It’s not like I asked to be here. I didn’t ask the storm to conjure, or a ceiling to fall on me. It happened all on its own. And, I certainly didn’t ask to have a blah-blah-blah fractured wrists. Or, a femur somethin’ or other, which I’ll be getting a cast on in the next two days. Oh, and let’s not forget a temporarily paralyzed voice, thanks to a blunt object doing something blah-blah-blah to the nerves in my neck. In layman’s terms: I was stabbed in the neck, which caused my voice to stop working until the nerves heal. Thank heavens Doctor-Snooty-pants thinks healing is a probable outcome. You know, since his bagillion medical degrees tell him so. I’m hoping the mothership calls him home soon to the planet Uranus, where he belongs. He’s driving me crazy.
Oh. . .and, how could I forget? I’ve suffered a mild laceration on my back that needed thirty-something stitches as well as a concussion that’s now stable. Basically, I’m more screwed than a two-bit hooker wearing crotch-less panties in a whorehouse. However, I’m not getting any pleasure out of sitting here listening to this man talk. I’m not sure if it’s his insensitive attitude or cocky voice that is making me more annoyed. I’m gonna have to say both. It’s grating on my nerves.
“Do you have any questions?” he asks, lifting a bushy brow my direction.
Yes; I have plenty of them, but I guess he forgot my voice doesn’t work. He’s a genius, can’t you tell?
I nod, answering his question, and as a reminder, I point to my throat. It doesn’t take but a second to click before he frowns and scans the room for something to write on. Every surface is bare, aside from a small daisy bouquet in the corner.
A soft knock at the door disrupts his search, and the door swings open. Vibrant curls of red poke around the corner, attached to the head of a beautiful young woman.
Ignoring the doctor, she smiles at me with eyes that light up. “Is it okay to come in?”
I don’t know who she is. Maybe a nurse? Regardless, I nod once. Why would I care if she came in? I already like her better than my current visitor.
Not wasting any time, the petite redhead wades further into my room and comes to stand next to my bed. Crossing her tiny arms over her chest, she glares at my doctor, cocking her head to the side.
Yes, I definitely like her better.
“Now, you decided to finally show up?” She tosses her attitude out in spades, her sweetness a distant memory.
Both the doctors’ eyes and my own spring wide at her tone.
“Well?” she adds.
Quickly, to regain his composure, the doctor straightens his spine and returns Red’s heated glare. “I’m only allowed to speak to─” his eyes snap to my chart and back up again, “Miss Murdock’s immediate family,” he finishes arrogantly.
Red flips her long hair to the side. “Well, I’m her daughter,” she retorts smoothly, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
The doctors disbelieving eyes drop back to my chart. A smug smile curls at the corners of his lips when he gazes back up, meeting her eyes. “I doubt that, little girl. She’s only thirty-two, and you’re what?” He’s baiting her. Dang, he’s good.
Red scoffs, affronted, and if I had to guess, her eyes are rolling, too. I know mine would be.
Putting on one heck of a show, she slides closer to me and sets her hand on my shoulder. I don’t know why, but I allow it, and even smile up at her to keep our little charade going.
“Doctor, are you telling me that my mother having me when she was a teenager bothers you?” She pauses a beat, then snorts, “That’s rude,” before her gaze drops to me and winks so the doctor can’t see her.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner, Mom,” she says, oozing sincerity.
A laugh almost escapes my throat at her brilliant performance; although, I try to look at her like a mother would her daughter—lovingly. The better the show, the faster the doctor will leave.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch him sway uncomfortably before clearing his throat.
Red glances back at him. “How much longer does she have to stay here?” she probes, asking a question I was wondering myself.
“Just to be safe, I’d say another week.”
“Another week?” she groans. “She’s already been here twelve days.”
Twelve days? I’ve been here twelve days? How could that be? This is the first time I’ve been awake for longer than a few minutes. Last night—well, I think it was last night—Thighs-for-arms was here. Or was that a dream, too? Crap, I don’t know. It all feels like a muddled blur of time merging, layering on top of itself. Nothing’s crystal clear. Except for right now—right now, I feel clearheaded.
