by Hazel Parker
Then I couldn’t help myself.
“It’s good seeing you, Tracy. Even if my first time seeing you back is when you got yourself shot up on some sort of run… I’m happy to see how you’ve grown.”
“Same for you, Jane. I… uh, I…”
I could tell he wanted to say more, but I didn’t want it to go past that. Frankly, I was too worried about what would happen if I let him say more, what would happen to my emotional distance and professionalism if I let him remind me how much the club actually cared for me.
“Enough chat for tonight; the nurses will be around if you need them,” I said. “Push the red button if you need help. They’ll call me if I need to come.”
“Will I see you again?”
“I’ll show up before they discharge you. You know, make sure everything is good to go.”
I had spoken the words before even considering the implication of them and what it might mean for my emotional stability around him. I could only mentally slap myself around for letting the budding feelings for him get in the way of my decision making.
Tracy gave a weak thumbs up with his good arm.
“Thanks, doc.”
“Jane’s good,” I said as I exited the room. “Just call me Jane.”
I looked over to see the Saints still waiting, although they seemed much more relaxed than before. Still, there was something about the sight of a couple dozen large, tatted men wearing black jackets with gold and black lettering on the front, some of them with various insignias and patches, some which I recognized, some new ones, that would leave any rational person feeling a bit intimidated.
And if you didn’t, you were probably the type of person the Saint had a beef with.
“Splitter and Sensei have visitation rights,” I said. “The rest of you need to wait until he clears.”
Groans followed, some playful, a couple on the more serious side.
“I can always take it away, boys,” I said, giving a smile. “Consider it a gift from an old friend.”
As I walked away, though, I had a feeling we weren’t done exchanging gifts.
Nor, I imagined, were we probably anywhere close to being done visiting each other.
Chapter 5: Trace
I never thought the founder’s daughter would grow up to be such a badass, tough doc.
And yet, here we are. Shot up on the elbow on the raid, and I’m suddenly all taken care of.
I had never looked at Jane before with anything other than the eyes that a big brother would have. Not only would Paul have murdered me more viciously than any DM if I had ever so much as sent her a flirtatious text, the rest of the club would have done the same. We passed around quite a few women in the club and still did, but the idea of ever going for the president’s daughter was a great way to wind up getting your ass beat more than once.
But times had changed. Jane wasn’t just an objectively attractive eighteen-year-old anymore. She was now a fierce, strong woman with an education background that would put the entire combined club’s efforts to shame, and she had a wicked sense of strength.
I had, after all, heard her talking to the rest of the Savage Saints when she left my room. I knew how many there were—it was no joke for her to have stood up to them with that much ease and talked to them with confidence. She really was the daughter of Paul Peters.
Honestly, though, I was just happy that she didn’t still hate our guts. I’m sure she disliked some of us, and I imagine some of the less intelligent ones like BK or Krispy would probably get on her nerves in multiple ways—and vice versa. But she wouldn’t have let me speak to her one on one if she hated us, and that gave me hope that the next two and a half years could give us a cordial, professional doctor we could rely on.
And maybe something more?
She is cute.
That’s the founder’s daughter, you idiot! Goddamn, Trace, think with something besides your dick for once.
We saw how it worked out with the last one, didn’t we?
Thankfully, Splitter and Sensei entered the room before I could go down that dark spiral. Sensei looked calm and relaxed, while Splitter looked surprised but wanting to be annoyed—I assume that he wanted to hold his grudge against Jane but was having difficulty doing so.
“Rumor has it Jane tried to convince you to let her beef up the trust fund,” I said.
“I think that’s more Sword’s deal, or has the bullet also fucked your brain up?” Sensei said with a chuckle. “Yes, it’s true.”
“I don’t trust her.”
Both of us turned to Splitter.
“She chose to leave this club. And now she comes back and wants to pay us? That smells like something’s up there. I don’t trust it one bit.”
I sighed, reminding myself that Splitter was saying these things because he loved the club, not because he wanted to piss off the daughter of the founder. Or me.
I think. He is my closest friend here, but damn does he know how to drive the knife into me.
“One bit?” Sensei said as if making a point. “Did you also lose some brain cells in the fighting?”
Splitter, perhaps realizing the insanity of his words, stepped back from his words.
“Not as much as I distrust, say, a former member of the DMs. But I do think we should make sure she’s being who she says she is. Trust, but verify.”
I hated that while my gut knew Jane was telling the truth, we did need to keep some eye on her. It was all a little strange, her coming back not only to return the money but to have not told us before.
“You’re not wrong,” I said. “But listen, for right now, we got the DMs inventory. I assume it’s safe?”
“Yes,” Splitter said.
“Good,” I said. “Then let’s all just relax for a little bit, OK? Take a couple of days off. I know the Mercs will want to strike back at some point, but they’re not going to do it tonight. They need to regroup. Who knows? Diablo might even reach out to me.”
“He’s right,” Sensei said. “Mercs always wait a couple of days after.”
“And they’re not going to come for me in the hospital, they aren’t that stupid,” I said. “I’m protected here. So yeah, let’s keep an eye on her. But for now? Tell the boys to head home. We’ll keep one person here and a couple of others within driving distance, but I’ll be good. All right?”
