by Jo Raven
Raine’s dad.
“And it’s your fault,” he says, turning back toward me as I grab the knife. He hisses when he sees it and lifts something, pointing it at me. It’s a small gun, black and gleaming. “Put that knife down, cocksucker. Think you can kill me?”
“Don’t,” I whisper, and the knife falls from my nerveless fingers, skittering across the floor “Please. I won’t do anything. Put the gun down.”
Instead he flips the safety off, the click too loud, and slides his finger over the trigger. “You think you can stop me? You and my sons, you never thought I could cut it, did you? Think I’m a loser, always in debt, always lagging behind.” He waves the gun at me, a self-satisfied grin on his face, and I flinch. Christ, that thing could go off at any moment, and I don’t like the crazy glint in his eyes. “You all thought I’m not a real man, that I wouldn’t follow through with what I said.”
I’ve seen gunfights on the street. I doubt anyone survived.
“Please,” I whisper again, my voice choked. “Please put the gun down.”
But instead he lifts the gun and points it at me. “Let me see you crawl,” he says, his finger tightening on the trigger.
Oh fuck. I drop to my knees, slam a hand against the leg of the metal table to steady myself, and it fucking gives away, sending the table right on top of me.
The last thing I hear is the bang of the gun going off.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Raine
“Where the hell is he?” I demand.
Ocean rocks back on his heels, hands in his pockets. “He’ll be here.”
Will he? Our old man doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to meet us. We’re standing around in the fading light, with snow swirling down from the sky, and there’s that awful bad feeling in my gut, the same I got every time Jason got hurt.
But Jason is fine, at home. He doesn’t even know about this. No need to. It’s supposed to be a quick meeting, meant to calm dear old Dad down, assure him he’ll get what he wants or scare him into leaving us alone, and possibly find out who his contact with the Club is.
“Nobody’s here,” Riot says, walking back out of the alley with his two burly friends in tow. He flicks snowflakes off his shoulders. “You sure about the place and time?”
“I’m calling him,” I say, but Ocean beats me to it, pulling his cell phone out and searching for the number. “Something’s off. Why would he set us up?”
“You guys can go,” I tell Riot and his friends. “This isn’t your fight.”
“You don’t get it,” Riot replies, narrowing his gray eyes at me. “This is my fight all right. It’s personal.”
“Why?”
“This Simon Gomez your dad’s chumming up to has a thing for prostitutes. And I worked as an escort. So there’s that, and there’s the whole mafia thing, and I’m not going until this is set to rights.”
Whoa, okay. I nod and watch him wander back to his friends. Interesting.
As Ocean calls our old man, I pull out my phone and call home. No idea why I feel I need to check on Jason, but there it is.
And when it rings and rings and he doesn’t pick up, my stomach twists.
“Hey, Shun.” I glance at my brother who’s glaring at his phone. He redials and lifts a brow at me. “Does Dad know where I live?”
He frowns. “I guess. Yeah. Why?”
Of course he does. My apartment used to be Ocean’s, after all, and not so long ago he trusted them.
My throat’s dry. “He threatened to hurt the people I care about if I don’t pay up. And I didn’t pay up. Neither did you.”
“What are you saying?” Zane asks, stepping closer, his Mohawk a black shadow in the faint streetlamp lights.
“Our dad is a petty crook,” Ocean says, lowering his phone. “Are you saying that, what, he’d kidnap Jason and ask for ransom? This isn’t the movies, R. He wouldn’t have the guts for it, no matter his threats.”
Wouldn’t he?
I call home again. “Jason isn’t answering the phone.”
“He’s probably in the shower. Or you know, taking a dump. Why are you so worried all of a sudden?”
“I don’t know. Dad not showing up, Jason not answering… It’s a gut feeling. A fucking bad gut feeling.” Cold sweat’s pouring down my back. “Something’s wrong, man. I just know it.”
