Son of a Beard

by Lani Lynn Vale

  The rich sound was interrupted, though, by something I never wanted to hear again.

  Truth’s bellow of anger jolted me, and I moved my eyes since Mohawk guy wouldn’t let me move my head, and nearly groaned at the panicked look in his eyes at seeing his car.

  “I didn’t mean to!” I cried out. “I swear! I will fix your car!”

  “I’m not sure he’s worried about the car, honey. Does your arm hurt?”

  I thought about it, then decided that yes, indeed, it did hurt.

  Like a mother fucker.

  “Yes,” I told him. “Should it hurt?”

  He didn’t reply.

  Something shook the car, and I jerked, my eyes going wide as my head reminded me that it wasn’t very happy with me.

  Chapter 21

  Whiskey: Because who in the hell needs feelings.

  -Life Lesson

  Verity

  “We got an anonymous tip that this was about to go down,” the large older man said as he held out a piece of paper to Truth.

  Truth took it, and then turned to stare at me for long seconds before returning the paper.

  “What?” I asked.

  I was so intimidated.

  My hospital bed was surrounded by bikers, and they were guarding me like I was something precious to them.

  Something Truth informed me over an hour ago that I was—precious to him. And if I was important to him, I was protected by not just his chapter of The Dixie Wardens MC, but all of the members of The Dixie Wardens MC. All eight chapters, and two thousand three hundred and forty-five members.

  Though, only a mere forty-five members were in my hospital room or outside in the hallway.

  Anyone would be absolutely stupid to do anything with this many members around. And not because a lot of them were law enforcement, or had been at one point.

  But because they were generally scary mother fuckers.

  Even Mohawk guy was scary, though he’d introduced himself as Kettle about twenty minutes ago.

  I was now sitting in my hospital bed, my face stinging, as my broken arm was being set in a hot pink cast by yet another hunky man—this one Dr. Tommy—listening to the men talk while I valiantly tried to hide the fact that I was fighting off the urge to puke from my still raging headache.

  I was also trying to decide if hearing what the men had to say was worth the additional pain that concentrating on their conversation would surely bring.

  “You’re fucking kidding me,” Truth growled. “You tried calling?”

  The older man who’d introduced himself as Silas nodded his head. “Yeah, but your phones were off for the funeral. We’d started heading this way around eight this morning to make it in time to see you patch in your prospects later tonight and offer our condolences.”

  “I guess you heard about the problems we’ve been having with Elais Beckett?” Big Papa asked from his position down by my feet. His hand was resting on my toes, and every once in a while, he’d squeeze them, then continue listening. It was an absent gesture; one I wasn’t sure if he realized he was doing or not.

  But I continued to let him because it felt good. I saw Silas nod an affirmative to answer Big Papa’s question.

  Truth was on my left, his hand playing up and down the length of my arm, reassuring himself that I was okay by touching me and feeling the heat of my skin.

  “After you left, we got the call about the funeral and decided to head this way. A ride’s a ride,” Sebastian, Silas’ son and the vice president of the Benton Chapter, said.

  I’d heard that by Truth before. Any length of a trip, as long as he got to ride there, was a good thing.

  “How’d you hear that we were patching in our prospects tonight?”

  Silas smiled.

  “I’ve got my ways.”

  That cryptic message had Big Papa sighing in annoyance, and I looked at him.

  His face was haggard, and he looked like he was about to fall over on his feet.

  I frowned.

  He looked sick.

  I wiggled my toes, but the playful gesture costed me as any type of movement—even breathing—made my head want to explode.

  The smile that he gave me, although small, was still worth the pain that I felt.

  Something that Big Papa noticed when his eyes caught mine.

  But before he could say anything, Dr. Tommy Tom, the hunky man, stood up and gave me a light tap on the cheek with two fingers.

  “All done. Don’t do any strenuous exercise with that hand until the cast comes off and new x-rays are run to be sure that everything has healed up just fine.

  “Okay,” I sighed in exasperation. There went all my forward progress on my bench presses. “I’ll be sure to…”

  “What the fuck!”

  I winced, both because of what Randi’s extremely unhappy screech did to my head, but also because Randi was here, and she was pissed.

  Truth’s hand squeezed my arm lightly, and I would’ve squeezed him back were I not hurting.

  “Somebody better move so I can see my best friend, or I’m not going to be very nice about this,” Randi snapped from somewhere beyond the doorway.

  The bikers parted, allowing my friend entrance.

  The minute she saw me, she paused, composed herself, and then started forward once again.

  “You look like ass,” she declared.

  I flipped her off, but didn’t reply.

  “Are you okay? What the hell happened?” she asked, her eyes studying my face.

  “She was about two inches from taking a bullet to the face,” Truth growled. “How do you think she is?”

  I made a feeble effort to smack him on the thigh, causing him to chuckle.

  “I’m fine,” I told Randi. “My face hurts, and I probably have a small concussion. I have a bruised eardrum, and my arm is broken. Aside from those things, though, I’m doing just great.”

  Randi just stared at me for a long few moments before turning around and walking right back out the door.

