“Ain’t never fuckin’ hid it, Megan, but you love me any-fuckin-way and I love the fuck outta you.”
Meggie chewed her lip and glanced at the clock. “It’s almost four o’clock. I wonder why Zoann isn’t back yet.”
Outlaw shrugged. “Maybe, she gettin’ some dick.”
All Val’s pleasured evaporated and he growled, wiping his cummy hand on his sheet.
“Maybe.” She wrung her hands together. “I-I mean she should be fine. You have him on the payroll, so—”
“I fuckin’ have who on the payroll?” Outlaw asked slowly.
“Adam Moncette.”
Val shot into a sitting position and stared as fury set into Outlaw.
“She had a date with that motherfucker?”
“He’s the—”
“Take Ryan back in the fuckin’ room. I’m sendin’ Kendall in there. Get some fuckin’ rest. If we ain’t fuckin’ here when you wake the fuck up in the mornin’, you better not step the fuck out this fuckin’ door.”
“Christopher—”
“I’ll fuckin’ explain later. Just fuckin’ do it.”
Not waiting for her to do it, Outlaw grabbed Ryan, took Meggie’s hand and led her out the room. Locking his phone, Val hurried to his feet and found a pair of jeans. He’d just pulled on a shirt and his cut when Outlaw pounded on his door.
He opened it, and Johnnie, Mortician, Stretch, and Digger followed Outlaw in. He was the only one dressed in street clothes and Outlaw narrowed his eyes at him.
Fuck.
“Zoann not back yet and I need to figure out where she might be.”
Nodding, Outlaw focused on Stretch. “Where is she?”
He rubbed his eyes and shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said around a yawn. “I just fucking woke up.”
Mortician snorted and Digger rolled his eyes.
“Maybe holding your head under a tub of cold water might help,” Johnnie snarled, starting for him.
“Stretch, you got two fuckin’ minutes to get that fuckin’ app up and tell me where the fuck my sister at or I’m fuckin’ you up, then givin’ you to John Boy to fuckin’ drown.”
“I’ll have it in one minute,” he promised, wide the fuck awake now and stumbling toward the door, rubbing his eyes again.
“Christopher?”
“What, Megan?” Outlaw said with clear exasperation, turning to Meggie. He opened his mouth then snapped it shut and rushed to her.
She stared at him, her eyes huge, her skin as white as a sheet and her body shaking. She held out his phone.
“Talk to me, baby.”
“Zoann,” she whispered. “She’s been shot and she’s in critical condition.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Defining moments in our lives are embedded deep within the psyche, where the passage of time or removal of place can’t, and won’t, erase. Ultimately, we are shaped by them. Strength of character is tested, physical endurance strained and mental capacity filled to overflowing. At our weakest, whispers will persist, and fingers will be pointed at us and our lack of ability to move on, to stand strong, and roar in defiance.
Hovering just above her body, Zoann saw it all so clearly. Especially her rape. Always…always…always…
She wanted to float away, give into the pull of the brilliant, bright light, a beautiful ray beckoning to her. If she followed, she could let it all go. Momma was there, her translucent fingers urging Zoann to her.
She needed to go to Momma. With her, she could let everything go. Make all the pain and the hurt and the heartache go away. She’d be at peace.
Zoann stepped toward the light, toward her mother…towards kindness.
A sound caught her attention and she wavered, startled at the nurses and doctors swarming around her lifeless, bloody body. She knew most of them. They were her colleagues, screaming her vital signs, pointing to the flat line on the screen, encouraging her to hold on.
Uncertain now, she glanced at Patricia again. The distance between them had grown. Panicked, Zoann stumbled forward.
Another cry. A sob.
A touch, fluttering across her brow.
A baby’s gurgle.
“Ma, ma, ma, ma, ma…”
Tears formed behind Zoann’s eyelids and she shuddered, pain shooting through her body at the battle raging within her.
“Bitsy?”
Christy?
Resisting her brother’s voice, she floated higher, closer to that light. Her mother didn’t say a word, no longer encouraging her forward motion. Just standing there, waiting for her to decide if Zoann would join her or not.