Riot and his friends exchange looks, but Zane just nods.
“Always trust your gut,” he says. “It tells the truth when your brain doesn’t want to accept it. Let’s go.”
There’s a beat of silence with his words still echoing on the air. The other guys gather around us, looking thoughtful. Or maybe thinking I’ve gone around the bend and off the deep end.
Who cares? “Look, I’m gonna head home, check on Jason.” Even if it proves I’m nuts. I don’t fucking care.
Then Asher says, “Nothing to do here anyway. Come on, let’s go make sure Jason is okay.”
And we’re off.
Maybe I’m sick. Maybe what I took for a gut feeling is food poisoning. I thought those mini burritos we had today at Collateral might be dodgy. As I park across from my building, I start to feel really fucking stupid for dragging everyone here.
Ocean climbs out of his car and comes over as I slam the door of my pick-up shut. “I called Kayla. She’s fine.”
Right. It was all in my mind.
“You guys should head home,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck, heat licking at my ears. “I’m sure Jase is fine, too.”
“Jase, huh?” My brother shoots me a crooked grin, and despite the disappointing results of today, I grin back.
“Shut up. Just…” I glance at the others who’re parking their cars and preparing to join us. “I dunno what’s wrong with me today. You guys should go home. No reason to go up with me.”
“We’re here,” Tyler calls as he approaches with Zane, and Rafe. “Riot and his buddies stayed at the alley, in case your old man shows up after all. Dylan and Ash decided to stay, too, just in case. Shall we?”
“Guys, look…” I huff. “About earlier.”
“Listen, R, let’s go up,” Ocean says, thumping my shoulder. “Jason is probably watching TV, bored out of his mind. We’ll just say hi and be on our way. No harm done, and we’re already here.”
He’s got a point, I guess. “This way.” I gesture at the building entrance, and lead the way, hoping Jason is dressed.
I swallow hard, an image of an undressed Jason teasing my mind as I ride the elevator up to my place with Ocean and Rafe. The guys wouldn’t even blink at a half-naked guy lounging around in my apartment, I’ll bet. It’s me who’s all hot and bothered at the thought.
The elevator doors slide open and I step outside, my hand in my pocket, fishing around for the apartment key.
“Fuck,” Rafe breathes, and only then do I notice something’s wrong.
My door is wide open.
My pulse roars in my ears. As if in a dream, I step inside, clinically noting that nothing looks out of place, even if the feeling of wrongness intensifies—like a vise turning inside me, choking me. “Jason?”
A smell reaches my senses, a sickly-sweet, copper smell that hits me like a punch. Images flash in front of my eyes—the ratty inside of a car, Livvy laughing, houses blurring by, an impact. Blood. So much blood.
“Jason!” I’m running before I know it, crossing to the bedroom door, but he isn’t there, or in the bathroom… and I enter the kitchen.
Ah fuck. Fuck!
I’m on my knees, hands bathed in blood, unable to breathe. He’s sprawled in the middle of the kitchen, eyes closed, face white like a ghost, his sweats soaked in crimson.
“Stop the bleeding,” Tyler is hissing. “Call an ambulance.”
“On it,” Zane is saying.
Hands appear in my tunnel vision. A folded-up towel is pressed to Jason’s leg. Someone tries to drag me away, and I shove them back.
He’s alive, I can see the slight rise and fall of his chest. I�
��m holding one of his hands, and it’s icy cold.
“Can’t have happened long ago,” Zane whispers.
“Ambulance is on its way,” Rafe mutters.
“Looks like he was conscious after he got hit. He tried to drag himself to the phone. The bullet hit the table first, slowed down. That’s lucky.”
Whatever that means. Lucky? And why the fuck’s everyone whispering?
Or maybe they aren’t. The sounds are muted. The colors faded. The world has gone black and white.
“R, you with me?” Someone is shaking me. Ocean. “Breathe, man.”
“I did this.” Fuck breathing. “I fucking did this.”
