Bash, Volume I (Rolling Thunder Motorcycle Club Book 3)

by Candace Blevins

  “I’ve run for years without a problem. There’s no reason to believe someone will decide to attack us tonight.”

  I shook my head. “Murphy’s law says the bad thing will happen when you can’t defend yourself, so as long as I don’t intend to drink, and have no plans to go in a government building or school, then yeah, I carry as a matter of habit.”

  He shook his head. “Sad, really, that you grew up in such a culture of violence and fear.”

  “I grew up loved and protected, Thomas. I was never afraid. Ever.”

  We argued more as we ate our ice cream, and Thomas took off through an alley as we left the ice cream shop. It wasn’t even a shortcut home, so I’m not sure why he took it, but he managed to run right into the Disciples who’d apparently been spying on us.

  Thomas runs marathons, and he’s a skinny fucker in fantastic shape who has no idea how to fight. Three gangsters against the two of us, but I’m a werewolf and they never had a chance.

  I took the first down with a volley of punches to his face and torso, and finished him off with a vicious kick designed to knock him out and make sure he didn’t enter the field of battle again. The second had gotten several hits and kicks in, and I turned on him now and gave him my full attention, ignoring the third guy who was just on the outskirts of the action, trying to pretend he was bad. I’d correctly ascertained he’d be easier to take down than the first guy, and when he was unconscious I turned to the third, but he pulled a gun and fired it at me. I’d been standing in front of Thomas, trying to protect him, and the bullet missed me and I heard a grunt, and then a body hitting the ground. The weapon was still pointed in my general direction, and I pulled my gun and fired three times, all three hitting the third attacker in the chest, centered over his heart.

  I held my gun on the other two as I called nine-one-one. I made sure to tell the operator we were attacked, and I told her the District Attorney had been shot and I was holding the bad guys at gunpoint until the police arrived.

  Thankfully, Thomas was still alive and talking, though in a great deal of pain, when the paramedics arrived. Unfortunately, one of the Disciples was dead, and the other two were beat to hell and back.

  I’d learned from my father and his attorneys though, and I went all girly-girl panicky and said I needed medical attention. I called my dad, gave him a heads up on what was going on, and he had a lawyer meet me at the hospital within moments of arriving.

  Bash arrived minutes behind the attorney, scaring the hell out of hospital staff without saying a word. He was so fucking pissed he looked like he’d just as soon kill people as look at them.

  “Bash, look at me.”

  I held his gaze, refusing to back down or waver. I didn’t know why he was pissed but I knew he wouldn’t hurt me.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked him, keeping my voice calm.

  “You were attacked. You could’ve been hurt, bad.”

  I closed my eyes, a little touched he was so upset because I’d been in danger. “Come hold me?”

  The next thing I knew, he was in my bed and I was in his lap, cradled to his chest, and it was the best feeling ever. No one would hurt me with Bash around.

  One of the nurses came in and said, “Ordinarily, I’d insist the bed is for patients, but I came to check on her because all of her stats just went down to nearly normal and I wanted to see what was up. You can stay put as long as her stats stay where they are. I’ll pull the curtain so no one else harasses you. Let me know if you need anything.”

  When she left, I told him, “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. Now, let’s go over things with the attorney before the cops get the all clear to question you.”

  The attorney went over my statement a dozen times, coaching me in which parts to emphasize and which to leave out. Then we rehearsed the phrases that made me not look like a cold blooded killer… it happened so fast, they jumped us before I knew what was going on, I barely had time to react.

  The attorney glanced at Bash, then took a breath and told me, “You need to keep asking about how Pickering is doing, ask if you can see him. I’m sorry if I’m stepping on toes, but they need to see your concern and understand you shot to save his life. He’d already been shot once, you didn’t want to give the bad guys another chance.”

  Bash got out of my bed before the cops arrived, and sat in a chair beside me. However, the cops made him leave the room so they could question me.

  As he left, one of the officers asked, “What is your relationship to Mr. Adkins?”