Splitter leaned forward, patted me on the shoulder, and smiled.
“All right, man,” he said. “I was worried about you, you know. I didn’t want to see you die, and when I heard the news…”
His voice trailed off. I put my hand on his chest and patted it, a thing I liked to do to remind him how much heart he had.
“You’re a good man, Split,” I said. “But you don’t ever have to worry about me croaking. I’m too stubborn to meet Mr. Mayhem just yet.”
“Damn straight,” Splitter said, his eyes watering. “Don’t you do it anytime soon.”
He turned, took a couple of deep breaths, and headed out.
“Amazing how the biggest beast can turn into the biggest puss in a second, huh?” Sensei said with a grunt.
“I still can’t figure it out; I swear the dude is bipolar sometimes,” I said.
“Sometimes?”
That got a laugh out of both of us. But with Splitter gone, the question he had posed was one I wanted to present to Sensei.
“Do you think he’s right? Do you think we need to trail Jane?”
Sensei rolled his eyes.
“Daughter of the president? What is she gonna do, seduce you and kill you? We should have eyes on her, but not for the sake of seeing what she’s up to. We gotta protect her. Diablo finds out she’s in town, he knows she can be tremendous leverage for us. On you.”
“Why me especially?”
“You two? Same age? Hung out for some time? I’m not an idiot, Trace. I was married once, you know.”
I nodded but didn’t dare push the topic—Sensei didn’t have many conversations that got him riled u
p but talking about his deceased wife was a guaranteed way to get an ass-whooping far worse than anything the Mercs could provide. I’d seen enough people fall under his wrath to know that.
But still, this seemed…
Maybe not quite as far out of left field as I had suspected. I had to admit, Jane always was a looker, but I was just smart enough before not to do anything about it.
“In any case, though, we should keep an eye on her. I don’t want Diablo near her for your sake, her sake, or our sake. Call it protecting our investment, if you will.”
“Well, that’s a blunt way of putting it,” I said with a chuckle.
“Better than the way I had just put it,” Sensei said. “In any case, get some sleep. We’ll be watching you around the clock, all right?”
He left me then with a pat on my good arm, a semi-side hug, and a whole lot of thoughts that I didn’t think would get answered any time soon.
The more I thought about it, the more I had realized I had flirted with Jane. Part of it was almost gut instinct to just flirt with any woman I came across. Being young, fit, and wearing colors brought a lot of attention around Green Hills, and from the girls from out of town, more than a few were curious to know what it was like to be both savage and a saint.
But Jane was different. That wasn’t just cliché, either; she was different both because of who her father was and because of her background. She wasn’t a dumb broad in need of a good lay to make her unfulfilled small-town life happy; she wasn’t an elitist snob who had a dark side, either. She was smart and difficult to get because she was, well, worth more than most men.
Maybe I saw it as a challenge. Maybe I saw it as venturing into unknown territory. Maybe I saw it as a dangerous thrill I wanted to chase. Was I too old at thirty-five to try such a thing?
Maybe. But for right now, it at least felt like the least I could do was be grateful she had come back. If nothing else, Dr. Burns hadn’t been as kind to the Saints as she had in the years past when it came to medical bills.
* * *
I only needed two more days to recover before getting discharged. Over the course of those forty-eight hours, Jane never came to see me. A couple of Saints dropped by, some to say hello, some to ask about retaliation, but I reminded them always of the edict to remain quiet. Protect what needed to be protected, but not to go on the offense. The DMs would pay in time.
As promised, though, Jane came to me just before Splitter was set to take me home.
“You are recovering nicely.”
“Did you expect anything less from the prez?” I said with a smirk.
“Well, if you must know, you have your good health and low body fat to thank for that,” she said. “Something tells me if you were an overweight and out of shape president, you wouldn’t have as much luck as you do now.”
“Did you need a medical degree for that something, doc?”
Jane just rolled her eyes at me.
“Do me a favor, Tracy,” she said. It probably said something that she was about the only person I knew who could use my full, real name and not draw anger from me. I always felt the name sounded a touch too feminine—Trace at least had some mystery to it. “Do your best to keep your men out of here. You know it’s what my Pops would have wanted.”
I knew that she was being serious, and at first, I gave her a serious nod.
But I saw an opportunity that I just couldn’t ignore.
“I’ll do that if, if, you do something for me.”
“And what’s that?” Jane said, arms crossed.
“Come out for a drink with me. I want to catch up and hear how things are going for you.”
Jane laughed and looked around as if looking for support at the idea that what I had said was baffling and crazy.
“You know doctors and patients aren’t supposed to hang out like that, right? I don’t date my patients.”
Now it was my turn to laugh, although mine was one born out of protecting my true intentions more so than genuine humor and surprise at what she had said.
“Not a date per se, more like… umm, well, you know, just two friends catching up.”
“I don’t seem to recall us hanging out too much, Tracy,” she said. “Seems to me we were a little bit too far apart in childhood to run in the same circles.”