“No, you didn’t. Raine, listen to me.” My brother’s hands are on my shoulders, giving me another shake. “This isn’t Livvy. He’s alive. We’ll fight for him.”
“Fight?” I give a strangled bark of laughter. “He was shot. What do you wanna bet it was our dad who shot him? How do I fight…?”
“Talk to him, R. Don’t let him slip away. If he reaches the hospital alive, chances are he’ll make it. Tell him to stay. He’ll listen to you, little bro.”
He stayed here for my dad to find him because he listened to me. This is all my fault. But the urgency in Ocean’s voice finally registers.
“It’s bad, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know. There’s a lot of blood, and he’s unconscious. But he’s alive.”
He is. And if it’s my fault, I’ll sure as hell fight death for him. Anger seeps through the shock, heating up my chest.
I’ll be damned if I let him be taken away from me, too.
The ride to the hospital is even more dreamlike. Somehow I’m allowed to sit inside, by Jason’s side. I don’t think I’ve let go of his hand since I entered the apartment and found him lying in a puddle of his own blood. There’s a drip now going into his other arm, with plasma and fluids and God knows what else.
I watch the paramedics clean and bandage the wound, make Jason comfortable, and I pray to some god I’d forgotten since Livvy died for him to be okay.
I’d do anything. Anything. Please. I’ll give myself up, I’ll give up my soul. I’ll forgive Simon. I’ll forgive my father. Hell, I’ll forgive myself if that’s what it takes. Whatever is required for a miracle.
He has to live. I think my heart is broken. It’s as if my chest has been laid open with a sledgehammer, and the beat is fractured.
“Jase. Stay with me. Come on, stay with me.” My mouth is dry, my voice hoarse from repeating those words over and over. “I can’t… can’t do this without you.” I rub at his cold knuckles with my thumbs. “Do you hear me? Dammit, Jase, you can’t leave me behind.”
The ambulance rocks as we turn someplace. The paramedic checks the bag of fluids. His face is impassive. Or is it sad?
“Listen to me,” I tell Jase, and my broken heart aches as I stare at his bloodless face. “You can’t go. I promised you a lifetime of hugs, and you’re not getting out of that so easily. You’re staying, Jason Vega, because I love you, and I’m not fucking letting you go. You’d better be listening to me.”
The ambulance stops, and I bend my head over his hand, tears slipping down my face. Dammit, I can’t remember the last time I cried.
And under my wet cheek, his fingers twitch. A barely-there movement, a caress, and I lift my head, expecting to see his eyes open.
Nothing has changed. He’s still out, but I know what I felt. It’s enough to give me hope.
A flesh wound.
Sounds like nothing, but it’s actually a pretty big wound. There’s a fucking hole in his thigh, his femur bone is broken, he’s lost an awful lot of blood… and yeah, Rafe was right. No big arteries were hit, and that was damn lucky. The bullet must have hit the fallen table, losing some speed, then it went through Jason and exited, lodging somewhere in my kitchen.
If we hadn’t arrived home when we did, if we’d been a little late, he’d be dead from blood loss by now.
I shiver and rub at my arms. As it is, he’s just come out of surgery. I’m waiting to be called inside when he wakes up.
There are more people sitting in the waiting area, talking in low voices. The Damage Boyz. The Inked Brotherhood.
Jesse Lee.
He’s standing there, leaning against the wall, his normally tanned skin pale. His girl, Amber, is holding his hand. He looks scared. He and Jason, they’re friends, they have known each other for many years. I can’t imagine how he feels.
I’ve known Jason for far less time, and yet I’m so damn terrified I can’t get my heart to slow down its frantic beating. Until Jason opens his eyes and looks at me, until he goes home with me, I don’t think I’ll relax enough to eat or sleep.