  I tilted my head, no idea who he was talking about, and the detective said, “The gentleman who just left. Brett Adkins.”

  “Bash is a good friend. I’ve known him since I was fifteen.”

  “Are you aware a good portion of the Rolling Thunder Motorcycle Club is in the hospital lobby?”

  I groaned and looked down. “Do you need me to let them know I’ll live, so they’ll go?”

  “You’re Donald Wright’s daughter?”

  “Yeah, but you really need to call the MC guys by their street names. No one knows my dad as Donald, or Bash as Brett.” I caught my attorney’s eye, and asked the detective, “How is Thomas? The hospital won’t tell me anything, I guess because of HIPPA laws, but I’m worried about him.”

  “He’ll be okay. Can you tell me what happened?”

  They made me go over it and over it until I was ready to start snapping at them, and then my attorney finally stepped in and called an end to it. The detective nodded and said, “I can take you to the DA’s room, now, if you’d like to see him.”

  They tried to keep my attorney from following along, and in the end he had to stay outside the room, but he could hear us from there and I knew he’d speak up if he heard things going the wrong direction. The detective took me in and I knew he wanted to see how we got along.

  Thomas looked white as a sheet, and he was hooked up to IV fluids and had the oxygen tube at his nose. His eyes were closed when I walked in, but he smiled a little when he opened them.

  “Well, I guess I have a bit of egg on my face.”

  I chuckled, moved the chair to his not-hurt side, sat down, and slid my hand under his. “I take it they have you on good pain meds? Why do you have egg on your face?”

  “Because I got pissed when I felt the gun, and then said bad things about your upbringing, and then you had to save my life with it not twenty minutes later.”

  “Yeah, okay, you have a point. Want me to get a washcloth and clean it off, for you?”

  He tried to laugh, but it hurt, and his face lost a little more color.

  “Sorry, I’ll try not to make you laugh again. I’m assuming you’re gonna live — what’s the verdict?”

  “Bullet went into my rib cage at my side, and was only in my body a few inches before it came back out. It messed up two ribs, but not so much I need surgery to fix them. I guess it went in between the ribs, and just hit them a glancing blow. If it’d hit the ribs I’d be in surgery getting rib plating pieces put in, to replace the parts blown to smithereens.”

  “So, it didn’t hit anything super important?”

  “It got a section of my lung, but apparently they only have to do something to keep the air pressure balanced somehow, so it won’t collapse again. There’s a tube or something in my side. They say they’re planning to get me moved to a room soon.”

  “I’m glad you’re okay. Is there anyone you want me to call?”

  His family lived in Virginia, but I didn’t know if he’d want a friend to be here.

  He shook his head. “My sister’s on her way. Don’t want anyone else to see me in a hospital bed.” He glanced at the detective and back at me. “Politics are all about being top dog and this isn’t likely a good look for me.”

  “I’ll visit you when I can, but I’m going to have some legal stuff to deal with, since the man who shot you is… shit, Thomas. I thought he was going to kill you, so I shot him.”

  He eyes flew open, his co
untenance no longer foggy. “Is he okay?” He shook his head. “I saw you shoot him, but they carried him off in an ambulance…”

  “No.” Aware this was all about how the detective saw me, I lowered my head, and whispered, “He’s dead.”

  Thomas’s eyes shot to the detective. “It was self-defense, Johnson. You can’t possibly be considering charging her!”

  “That your official, legal, opinion?”

  He didn’t hesitate. “Yes, it is. If she hadn’t shot him there’s a good chance his next shot would’ve killed me.”

  “And it was just the two of you, and the three Disciple Playas in the alley? She did all of that damage to them on her own?”

  “How do you know Thomas didn’t help?” I asked. He hadn’t, but I wondered how they just assumed he hadn’t.

  “His hands don’t have a scrape on them, and yours are beat to hell and back.”

  I looked down at my hands, one of which was being held by Thomas’s pristine, flawless, strong and yet pansy-assed hand. Thomas’s hands literally didn’t have a mark on them, and his nails weren’t polished, but otherwise looked as if he’d had them manicured – each perfectly filed to just the edge of his nailbed, smooth, with no ridges.