“Well, yes, but… I mean, you mean a lot to this community of ours, the club, and… all that stuff. And I think that it would be good to hear how things have been.”
The thought also crossed my mind “And to get your opinion on if the Saints are living up to your father’s ideals.” But given that she’d already expressed consternation at having to run with the club again, I decided to shelve that for a later date. Eventually, she’d either calcify her distant, professional relationship with us, or she would give in and provide a more accurate assessment then.
“I see,” Jane said. “Then here’s my counteroffer to you. Dinner and two drinks, max. And I don’t want any of your buddies coming there. Not sitting one table over to keep an eye on things. Not standing as bouncers at the door to protect you. Just you. You can have them a shop over, but I don’t want anyone watching us.”
“Deal.”
I took the deal way too fast, not even considering the implications of it. I had to have been at the top of the list of most wanted by the Mercs, and I wasn’t doing myself any favor to be alone with the founder’s daughter in such public places. But…
Well, sometimes, a single man in his thirties had needs too.
Even if, just a couple of years before, experience had made him swear off such experiences ever again in the future.
“Does tonight work, if that’s too—”
“I get off at eight,” Jane said. “We can meet at Rick’s.”
“Deal,” I said again, making that deal way too quickly. “I will… I guess I’ll see you then.”
She nodded, motioned for me to stand up, and led me to the exit of the hospital.
“I look forward to having a cordial dinner as friends with you, Tracy,” she said as the hospital doors shut on.
Goddamnit. OK, well, fine. Just… just go along with it. What are you going to do, object now?
Waiting for me outside, though, was Splitter on his Harley and BK in a black sedan to pick me up.
“Welcome back to the show,” Splitter said, a grin belying his membership of the Savage Saints. “How would you feel about doing a little bit of praying? You know, getting to the hall?”
I needed no further prodding. I would always take the chance to go to the hall. I nodded as Splitter roared off, leaving me to jump into the car with BK.
I always hated being in a car—for all of the sensations that I felt when I was on a bike, I felt the exact opposite when in a car. Here I was, going just as far in a car as I was on the bike… and it felt no different than sitting on my couch in my house. Sure, I could roll the windows down, but that was, at most, a tenth as exhilarating and freeing as being on my bike.
Plus, the danger and thrill just wasn’t there in a vehicle. If you hit another car, I might get whiplash, but that was it. There was just no risk, no reward, no “hell yeah!” moment in a can. If motorcycles were the lifeblood of the thrill-seeking, risk-taking biker, cars were the lifeblood of the paranoid, germaphobe, safety-seeking adult.
In other words, the type of person I not only did not want to be, the type of person I never wanted to be near in the future.
I think Splitter sensed as much, because at some point, maybe about ten minutes from outside the shop, he looked at me, tightened his grip on the steering wheel, and pretended to rev the car.
“Would you get mad if I did some donuts here?” he said, throwing his head back in a good-natured laugh.
“What, right here in the street? Do you want me to go back to the hospital?”
“I wanna see these tires burn!” he roared as if rushing into battle on the flames of a chopper itself.
I laughed but then held on for dear life, my hand going
for the door as tightly as it could, when he hit the accelerator upon the light turning green so hard that the tires squealed. This was certainly a rush, but I’m not sure thrill was the right word.
In any case, Splitter had only meant the moment as a short, intense burst of giddiness, and when we got to the shop, he came to a complete stop, no donuts necessary.
“Krispy would’ve loved to have seen that,” I said as I breathed easy once the car was off.
“Krispy would’ve happily given you a dozen of those if he’d driven you,” he said. “Why I picked you up.”
I murmured a “hmm” and kept going to the clubhouse. A few of the relatively newer members, the non-officers, all nodded to me and said it was good to see me back so quickly. I didn’t quite have the patience or energy to tell them that in the Savage Saints, you rarely healed completely; you healed just enough to get where you needed to go and then you went there. I would instead let the wheels of time reveal that to them.
I headed inside, saw the remaining officers—BK, Sensei, Sword, Mafia, and Krispy—standing there, pounding the table with shot glasses there. “Trace! Trace! Trace! Trace!”
I smirked as I grabbed my own shot glass, wondering what was the greater number—the six shots on the table, or the average number of shots done per officer at this point. With this club, it was always a question one needed to ask.
“What’s this for?” I said. “We don’t throw parties for getting out of the hospital.”
“We do when we cripple the DMs of their coke,” Krispy said. “Now I want to cripple the rest of their skulls!”
“They ain’t doing anything now,” BK grumbled. “Probably ain’t even able to stand upright on streets. Lookin’ like addicts lookin’ for a hit.”
“We did good, you see?” Mafia said.
“All right, all right,” I said. “But one shot for now. We need to be focused going into the hall. What would your mamas say if you showed up plastered for the hall?”
“I’d just say the blood o’ Christ got too much for me!”
We all shared a contagious laugh at Mafia’s humor, said “to Green Hills,” and then downed the shot. The whiskey felt lukewarm, as if they’d anticipated me for some time but had just not gotten around to taking the shot until now. Better than actual warm, I suppose.
