Bloody fuckin’ hell, I’m edgy today. My entire body’s tight, buzzin’ with adrenaline at the pace my manic heart races. Even my balls ache and my shoulders are hunched with tension. Jaw tickin’. Teeth grindin’, tryin’ tae calm the fuck down.
Closin’ my eyes, I take a relaxin’ breath tae center myself. Reopenin’ them, Whisky, with her wild ginger head is starin’ right at me. I twist my face, givin’ her a funny look, and she busts up laughin’. “Don’t give me that, Lachlan. You can’t hide your demons from everyone.”
The hell I cannae. Done a bloody good job of it for years. Not gonna change that now.
“She’s right,” Cas puts in, jerkin’ a nod tae Whisky, who puffs up her chest in victory. Playfully, I growl at her as Cas keeps on, “I get you don’t wanna deal with Thor’s childish bullshit. But, the man came to your house uninvited and you’re the one back here hidin’ out to avoid him. He should be the one avoidin’ you, Smoke. Don’t get me wrong, I like the man, but after that voting shit went down ‘cause you two were about to throw down at Church, he shoulda known to back the fuck off. He’s startin’ this shit on purpose.” He flicks a black strand of his unruly hair off his forehead and stands, steppin’ away from the table.
Aye, he’s right.
“See you two later. I need a beer.” Cas tips his imaginary hat tae us before he heads back toward the clubhouse where the music is blarin’, and the scent of grilled food is floatin’ through the midafternoon air. It smells damn delicious.
Whisky’s quick tae follow in Casanova’s tracks as she, too, pushes off the table. Stoppin’ next tae me, she kisses the top of my head just like our mother used tae. My hand reaches out and wraps around her wee forearm, givin’ her a squeeze before she moves away. I know she’s leavin’ tae give me some space. I need it right now; almost as much as I need Mags tae message me back.
*Pop* Pop* Pop*
The roarin’ fire crackles as it burns. Flames lick the timbres in the oversized fire pit. The brilliant orange-white glow softly illuminates faces as they sit around the fire on sawn logs bein’ used as stools. I’m sittin’ on one, my legs spread, kilt tucked between my thighs. Slantin’, I rest my elbows on my knees, and my hands curl into fists. I use them tae prop my chin on. The coarse hair of my goatee grates into my knuckles—a welcomed distraction.
Keepin’ my eyes cast frontward, I watch Banjo strummin’ his banjo with his long, unkempt beard tucked into the front of his cut. Huckleberry Hound, another one of Corrupt Chaos’ brothers is sittin’ next tae him, singin’ his heart out as he strums on a guitar. Never liked country music before I met the likes of these two. Now, it’s startin’ tae grow on me with each party they play at. They’re damn good.
A wee hand slides over my shoulder from behind, and I dinnae have tae look tae know who it is; I’d know that pineapple scent anywhere—it’s Pip.
“You eat enough?” she comments, takin’ a seat on the log beside me.
Outta the corner of my eye, I watch her mimic my exact position. It warms my heart, and I smile on the inside. That’s my sweet, sweet, lassie. She’s made of all the best parts of her mother and me. But she’s also a whole lotta Pip; her own unique brand of young vibrancy. I dunno how I lucked out gettin’ a daughter like her. She’s smart, caring, strong, and stays far away from that bloody teenage female drama. For that, I’m grateful as hell. I dunno how I’d handle her havin’ meltdowns over boys, and gossipin’ till her tongue fell off. Whisky’s big mouth is enough tae deal with. I’m happy my wee bairn didnae get that trait from her aunt.
I drop a sharp nod. “Aye.”
Pip chuckles. “What’s enough, Dad?” Like always, she’s tryin’ tae take care of me.
Earlier, I’d sat on the bench until I finally got a text from Mags tellin’ me she was bloody all right. Afterward, I walked up tae join the family, doin’ my best tae stay away from Thor, who’s spent most of his time talkin’ tae Muff, a younger brother who got his road name from lickin’ pussy. My club brothers, their wives, or ol’ ladies as some of ‘em are called, all sat around and bullshitted with me for a bit. Most of ‘em gettin’ mad wi’it. I didnae, though. I only shared a six-pack of Kilt Lifter with my sister. We Scots got a much higher tolerance for alcohol. Not that my sister’s much of a Scot, besides her looks. The lassie dinnae have an accent. At least I dinnae think so, but Pip thinks she does. Maybe a wee bit of one.
