. Everything I ever wanted to know, or see in his eyes is now right there at the surface. Most importantly I can finally see that Dec loves me. With his whole heart and soul. Not as the little girl that was once his best friend. Not as a woman he knows in passing. Dec loves me, and that knowledge will do more to fix my broken soul than anything else. I realise now that Dec will be the one that fixes me. He’ll be the one to do what I can’t do for myself. There’s no doubt he’ll be the one to put me back together again. How we got to this point is awful, however I wouldn’t change a thing. We’ve got a lot to work through. Not just the events just passed, but our rocky history needs to be concluded before we can truly move on. I’m not sure if that’s even possible, but I’ve got time, and I suppose that’s something to be grateful for.