  She was gone for a few long seconds before I heard a muffled, angry scream, and then she was right back at my side, her game face in place.

  “What do you think of the color?” I asked, holding my arm up.

  The medicine that I’d been given for my headache finally started to take effect, and it was slowly beginning to release me from its painful grip.

  It sure was easier to think when your head wasn’t pounding so hard that your stomach churned.

  “I think it’s hideous, but you know how I hate pink.”

  She did hate pink. She didn’t own a single pink garment, not a shirt, not a pair of underwear, not socks or workout gear. Pink was my favorite color, though, and I had tons of things in all different shades of it.

  I grinned, my face stinging from the multitude of tiny cuts that dotted my face, causing me to wince in response.

  “What the hell happened?” she asked, touching her fingers to a point just underneath my eye.

  Right underneath the stitches.

  “We’re going to take this into the hall, baby,” Truth rumbled from my side.

  I felt his hand in my hair, brushing it away from my face, and then he placed a soft kiss on my cheek—one of the only places that wasn’t cut or hurting—and left.

  Leaving me to explain to my best friend what exactly had happened.

  “So…” I started.

  “So…” she snapped.

  Oh, man. She was really mad.

  “Your friend was shot at and nearly took a bullet to the head,” Marnie started off without preamble.

  I winced.

  I’d been trying to ease gently into that part.

  “What?” Randi shrieked. “What the fuck, Verity? Is that true?”

  I nodded, my stomach started to roil. It felt like three days ago when I’d woken up with a hangover, only ten times worse.

  “Yes,” I sighed. “And no, I don
’t know what’s going on. That was what the big bad biker meeting was when you came in. Apparently, the sexy older man who was standing just inside the doorway when you entered heard about it and tried to intercept us before anything could happen, but they were a few minutes too late. Just as they were pulling alongside of us in the funeral procession, some sniper took a shot at me – right through the windshield! They’re fairly convinced that the sniper was after Truth, and not me. It was just bad luck that I was the one driving his car.”

  “Verity…” Randi said. “I don’t even know what to say.”

  I shrugged and immediately regretted it.

  “I don’t either,” I admitted, trying to find a comfortable position that didn’t take much movement on my part. I finally settled with my knee half bent, and my head lolling against the white railing that was attached to the bed. “I’m just as in the dark and confused as you are.”

  “The sound of the bullet coming through the glass and hitting the seat next to her head made her jerk the wheel, causing her to overcorrect and slam into a dumpster filled with cinder blocks on the side of the ride at this construction site we happened to be passing. The impact shattered her arm, and her head hit the steering wheel. Her right ear drum is bruised, and could possibly burst, so they’re keeping a close eye on it.” Marnie kept going, “She has a concussion, some contusions on her face from the glass when the windshield shattered, and stitches under her right eye from what they think was some glass that got trapped between her face and the steering wheel when she smacked her head on it.”

  Randi looked at the cut under my eye.

  “Did the doctor say you would have scars?”

  My eyes drifted closed. “He said he could have a plastic surgeon look at it,” I yawned. “I haven’t decided if I’m going to do it yet.”

  “You’re doing it.”

  That was Truth.

  I let my eyes open to slits and stared at him.

  “What makes you think so?” I challenged.

  I watched his eyes flare as a flash of pleasure started to rise inside of me.

  He’d been devastated at seeing me hurt, and he hadn’t smiled all night. I could see the relief in his eyes that my challenging him caused. Seeing me act like my normal, difficult self was obviously alleviating at least some of his worry.

  “Because if I have to look at that scar for the rest of my life, I’m going to murder Elais Beckett in cold blood, then re-fucking-vive him and do it all over again. I might take nursing classes just so I can keep him alive.” His smile was mean. “I’ve got basic field trauma training, but not what I’d need to be able to kill and resuscitate him on daily basis while also keeping him alive during subsequent murder attempts.”

  I blinked.

  Randi snickered.

  Marnie sighed and got up.

  “You need to see someone about all that pent-up anger,” she said. “Have you heard from Dad?”

  Truth’s eyes narrowed on his sister.

  “He’s in the waiting room,” he answered. “He’s been asking for you. Trent’s been kind enough to deal with him so I didn’t have to.”

  Trent had been in and out of here a few times, but he kept disappearing. Now I knew why.

  “I’ll go talk to him. Maybe he’ll go away,” Marnie grunted a word I couldn’t quite hear, and disappeared into the sea of bikers I could still see through my hospital room door.

  That left Randi, me and Truth alone, and I didn’t have to wait long for the fireworks to continue.

  “So what are you going to do about this shit, Truth?” Randi snapped. “You’re not protecting her. In fact, if I had to say anything about your job so far, I’d give you a big fat F.”

  I groaned.

  “Randi, you’re not helping,” I murmured softly. “Please, just let us…or them…fix this. Figure it out. I’m going to do whatever the hell they tell me to do, and if that’s stay inside for the next three months and eat ice cream all day long, then I’m going to do it.”