“It’s just a precaution. Your. . .mother,” he emphasizes, “has suffered multiple life-threatening injuries. And we wouldn’t want her to sustain further injury, now would we?” His tone drips with sarcasm.
Red silently shakes her head, agreeing.
“Great.” He smiles shrewdly. “Now, she should be safe to go home in seven days. Though, she’s going to need physical therapy down the road after her arms and leg heal.”
Shouldn’t he be telling me this and not her?
“Not a problem. We’ll take good care of her,” she replies.
I’m not sure if she’s being serious or just playing her part. By the way her hand grips my shoulder, I want to believe her. Although, it can’t be true. I’ve just met her, and nobody cares that much about someone they’ve just met. Just like no man I’ve dated, aside from Brian, could handle me all broken like this. They’d have cut and run at first sight. Not that I can blame them. I’m a mess. And, my world has just gotten more complicated. As if it wasn’t already jacked up enough in the first place, let’s add voiceless and bedridden to the list.
“I’m sure you will.” Doctor Jerk-off bobs his head in her direction. “Now, if that’ll be all. I’ll see you in seven days,” he finishes, and doesn’t even wait for a reply when he turns to leave, shutting the door in his wake.
Once he’s gone, Red and I expel sighs of relief.
Giving my shoulder one final squeeze, she removes her hand and steps away to take a seat on the plastic chair next to my bed.
“Sorry about that.” She smiles at me, tugging a phone from her pocket, and shooting a quick text before lifting her eyes to mine again, her smile still in place.
Out of politeness, I return a smile. Like my grams always used to say—Smile even if it hurts, life can always get worse. Granted, I’m not quite sure how much worse it can get at this point. But I’ll smile, anyway; closed mouth, as always.
“I’m Bridget, by the—” a loud ruckus ignites in the hall outside my room. “Uh-oh, he’s here already.” Is all Bridget’s able to convey before my door is thrown open by a massive man with shoulder length blond hair, wearing a black vest adorned with an array of colorful patches.
“Woo-wee! Our girl’s awake!” he hollers excitedly in his thick country accent.
With eyes burning holes into mine, he blasts me with a smile so bright that it could light up the Empire State Building. Crimson dots my cheeks, heating rapidly under his jubilant stare.
Our girl? What does he mean?
I don’t have long to ponder the idiocy when the hulking, blond God makes a beeline for my bed, and doesn’t stop there. Not waiting for proper introductions, he yanks me against his massive body, enveloping me in a crushing hug as he peppers kisses atop my head.
By default, my face is now stuffed to his thick chest that smells like leather, the outdoors, and spicy man. It’s addictive. At this moment, I’m not sure if I should be appalled and push him away, or let him attack me with more happy kisses. I choose the latter—although, there’s no way I’m returning his affection. The odd closeness forces an uncomfortable knot to form in my throat. Honestly, I can’t remember the last time someone hugged me.
To my left, Bridget barks an amused laugh. “Magdalene, meet Thor. You’re the one who saved his grandma.”
Ah, now all this is starting to make sense. His
grandma must have been the woman who owned the gas station. The moments before we were trapped are a bit hazy, but I remember throwing my body over hers when the ceiling began to crumble. It fell on us, and ultimately trapped us under its soggy weight. Seconds following our entrapment, the windows began shattering one-by-one, and something heavy landed on me, knocking me unconscious. That’s the last thing I can remember.
For a fleeting moment, guilt curdles in my stomach for not asking about the older woman sooner. Though, it rapidly disperses when I remind myself that I’ve only been coherent for less than an hour. . .I think.
I’d only been awake a few minutes when a nurse first entered my room, and left just as quickly to fetch the doctor. That’s when Doctor Personality had graced me with his arrogant presence and Bridget saved my hide. I definitely owe her one.
“Thank you,” Thor utters between kisses.
Thor. That’s a strange name to give your child. Here I thought Magdalene was weird.
A disgruntled grumble reverberates in the room just before Thor is yanked backward. “Leave the lass be,” a familiar grizzly voice commands.