“Mommie?” she whispered.
Patricia nodded, and Zoann glanced between her and her lifeless body on a gurney, tubes in her nose and mouth, monitors beeping and flashing red and green, an IV line in her hand. Matthew stood at her side, holding her other hand. It was limp because she was limp. Christopher gazed at her, his jaw clamped tight, Meggie next to him, her arms around his waist, whispering to him.
But Matthew…
Somehow, through the slits formed by her taped eyelids, she saw him. Or was she hovering above him? No matter. He looked heartbroken and fragile, unlike she’d ever seen him. Oh my God. She needed to comfort him. He shouldn’t look so grief-stricken. Not her Matthew. She couldn’t leave him like this. She had so much left to say to him.
Chief was…“I love you.”
Matthew’s eyes widened. He’d heard her, no more than a moan around the ventilator. She tried to smile at him and convey to him how tired she was of hurting and of fighting. She only wanted peace and happiness and love. She wanted him, too, but she had to let him go. She had to go.
Didn’t she?
Yes.
No.
“This way, my beautiful girl,” Momma said, her face peaceful and serene. “I love you.”
Tears formed and slid out of the corner of her eyes. All her other functions stopped. Her heart ceased its movement, the air in her lungs trapped.
“Fuck, Zoann. Don’t fucking do this.”
Matthew was screaming at her, shaking her body, jerking her back and forth.
“Stop shakin’ her, assfuck,” Christopher choked out.
“Fuck you,” Matthew blazed, shaking her again and jostling her insides. “I can’t let her go. She has to come back to me.”
Zoann squinted, warmth surrounding her, the brilliance surrounding her, but Matthew’s voice tugging her back. The baby gurgled again. She was almost to her mother, where she’d be safe. No one would ever hurt her again.
“Bitsy, we ain’t never got to make up.” Christopher stroked her cheeks. “I love you. If you just woulda told me.”
Her mother frowned as if she heard Christopher, too, and she bent her head. Indecision tore through Zoann, and she gasped, floating from the pain in her body to the beautiful light of peace. She glanced at Patricia, then towards Christopher, but he wasn’t there.
A tearful Meggie laid her head on Zoann’s chest. “I love you. We need you back. Please.”
Air seeped into her lungs again, then hissed back out.
“Chester, baby, you the only one ever call me an Antichrist. What I’m going to do without that?” Mortician whispered, stroking her arm.
Why wouldn’t they let her go? Didn’t they know how tired she was?
“Sweetheart, you’re a fighter.” Johnnie. “You can come back to us. Don’t break our hearts.”
Her mother began to drift away, the translucence shimmering and undulating. Patricia had left her once. Zoann couldn’t allow her to leave again. She stood on her tiptoes, extending her hand as far as possible, but the distance seemed to be growing, as if she’d never reach her mother now.
Zoann’s body shuddered and she heard it. The flat line. Felt a moment of icy coldness before golden warmth surrounded her and she laughed, rushing, running, and crashing into her mother’s open arms.
Matthew’s sob halted her and her being quivered again. Hot tears slid down her neck and sca
lded her. Fingers tangled in her hair. Another sob. “The new baby needs you. It’s still alive. I need you. Ryan needs you, Puff.” He yanked her into his arms, ripping her away from Patricia.
The light flickered and extinguished, and Zoann crashed down, falling through the brilliance and into darkness, abandoned to a silent abyss. She heard nothing. Saw nothing.
Pain suddenly careened through her side and her hand and her head. Sounds surrounded her. A nurse wheeled the crash cart out of her room and other medical staff followed her out.
Her heartbeat pulsed through her, thumped in her ears. She was alive. She’d get to hold Ryan again.
Groaning, she lifted her eyelids. They’d removed the tape? Had her eyes been taped at all?
“Zoann?”
She would’ve smiled at Meggie’s incredulous whisper if her chest and back didn’t burn like hellfire and her mouth wasn’t filled with the ventilator. Matthew raised his head and stared at her, his nose and eyes red.
He’d really been crying?
Her head hurt so bad and exhaustion poured into her.