  As I compared my hand to his, my knuckles started to hurt. I hadn’t realized my hands were quite so torn up.

  “I’m a little embarrassed to admit she defended us both. I was no good at all.”

  The detective nodded as he eyed me speculatively. “Are you aware the Disciple Playas and Rolling Thunder are in the midst of a turf war?”

  My attorney stuck his head into the room and said, “Detective, if you’re going to question my client, I need to be present.”

  Thomas’s hand relaxed in mine as he said, “Good, you’re taken care of. I was thinking I needed to fight the pain meds so I could help you navigate questions, but I’m glad you have someone. I’m going to nod back off now, if you don’t mind?”

  I kissed his forehead and told him I’d check back in on him the next day. This wasn’t helping my plan to pull away from him, but I couldn’t just abandon him.

  “I don’t know anything about club business,” I told the detective as we stepped out of Thomas’s ER room. “If that’s truly the case then I suppose it explains why so many of the club members are here.”

  I’d talked to my dad long enough on the phone to assure him I was okay, but he’d come up, anyway. He was with Bash, waiting for me in my room, and the detective stopped at the doorway to tell me, “Thanks for answering our questions. I’m inclined to agree with the DA and call it self-defense, but the final decision isn’t my call. Don’t leave town without checking in with me.”

  I shook his hand, and then stepped into my father’s arms. If Bash hadn’t been there I might’ve cried. Every little girl wants her daddy when the bad guys are around, even when she’s all grown up.

  When I’d assured him I was okay, I climbed back into my hospital bed. I might be physically okay, but every muscle in my body was weak, and I needed food. Not a snack, but large quantities of food.

  Luckily, the hospital released me fifteen minutes later, and Bash and my dad walked me to the lobby. Brain made it to me first, his arms folding around me as he held me and inhaled, smelling to make sure I was okay.

  “I’m fine, Brain. It’s over, and I’m fine.”

  When he released me, Duke’s arms went around me as he said, “Fuck, Punkin, I was so worried.”

  “I know I can’t know club business, but I have some questions. We aren’t far from the compound, mind if I ride with my dad back there, so we can all talk in private?”

  We all trouped through the lobby and into the parking lot, and someone produced an extra helmet so I could ride behind my dad.

  I swung my leg over, put my feet on the pegs, and wrapped my arms around him all in one motion. One tap on his stomach and we were off. Riding with my dad is comforting, and safe, and it brings back a million memories.

  Traveling with a group of bikers is so much different than one bike, alone. Harleys are loud, anyway, but put a bunch of them on the road together and the clubs name suited us well.

  The MC surrounded us, flanking us, putting the message out that I was protected, and I let my mind wander again as to why I may have been targeted.

  The Disciples are a problem in Atlanta, too, but I’d never been brought into a turf war, before. I couldn’t help but think my trip to the RTMC bar and then into the compound the other night had probably put me onto the Disciples’ radar, and I intended to have words with Duke about it. If they were truly in a turf war then keeping me out of the picture should’ve been primary.

  I was betting the guys who’d jumped us didn’t know Thomas was the DA, though, and they were probably kicking themselves right about now. Well, the two who were alive were, anyway.

  I followed the men into the clubhouse, and Duke looked around the room and announced, “Full-patches only. Everyone else get out.”

  Dad pulled me to one of the large tables and sat me down beside him. I looked up to Duke and asked, “So, what are the odds my summons to the bar the other day brought me to their attention?”

  I could feel waves of anger radiating off my dad, and I hoped they didn’t come to blows, but if Duke had known there was a turf war then he’d put me in danger.

  “We’ve had a few small skirmishes in the past day or two, but nothing in the weeks before or I wouldn’t have called you in. Any of the Disciples who started in Atlanta will know who you are, as they’ll all recognize the name, even if they’ve never seen you.”

  “Have I just put a target on my back, by killing one of them?”