However, my brother apparently thinks I can, because he tries again to shove a sandwich and a coffee into my hands. “You need to eat something,” he insists. “We’ve been here all night. If you pass out on me, I swear to God, R, I’m gonna pretend I don’t know you.”
That threat works its way through the haze that hasn’t lifted since last night. I take the offerings even if I’m not sure I can swallow anything at this point. The smell of the coffee makes me wanna throw up.
“The police are looking for Dad,” Ocean says. “And the Mob is descending on the MC as we speak.”
Whatever. I don’t care. I don’t give a damn.
I failed Jason.
“It will be okay,” Ocean says, and I shake my head.
“I wanted,” I start, stop. Try again. “I wanted to take care of you. And of Jason. To be someone you can count on, who can have your back and offer safety.” I rub at my burning eyes. “I wanted to be like you. You always took care of me.”
“Hey. R.” He slips an arm around my shoulder, shakes me a little. “Look at me. Look at me, I said. You did your best.” When I frown up at him, meeting his gaze, he sighs. “We all do our best. I failed you when I sent you away to our crazy aunt, when I thought I was saving you. Sometimes life is beyond our control. Now, you took Jason off the streets, and came to us for help, and that’s exactly what I would have done, too. We couldn’t predict the rest.”
I look away. “It doesn’t matter. Jason was shot. He may die, and I…”
“No.” He tightens his hold on me. “Don’t think that way. Jason will make it. And you have nothing to be sorry for. You’re the best brother I could have ever asked for, and I’ll bet you’re an awesome boyfriend, too.”
I draw a shaky breath. He needs to stop talking, or I’ll come apart. No fucking way, not now.
A doctor approaches us, and I get up, vaguely aware that the coffee has fallen from my hand, crashing and splashing on the floor. “Any news?”
“Are you Jason Vega’s family?” he asks and we all nod. “Well, surgery went well. We were able to remove shards of bone, set the femur, and stop the hemorrhage. His vitals are strong. Barring a bad infection, we expect him to make a full recovery, with physiotherapy and the proper psychological support, of course.”
Of course.
I’m standing there, speechless, breathless, afraid to move in case this isn’t real.
“R. He’s gonna be okay.” My brother grabs my arm and tugs me to him. Guess hugging is a family tradition. “You can relax now. He’ll be fine.”
He pats my back, and I’m still numb, so I barely feel it.
“Can I see him?” I pull away from Ocean to face the doctor once more. “Doc, can I see him? Is he awake?”
He frowns, and I realize the others have surrounded us.
“Only one of you at this point,” the doc says. “I can’t let you all troop inside and—”
“Just him,” Ocean says, giving me a gentle shove forward. “It’s his boyfriend. The rest of us can wait.” When I glance back at him, he winks. “Tell him hi from us, little brother. And don’t maul him just yet, remember he’s wounded. Be gentle.”
So I give him the finger, obviously, and follow the doctor to visit the guy who holds the pieces of my heart in his ha
nds.
I hope he’ll be gentle with it, too.
He’s too damn pale. His hand is cold when I take it in mine, but his head rolls toward me, his eyes opening to dark slits.
I press my forehead to the back of his hand, searching for words. “Jase…”
Am I supposed to ask if he’s okay? His leg is in a cast, bloodied gauze peeking below. He looks like he’s two steps from dying. He’s not fucking okay.
“Hey.” His voice is thin, just a breath. “Look at me.”
I shake my head, but I look up, meeting his gaze. “I promised I’d keep you safe. I told you to trust me. And you almost died because of me.”
“Not your fault.”
Yeah, sure. “It was my dad, wasn’t it?” He gives a small nod, and I bite the inside of my cheek not to howl with rage. “I fucked up. I thought I was on top of things. I’m a fucking idiot.” I let go of his hand and go to stand, needing to get my thoughts in order. “This is on me.”
“Don’t.” He grips my hand. “Don’t go.”
He’s panting, those expressive dark eyes glittering. It stops me in my tracks.
“Jase—”