While we drank, we ate brats and hamburgers off the grill. My sister bought Sniper a new one for Christmas. He loves the fuckin’ thing, and cooks on it anytime he can. I devoured three brats, a cheeseburger, Whisky’s potato salad, eight of Rosie’s deviled eggs, chips, and on top of all that: a handful of cookies from my sisters’ bakery. I’d say I had enough. The food helped me concentrate on somethin’ other than my tense shoulders and wanderin’ thoughts.
“Enough, is what I ate,” I tease my wee daughter, winkin’ at her. Pip laughs again, shakin’ her head and smilin’.
A round of applause and appreciative whistles cut through the still air as Banjo and Huckleberry Hound take a break.
“That he did. Enough food for five people.” Good ol’ Peanut drops beside me on another log, clappin’ his hands for the brothers. “Looks like it might be time for me to take Rosie home,” he notes as a set of bright headlights cast up my sister’s long driveway, which can only mean one thing—groupies.
“Aye, looks like it’s time for ye tae take her home. And,” my head swings tae Pip, “for ye tae go inside, or drive home.” I straighten, and lift my chin toward the back of the house.
Headlights shut down, and car doors open and slam shut. The babblin’ of excited females approach, and the brothers start their catcallin’. I grumble under my breath and turn back tae Pip, waitin’ for her tae move. She knows if she comes tae these parties, she’s gotta go inside when the women folk start tae show. I know she gets why they’re here, but I’m not gonna let my daughter watch these women get mad wi’it, felt up, and fucked. She dinnae need that kinda influence. And I really dinnae need one of the brothers thinkin’ she’s fair game, too. They’d end with their throat slit from me, and a bullet tae the chest by Sniper. Nobody fucks with our lassies.
Pip kisses my cheek then makes haste, clamberin’ up the back steps of my sister’s house. I watch her walk in the backdoor, and close it behind her before I turn my attention tae the five women who just arrived and are splittin’ off, findin’ their prey. Peanut pats my shoulder as he gets off the stump with an aged groan. I lift my hand in goodbye, and he takes off tae gather up his wife, Rosie, who’s the best damn cook and sweetest old lassie I’ve ever met. Peanut’s a lucky lad tae have snatched that treasure up in high school.
“Lachlan!” a woman’s voice shouts from across the yard. I lift my head tae find who’s callin’ my name. When I meet her eyes, another low, unhappy grumble rumbles in my chest—it’s Carrie, the dispatcher.
Weavin’ through the sawn logs, she sways her hips and plays with her hair as she heads my way. I dinnae have it in me tae deal with this fuckin’ shit tonight. I wanna go home, but I know Whisky’ll have my balls for leavin’ early.
Bloody hell.
Carrie, in her short denim skirt and blue belly shirt, stops in front of me. I glance up.
“Hey, sexy,” she purrs, layin’ her palms on my shoulders.
The next thing I know, I’ve got a slutty dressed woman who smells like beer straddin’ me, and tryin’ tae grind her arse in my lap. She ain’t my type. What’ll it take for the lassie tae get the point?
Grabbin’ her hips, I lift her off me and set her on the ground. She wobbles a bit, and I keep hold of her arm tae steady her.
“Come on, Lachlan; you’re hot, I’m hot, and I know what’s under that. . .” She bends over and tries tae lift my kilt. Glowerin’, I pry it from her wee fingers before pushin’ off my knees with my hands tae stand. My movement forces her tae stumble a few feet backward, and before I can reach her, she bumps into a log and trips; fallin’ flat
on her arse in the grass. A giggle bursts from her lips, and she throws her head back, hysterically laughin’.
“What the fuck, man?” Thor clips, comin’ tae her aid and helpin’ her off the ground.
I’m an arsehole, I know, but I didnae ask her tae sit in my lap and I’m not fuckin’ interested. And most importantly, ye dinnae try tae lift a Scotsman’s kilt. My body tenses at the thought.
“Hey! Smoke! I asked you, what. . .the. . .fuck?” Thor yells.
I pivot tae glare at him, and tuck my arms over my broad chest. This bastard better check his sissy boy attitude before I kick his fuckin’ arse. I have na patience for his bloody shit today.
Thor tucks Carrie tae his side, his hand around her tiny waist. Kissin’ her forehead, he makes sure she’s good. “It’s okay, baby. Smoke’s just a jerk. I’ve got you.” He sweet talks tae her, and I roll my eyes. He’ll help her all right, all the way tae his bed. Then, he’ll never talk tae her again.