“Zoann, open your fucking eyes,” Matthew ordered, shaking her.
Her lids shooting up in irritation, she narrowed her eyes at him and he released an odd sobby-laugh. “Okay, you gave me your look. You’re going to be okay. You can fucking close them again,” he relented in relief. “Just tired, huh, babe?
She nodded. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. Using the last of her strength, she clutched his fingers in return.
“Val.”
At the sound of Meggie’s voice, Val froze, blinking in horrified comprehension that she already stood in his room, hand on door knob and staring at him. Or, more to the point, his bottles of pills scattered on his bed. He swayed on his feet. He’d already taken a shitload to make his pain go away. He just needed a few more. Fisting several, he paused his tequila bottle mid-air.
He’d returned to the club with her and Kendall to see his boy and to change. And to fucking throw up, the reality of how close Zoann had come to dying settling into his brain and throwing off his equilibrium.
After thirty-nine hours of hell, he knew she’d live. Their new baby would live. No one knew exactly what the fuck had happened, although Val had a pretty fucking good idea.
Moncette had shot her, then “discovered” her near death and called for backup and first responders. None of them had any proof and, as far as the investigation went, her shooting was a robbery gone bad.
Fucking possible, but not fucking probable. The only truth was that motherfucker admitting he’d called in the shooting because he thought she’d die. Those words weren’t speculation but fucking hearsay from one of Zoann’s friends who’d been in the ER when she’d arrived, clinging to life.
Val never thought he’d believe in a miracle, but, with Zoann, he did. She’d survived. The shot to her side missed her uterus—their baby—and most of her vital organs. The shoulder shot was the motherfucker, nicking her lung and almost claiming her life.
As one thought after the other harassed him, Val had to get away from the hospital. Outlaw, John Boy, Mort, Digger and Stretch had left hours before. Outlaw was furious…understatement of the fucking century.
They’d invited Val to go with them, but he hadn’t fucking had the patience to fuck with Mutt and Jeff to reschedule the run, postponed because of Zoann.
Val wanted to remain at her bedside for a bit longer while they took care of shit. Outlaw understood. A few hours later, when Arrow arrived to escort Meggie and Kendall back to the club, Val had called and requested a probate come in and guard Zoann, so he could finally leave, too.
He needed the chance to wrap his head around seeing Zoann’s lifeless body. She’d been so still and he feared living his life without her.
After puking and looking in on Ryan, now with Meggie, Kendall and Little Man in fucking Dinah’s room, Val had went to his room, pounding the wall in fury and frustration until his hand throbbed. A perfect excuse to hit his pills.
Now, though…Meggie’s blue eyes glanced between him and the pills, the bottle of tequila in one hand and the fist he’d made of his other hand, the one busted and swollen from the abuse he’d put it through. She’d changed from her jeans, button-down shirt and cut, to a sundress, her hair piled on her head.
“Val?” she repeated on a swallow. “Wh-what are you doing?”
He replayed what he’d seen her do with Outlaw and cursed, not wanting her to know what a perverted motherfucker he was.
He dropped his fist to the side and swigged from the bottle. “Meggie, babe, what do you want?”
Instead of answering, she glided to him and grabbed his hand, trying to pry his fingers from his palm. He winced at the pain she caused. Loosening his grip, he allowed her to open his fist, revealing the six pills.
“You’re taking pills again?”
“Never fucking stopped, Meggie,” he responded, not halting her when she scooped them out of his palm and stuffed them in her pocket.
“Does Christopher know?”
“I don’t think so.” He staggered forward, his head fucking spinning and his dick starting to hurt almost as bad as his hand. He reached for her, fog filling his head and casting a pall over his surroundings. “You’re so fucking pretty, Meggie,” he remarked, the fringes of his brain filled with all the reasons he shouldn’t be pulling her to him and kissing her.
Primary? Her resistance.
He needed to stop, but he liked Meggie. She was a good girl, just like Zoann. Sweet smelling, too. And, unlike Zoann, she liked him, and sucked dick. He had the proof from the camera.
“Let go of me, Val!” she demanded, struggling in his arms.