I watch with wide eyes, as Thighs-for-arms manhandles Thor by the scruff of his neck, shoving him onto the nearby couch with a satisfied growl. He’s also wearing one of those black vests, dark washed jeans, and a white t-shirt that clashes beautifully with the dark ink encasing his muscled arms. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say my mouth is watering a little. It’s not, though. No way.
Thor scowls like a scolded child and slaps the giant’s hands away. Leaning back on the couch, he crosses his arms defiantly over his thick chest. “Don’t you fuckin’ touch me like that again, Smoke,” he snarls.
Smoke snickers under his breath in response, his mouth remaining impassive.
“Magdalene.” A tiny hand fleetingly touches my arm, tearing me from this need to stare at Thighs-for-arms.
What is it with this guy? There’s something different about him that I can’t put my finger on. Maybe it’s the hair, or the tattoos, or maybe his height. I don’t even care that he’s scary looking, or broody. He’s different than anyone I’ve ever met before. A quiet, dominate presence that makes you feel scared and safe all at the same time. It’s disconcerting.
Yep, Magdalene, you’re definitely losing your marbles. Wouldn’t you agree? I mean, would you stare at him, too? Or am I going crazy?
With a deep inhale to calm my thoughts, I revert my attention to Bridget, who’s smiling at me—again. Does that girl ever stop?
“You still can’t talk, can you?” she asks, calmly.
I shake my head in reply as Thighs-for-arms grumbles under his breath across the room, and I try to ignore the sound.
“Do you wanna talk about what happened? Do ya remember anything?” This girl is beyond sweet, which oddly matches her appearance. Petite and thin, with long, bright-red hair that tumbles down her back in tight curls. Glancing to meet her eyes, I gasp in recognition. They’re teal with the same orange burst around the center.
Needing an answer, I point to her before swinging my finger to Smoke, who’s leaning against a wall with his arms tucked across his broad chest. Deep down, I know I shouldn’t pause to linger on him, but I do. Corrupt Chaos MC is embroidered on a patch that’s stitched to his vest, and stacked below it, another reads Treasurer, followed by Kentucky Chapter at the bottom. More colorful patches litter both sides of the supple leather, but I’m unable to read them. A grizzly noise emanates from the object of my distraction, forcing me to lift my eyes to his stony face. Powerless to control this strange sensation in my gut, I meet his hard, assessing gaze. My insides quiver.
It’s unmistakable. Bridget has to be his daughter, or maybe his sister. They look too much alike.
Beside me, Bridget makes a tiny surprised noise in her throat. “Magdalene, this is my dad, Lachlan.” She pauses, her tone growing firmer. “Dad, meet Magdalene; the woman you saved.”
The what!?
‘You saved me?’ I painfully attempt to blurt. Regrettably, a string of ugly squeaks tumble out instead.
Embarrassment singes deep, making me drop my eyes to my lap as I wrap my fingers around my damaged throat. How stupid could I have been? Try to talk? I knew I couldn’t. I shouldn’t have tried. Why did I try? Now everyone knows how ridiculous I sound. Now, I’m not only the ugly, ridiculous, fat girl that’s injured. I’m the ugly, ridiculous, fat girl who’s injured and can’t speak.
Good god.
Biting my lip to the point of drawing blood, I swallow down my rising emotions. I’d cried the last time I saw him. I can’t do that again. This isn’t the time to feel sorry for myself. This is the time to be strong and put on a brave face, even if all I want to do is crumble inside. I can do this, just like I did when Brian died, and again when my grams withered away to nothing. Ten times in ten years, I’ve gathered enough strength to run from those men I could never love. I was strong enough to reinvent myself then, and I will be strong enough to dig through the mud and the muck now. I’m a survivor.
Tossing my emotions to the side, and brushing off the singe of embarrassment, I ready myself for the next journey in my life. Licking the tang of blood from my lip, I inhale one final breath through my nose and blow it out of my mouth before raising my head proudly to face Bridget. God knows, I can’t face Thor or Smo—Lachlan, right now.