Pressin’ one more kiss tae her temple, he slices me a sharp glare. “I don’t know what your problem is, but treatin’ beautiful Carrie and Magdalene like shit ain’t gonna get ya anywhere, brother.”
I take a step closer, my jaw clenched. He did not just compare fuckin’ Carrie tae Mags. Hell na! “Ye best not talk aboot, Mags,” I threaten with a deep growl.
Thor slides his hand up tae cup Carrie’s average breast over her shirt. On a soft moan, she melts further into him, gratin’ her body tae his like a bitch in heat. Aye, definitely not like Mags.
“You worried I might get my hands on Magdalene’s big fat tits just like this?” He pinches Carrie’s firm nipple through her shirt as his other hand glides over her hip, and slips between her parted thighs. Pushin’ her skirt up, he exposes that she’s not wearin’ anythin’ underneath and her pussy’s bare. “Afraid I’m gonna. . .” He glides a finger between her pussy lips, and I tear my eyes away, disgusted. “What? Can’t look? ‘Cause you’re afraid I’m gonna have Magdalene just like this, grinding her sweet pussy on my hand, beggin’ me to fuck her with my fat dick?”
Exhalin’ a long, rage-fueled breath I crack my neck tae the side, and roll my shoulders loosenin’ ‘em up. Grindin’ my teeth together, my jaw tickin’, I squeeze my eyes shut and try tae get this gut twistin’ need tae murder Thor outta my mind. I dinnae need tae go tae jail.
Red, bright red blood paints the backs of my lids as my mind slips backward, takin’ me away from the present. . . .
The rain was comin’ down for hours, and we’d just finished our fifth call at the station. I was drivin’ home in the Tahoe after workin’ half a shift for one of my fellow firemen. My truck was runnin’ low on gas, so I pulled into Miller’s tae fill-up. Only, Miller’s didnae look like Miller’s anymore; the roofed had buckled and the windows were all but gone.
A classic car sat in front of the station, beat tae bloody hell. Without a second thought, I called in tae report possible injuries, slammed into park by the entrance, and shot outta my truck.
It was still pourin’ rain when I traipsed up the steps, over shards of broken glass that grated under the heel of my boots as I opened the door. The local radio station still played over those damn speakers, even though the ceilin’ had a giant hole through the middle. Most of the windows were shattered, shelves toppled over, food scattered everywhere. The stench of rain and mildew was nauseatin’ as it hung in the air.
Then, I heard a soft groan.
Steppin’ over the rubble, I called out, “Is anyone in here?”
Another groan replied.
Cuffin’ my hands around my lips, I formed a megaphone with my palms. “Hello, is anyone there? I’m a fireman. I’m here tae help ye.” I spoke slowly so the person groanin’ could understand what I said.
“In the back,” a woman rasped. “We’re by the back.”
Steppin’ as lightly as I could, I trudged through the sodden debris, glass, and smashed food, pushin’ shelves outta the way as I went tae clear a path.
“Where ye at?”
“We’re trapped,” the same woman responded.
Carefully, my eyes swept the store, lookin’ for a body part, or anythin’ tae show me where the lass was. It was dusk, and the rain kept fallin’ in fat droplets through the ceiling, soakin’ through my t-shirt and jeans. It was chilly, and I might have shivered if my adrenaline wasn’t blazin’ through me like a wildfire, forcin’ me tae breakout in a cold sweat.
“Where’s the other lass—woman?” I corrected, steppin’ over a fallen beam.
“She’s unconscious, lyin’ on top of me. Please help us.”
It broke my heart tae hear the desperation in her voice. I’ve seen people on fire, their flesh boilin’, scarin’ them for life. I’ve carried dead bodies from burnin’ buildings, and pried people from cars. I’ve seen femurs snapped in two, pokin’ out of torn flesh. Brains scattered across the highway. A baby killed from smoke inhalation. Men and women losin’ an arm, a leg, a finger. I’ve suffered nightmares from it. It’s haunted my dreams. Some may become numb tae the gore and the anguish, but I’ve soaked it in and embraced it, bearin’ the burden of their pain, of their circumstance. It’s one of the hardest damn jobs I could ever have, and the most rewardin’.
A wee hand poked out from under ceilin’ tiles and I stopped walkin’. Sirens blared in the distance, mixed with the crackle of the thunder rolling overhead. “I’m gonna help ye,” I soothed.
Pickin’ up tile after tile, I tossed them tae the side. Another set of hands became visible, covered in dirt and rain. I bent down and touched one. It didnae move. I brushed another. It didnae move. Below those, I touched another, and it twitched. “Are ye Thor’s grandma?” I asked, brushin’ the wrinkled hand again.