  Truth’s hand found my cheek—the only spot that didn’t have a cut on it—causing me to open my eyes and stare at him.

  “What?” my voice cracked.

  “I’m not going to make you stay inside for three months and eat ice cream all day…but you’re going to be heavily guarded, and I rented a car for you to use. And you’ll also be shadowed by someone you haven’t met yet.”

  “Who is it?” I asked warily.

  He smiled.

  “His name is Rafe, and he was trained by one of my grandpa’s best men.”

  That brought a thought to the forefront of my mind.

  “When you took me to your grandpa’s pub for the first time, there was this man in black.”

  “Ronan,” he answered instantly. “He’s an…enforcer.”

  “An enforcer of what?” I asked.

  “Justice.”

  “And is this same man that trained Rafe?” I put voice to my suspicion.

  Truth’s mouth grinning, and I could tell I wouldn’t like the answer.

  “Ronan trained a lot of people, but yes, he trained Rafe as well.”

  “He trained you, too, didn’t he?”

  Truth nodded.

  “Who is he an enforcer for?”

  I didn’t know why I was pushing this. I hadn’t broached this subject because I could sense that it was a tough one for him. Something he hadn’t wanted me to know.

  But I was pushing it, and I felt like there was more to the story…something more that I hadn’t quite caught on to yet.

  He looked over at Randi, and she silently left, somehow sensing that there was something more to the story here, and that she didn’t want to stop the flow of data that Truth was willing to share.

  And I was grateful.

  “A long time ago, my pop was a part of an organization.”

  That was all he said, and I growled in frustration.

  “Truth…”

  He grinned.

  “Pop was part of a club of Irish bikers, a club that originated out of Ireland. When he moved here with my grandmother, he left that all behind…but Ronan decided to come with him. He, for some reason, thought he owed my grandfather a debt for saving him when he was a young teen, and never left him. Ronan was my grandfather’s best friend. He raised my mother right alongside my grandparents. There’s literally nothing that Ronan wouldn’t do for my grandfather.”

  “Where is Ronan?” I asked, a thought dawning as he started to explain.

  Truth grimaced.

  “Ronan’s looking for Beckett.”

  My eyes widened.

  “Is he going to kill him?” I asked hoarsely.

  Truth shrugged.

  “Honestly?” He stood up and ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t give a flying fuck if he does. As long as he’s not around to bother you, harass you, or put you—or anyone else I know—in danger any more, I don’t give a shit what happens to him. Sure, I’d rather him suffer the rest of his days in prison—I know enough cops, wardens and security guards to make his life inside a living hell—but at this point, I just want to be rid of him, and I’d do damn near anything for it.”

  The words, although harsh, made my heart swell.

  This was going to be bad, I just knew it. But I couldn’t find it in me to care at that moment in time. Truth was here, his hand resting gently on my head, and my headache was dissipating.

  And with the headache no longer hammering out a staccato in my brain, I found myself extremely tired.

  “You pressed my button,” I accused.

  Truth didn’t even look the least bit sorry.

  “You need to rest.”

  “I need to talk to you,” I countered.

  My eyes were drifting closed of their own volition, but the moment his mouth pressed against mine, they peeled open.

  “Thank you.”

  “For what?” he whispered, pushing back a stray strand of hair.<
br />
  “For loving me.”

  “How do you know I love you?” His grin was warm.

  I lifted my good hand—the one that wasn’t throbbing in time with the beat of my heart—and placed it on his cheek.

  “I saw your face today,” I told him.

  His grin disappeared.

  “Only a man who loves a woman looks that devastated at the sight you saw today.”

  I didn’t actually see what he saw, but I could imagine.

  At first, I’d thought his dismay had been about the car, but I quickly realized differently the moment he bellowed my name.

  And when his hand touched mine, I knew that I loved him just as much as he loved me.

  And even now, I could see the love shining in his eyes.

  “I love you back, you know,” I told him. “Have for a while now.”

  He placed a single kiss on the tip of my nose, and I let my eyes fall closed once again.

  Then I was dead to the world and missing all the good stuff.

  Chapter 22

  ‘Cause Satan told me so isn’t a good excuse when you have to explain to your partner why you did something.

  -Fact of Life

  Truth

  The moment she fell asleep, I studied her face, wondering if I was making the wrong decision by staying with her.

  I was fairly sure, however, that it wouldn’t matter if I left her for her protection at this point. Elais Beckett knew what she meant to me, and he’d do whatever he had to do to kill her.

  He may have missed her today, but he’d gotten me anyway. He now knew my weakness, and I’d given that to him without even realizing I’d done it.

  I’d been in the middle of an argument with my aunt, cousin, and father when I’d seen my car careen past us out of the corner of my eye.

  I’d turned just in time to see my car— with my sister and my woman inside—hit the dumpster.

  My scream of agony had forced the limo driver to pull over, and the moment we’d slowed enough for me to bail out, I had.

  I’d sprinted toward the car, my heart in my throat.

  By the time I’d finally arrived, my car had been surrounded.

  My sister had been standing beside the wrecked car, a small cut on her forehead from what I assumed was glass.