What was wrong with her? All girls liked to fuck. At least the girls he’d been around, the ones who gave him pills. Didn’t Meggie have pills for him? The ones Outlaw took to bed also liked to fuck. Didn’t Outlaw take Meggie all the time? That meant Val could have her, too.
Right?
It should be right, but what in hell escaped him about the conclusion?
Unable to figure it out, he maneuvered her down and they fell onto the bed. She punched the side of his head, but he caught her wrists, pinning them above her head.
“Val, you’re high,” she said, desperate, wiggling under him, her movements turning him on more. “You’ve got to let me up.”
“I want your mouth on me, Meggie. Just suck my dick, please? I-I’ve been having my dick sucked since I was twelve years old. I can’t stop now.”
Holding her legs down with his and keeping her arms above her head using his uninjured hand, he used the other one to raise her shirt and reveal her tits. She struggled a little more. His dick hurting, he licked her red nipple and thrust against her.
“Stop, Val.”
He suckled her nipple and she screamed.
“If you force yourself on me, Christopher is going to kill you. It won’t matter that you’re not thinking clearly right now.”
Her words confused him. “We always share, Meggie,” he slurred in a soothing tone.
Groaning, he nuzzled her neck, not understanding her pitiful sobs. He forced her legs open and settled between her thighs. She screamed again.
Maybe, he should stop. She didn’t seem to want him, but she always smiled at him and laughed and joked with him. She took care of him. Everyone needed to be with someone who liked them for them. Right?
“Meggie, please, babe?” he begged, thumbing her nipples and brushing his lips against hers. She was crying, though, and fighting him. Jesus H. Christ. Heat rose from Meggie’s core, through the little shorts, pulling Val to her, and he pushed against her again.
“Oh my God, Val, you can’t rape me,” she rushed out, her struggles making her breathing hard.
Rape her? He’d never rape Meggie. Never. Why would she say something like that? He sagged against her and nuzzled her neck, seeing Zoann flat lining, watching the life leave her body.
“Zoann’s dead,” he whispered, not caring
about his sobs. All he needed was Zoann. Back. Alive. However she came to him, he didn’t care. “I love her, Meggie, and she’s gone.”
Meggie attempted to head-butt him, but grazed his chin when he averted his face.
“I need comfort, Meggie.”
“Val, Zoann isn’t dead. She’s alive.” Meggie said, struggling to calm herself. “Please let me go. I’ll comfort you. I know how rough this has been on you. Not like this, though. I don’t want to make…I don’t want to f-fuck you.” She started to cry again. “This isn’t you. You don’t hurt girls. You don’t force them. Please. You’ve got to let me up and you’ve got to give me your pills.”
He ran a finger down her wet cheek.
“Zoann was raped, Val,” she blurted, her desperation returning. “I know you know because Christopher knows. He told me. How would she feel if she ever found out you forced me or anyone? Even if she hadn’t had that happen to her, she’d be devastated.”
Closing his eyes, Val sat his chin on the top of her head, her heartbeat pounding against him.
“You’re heavy. Get up. I can’t breathe.”
He was so sleepy. If he let her up, she’d comfort him. He could hold her.
Meggie let out another ear-splitting scream.
“Stop, Meggie. Fuck. You’re hurting my head.”
“Christopher’s going to hurt your entire body if you don’t get off of me.”
Releasing the tight grip he had on her pinned hands, he began to move to the side. She smelled so good and—
Someone jerked him back with enough force to separate his shoulders. “Go, Meggie,” Mortician managed, his low, furious tone chilling Val.
Had he gotten Char again?
No, that wasn’t Char. Mortician lifted Meggie, hugging her and soothing her in soft tones.
Val swayed, his mouth chewing on…air. He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to focus on the reason for Meggie’s tears and shaking fingers as she allowed Mortician to pull her top over her exposed tits.
Sobs filled the air.
“Meggie?” Val called, needing to find out who hurt her.
Mortician released Meggie and barreled into Val, slamming his big fist against Val’s battered head.
Death Dwellers Motorcycle Club:: Fifteen Bad Boy Biker Books Page 144