“Smoke?” she sounded relieved.
“Aye.”
“The storm, it came and trapped me and this broad under here. She’s bleedin’, and I can’t move.”
Shovin’ more debris off the trapped lassies, I lightened the load piled on them and bent down, wrappin’ my fingers around the unconscious woman’s wrist tae check her pulse. It was faint. Releasin’ her wrist, it went limp, and I started workin’ faster tae free them. Immediately, I stopped when I saw a thick support beam laid crosswise on the woman, runnin’ from her head, tae her neck, and down her back, tae her leg.
“A beam fell on her,” I explained.
“I know. She tried to push it off us and screamed when she said somethin’ stabbed her. That’s when she started bleedin’ and passed out.” Her voice was muffled; even so, I could clearly make out each word.
Shufflin’ my feet safely forward, as tae not step on any body parts, I bent down and brushed a wad of the lassie’s strawberry blonde hair tae the side, exposin’ her neck.
“Are ye hurt?” I kept talkin’ tae Thor’s grandma calmly, tae keep myself from doin’ anythin’ rash without assessin’ the situation. I needed tae get the beam off the lass, and do it without hurtin’ her any further. Yet, I wasn’t sure what kinda damage it had already caused. That’s what worried me. There were long rusted nails and splinters of jagged wood pokin’ out every which way.
“I’m not. But is it normal for someone to stop breathin’ for about fifteen seconds at a time?”
Fuck!
“Twenty-three seconds,” she corrected. “Twenty-four, twenty-five.”
Bloody fuckin’ hell! I didnae have time tae waste. Liftin’ the massive beam off the lass, I grunted under strain, and I shoved it tae the side, exhalin’ a rush of air. A string of curses flew from my mouth as blood shot like a rocket outta her neck. Quickly, I scooped her limp body off the floor and into my arms. Her warm, slick-blood bathed me, soakin’ us both. Her lips were blue and her body boneless. She was dyin’.
Placin’ my lips tae hers, I blew hard, fillin’ her lungs with air. Yet, I was still unable tae give her CPR as I protectively held her in my arms. Blood seeped slowly through the back of her shirt onto my arm, as the geyser in her neck continued tae pulse. Without a s
econd thought, I licked my blood coated finger tastin’ the metallic tang of her blood. Once cleaned, I wiped it on the wet edge of my shirt before I carefully slid it into the soft, warm hole in her neck. She didnae move. I fished through the rushing blood as it tried tae force me out, and pressed on the punctured vein. Pluggin’ it, I held steady, feelin’ her pulse increase, thumpin’ on the pad of my finger. By the grace of God, she inhaled a shallow, ragged breath, her lips regainin’ a wee bit of color. Thank fuck! I sagged in immediate relief, watchin’ her lungs wheeze air in and out unsteadily.
The sirens roared into the station's lot as I stood there in the middle of the store, holdin’ the bonnie lass in my arms, rain pourin’ down on us, washin’ the blood from her face. I was afraid tae move her in fear of trippin’ over debris or losin’ the pressure on the wound. Instead of movin’, I found myself in awe of her. My eyes traced the delicate lines of her face, down tae her long blonde eyelashes that fanned over the tops of her cheeks. Na longer on the brink of death, she appeared tae be sleepin’ peacefully, serenely. A ghost of a smile graced my lips, watchin’ a trace of color slowly return tae her pale cheeks. Her soaked body wrapped in my arms felt good—right. I pulled her tighter, her plush curves moldin’ against the hardened plains of my chest and abs. Her back nestled into the crook of my arm, while her head cradled in my palm, as my finger held fast.
My firemen brothers and three paramedics filed in, one-by-one. Even though I knew I should’ve paid attention as they attended tae Thor’s grandma, I didnae care. My eyes were on the bonnie lass’s breathin’, her pulse that steadied against my finger, her full lips, and her wee perky nose. My gut tightened as my heart longed tae see her eyes open. For her tae look at me. Maybe even smile.
John, an older paramedic I’ve worked with for years, slid beside us and checked her vitals before helpin’ guide me through the store tae the ambulance parked outside. I climbed in, laid the lassie on the gurney and ran down with the paramedics what happened as I kept my finger in her neck on the way tae the hospital. They placed a nasal cannula into her nostrils, wiped off a portion of her bloody, dirt covered skin, IV’d her, and checked her vitals numerous times before we sped into the ER dock.
Beyond Her Words (Corrupt Chaos MC) Page 12