  No one said anything, and I looked at my dad as he finally said, “I’d love it if you’d come home for a while. I know this is your dream job, but dammit, Angel, this is bad shit.”

  I shook my head. “My biggest problem is that I work in a branch of the federal government, and carrying a firearm to my office is a felony. I can leave it in the car, so I’m covered going to and from work, and I can make sure I’m carrying the rest of the time…” I sighed. “I’ll just have to make sure I don’t dally in the parking lot at work.” Damn, I needed food.

  Brain exchanged a look with my dad, and then told me, “I’d like you to stay at the compound a few days, until we can see the direction the wind’s gonna blow. If everything seems okay then we’ll send someone home with you for the first couple of nights, and longer, if necessary. Your dad approved of your apartment for security reasons, with the steps and balcony, and impossibility of getting to it another way with all of activity in the tourist district. We should be able to keep you safe there, but I’d still feel better with you here for at least three or four nights.”

  I looked at the clock on the wall, saw it was after three in the morning, and told them, “The night’s almost over and I don’t have anything with me. My dad can come back to my apartment with me tonight, and I’ll give him my bed and I’ll take the sofa. The Disciples aren’t going to do anything today. If you have a room for me, and not pallets on the floor in the basement, I’ll pack a bag and stay a few days, but I’ll be going to work during the day.”

  “You going in tomorrow?” Bash asked.

  “Yes. If I get to sleep in the next thirty minutes and wake up at eight, I can be at work by nine and still get a little over four hours sleep.”

  My dad stood, looked around the room, and said, “I have to go home tomorrow afternoon, as I have business to attend to tomorrow night, but if ya’ll can’t guarantee her safety, I’ll postpone it until I can make arrangements with Aaron Drake to see to her protection.”

  Bash spoke from behind me. “I’ll stay with her, make sure she’s safe. I doubt she’ll want someone who looks like they’re in an MC dropping her off at work while she’s trying to make a good impression, and Pablo cleans up pretty good. He can drop her off and pick her up at the door in a cage, so there’s no walking through the parking lot.” He looked at Duke. “I’m
assuming you’ll approve use of manpower? And assign someone else to my post for the foreseeable future?”

  It was a challenge, clear as day, and I looked down. My dad took a step back and said, “Come on, Angel. Let’s get you home. The guys can work out what they’re willin’ to do and let me know tomorrow.”

  * * * *

  I didn’t dare change and heal because the attorney had taken pictures of me, to show I’d taken a few hits in the fight as well. With documents of my injuries, I couldn’t show up all healed tomorrow. I’d heal faster than a normal human even if I didn’t change, but at least it would be a small change each day, and not just miraculously healed the next morning.

  Dad cooked me two steaks while I took a shower, and as I ate, he asked, “Do we need to talk about the guy you killed?”

  I considered the question several minutes before answering, and finally told him, “I think I’m okay. I mean, he had a gun pointed at me, and only hit Thomas because he was a horrible shot. He was six or seven feet from me, and he fucking missed me! But, the gun was still pointed at me, and he made adjustments, and I could see his finger starting to move to fire again, when I popped him. It isn’t like I could’ve chosen differently and still had a good possibility of not getting hurt. Not like before.”

  He nodded. “Okay, Angel. On the bright side, I had Brain look into him, and the guy isn’t married and doesn’t have any kids. Best he can tell, the guy’s estranged from his family, too. A couple of the Disciples visited him during his last prison stint, but no family.” He sighed, his eyes sad. “If you have any nightmares tonight, or any other night, you need to talk to me about it. Okay? If it bothers you, we’ll deal with it. Don’t try to handle it yourself.”

  “Honestly, Daddy, I’m not all torn up about it. I’m not twelve anymore.”

  “No, you aren’t, but even grown men get hung up on it sometimes. Even bad-ass bikers. Every man wearing an Atlanta cut will kill to save his brother, if he’s forced to, but not all of them will do so unscathed — and to be honest? Sometimes I’m more comfortable with the ones who have issues, afterwards. The bad-asses who can take a life and not think twice worry me.”