Reaching out my hand to Bridget, I gesture to her phone. Without hesitation, she gives it to me and I pull up a text screen so we’re able to communicate the only way I know how.
Thank you for saving me, Lachlan, is the first thing I type, then hand it back to Bridget for her to reiterate out loud, which she does.
I spare a sideways glance to gauge Lachlan’s reaction. He nods his head once in acknowledgment, but says nothing.
Thor adds his lively two cents instead. “He’s a firefighter, so it’s his job. Although, from the way I hear it, there was blood everywhere when he dug ya out from under that mess. My grandma was still awake, ya know. She said she kept tryin’ to talk to you, and make sure you were still breathin’. If it weren’t for you, she’d be dead. So the way I see it, I owe you big time. Anything you need. A place to stay—”
Thor’s word vomit is suddenly cut short when Lachlan makes a scary noise in his chest that sounds a lot like a growl.
Goosebumps sweep down my arms and legs.
“What the hell’s your problem, brother?” Thor barks.
My eyes stay solely focused on Bridget.
Don’t glance over. Don’t glance over.
“Huh?” Thor goads. “I just asked you a question.”
An even deeper, scarier noise thunders in reply. There is no way I can watch this play out now. Lachlan’s face will probably end up giving me nightmares. As if he isn’t already big and scary enough as it is. Add the sounds of a predator and he could easily be deemed the devil himself.
Those noises, can you hear them? His breathing’s a low, purring growl like a dog ready to attack. I’ve never heard anything like it. Are you frightened, too?
I gulp and watch Bridget’s face turn grim. “Dad.” She speaks softly. “Dad.”
The grizzly sounds dissipate, and I visibly watch Bridget relax back into her chair, eyes closing with relief for a moment before she expels a sigh and speaks once more. “The doctor said that Magdalene could go home in a week.”
Her head turns to Thor, but I don’t follow her gaze. “Dad and I have been talking, and I’ve set up the spare room next to mine for her. Mom will be gone a lot, so it’s not like she’s going to care if she’s there or not. But, you know you’re welcome over anytime. We’ve always got a fresh stash of Aunt Whisky’s cookies to munch on. I know how much ya love those.” Bridget winks, grinning friendlily.
He’s marr—
“Aye,” Lachlan mutters strangely, stealing my thought.
“All right, that’s cool with me. But my offer is still gonna stand,” Thor replies.
Throughout all of this discuss
ion, the three of them are so caught up in their part that they haven’t even bothered to ask me my opinion. Don’t they think that I might be uncomfortable crashing with a bunch of strangers? Not that I’m unappreciative for the indirect offer. But I need to have control, and they’re robbing me of that.
Snapping my fingers, I point to the phone in Bridget’s hand. She hands it to me, and I type out another message before giving it back.
Don’t want to be rude, but I don’t know any of you. You’re talking as if this is all set in stone.
Bridget reads the message but doesn’t reiterate it aloud. “You’re right; you don’t,” she replies kindly. “I didn’t even think about that. We’ve been so caught up in getting you healed and making sure you were never alone, that I never thought to talk to you about it.”
I nod in understanding, and smile closed mouthed.
“I’m Lachlan’s and Meredith’s daughter, Bridget MacAlister. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” she extends her hand to me, giggling. I briefly shake it.
Setting her dainty hand back into her lap, she continues, “I’m seventeen, a senior this coming year. And my dad, as Thor said, is the one who found you. He’s a fireman and a. . . .well. . .I’m not sure how much you know about motorcycle clubs.”
The word motorcycle club has me shifting uncomfortably in my reclined bed, which seems to amuse Thor when he barks a laugh, and Lachlan when he snorts his amusement.
Great.
Bridget simply smiles and rubs her hands over her dress covered thighs. “Not much, I take it?”
Rapidly, I shake my head and frown.
“I figured as much. So. . .”
For the next fifteen minutes, Bridget runs down all that I need to know and understand about motorcycle clubs, or more precisely, the one her dad is part of.
Beyond Her Words (Corrupt Chaos MC) Page 3
