“I’m going to wait around here and see if I hear anything,” he told her. “Why don’t you step outside and get some air?”
She nodded, not knowing what else to do. Once she was out there, she felt alone and useless, and she started to head back in and find a seat somewhere, maybe the cafeteria. But she found herself taking out her phone, which she didn’t usually carry but had snuck into her pocket today. She checked it, finding four messages and even a call from her mother. She decided to give in and check the messages. Her day had already soured. How much worse could it be?
CHAPTER TWENTY
The first two only mentioned an urgent need to talk, and Susan rolled her eyes. Her mother had probably just discovered a mole on the back of her arm that she thought was skin cancer and panicked. Medical advice for her hypochondria was the only reason her mother ever bothered to contact her anymore.
Susan looked at the last two texts, and the color drained from her face. The first one said that her father was ill, and that he refused to go to the doctor because he thought it was just the flu. That was a little odd; she couldn’t remember her father having the flu a day in his life, probably because he was so well-preserved from all the alcohol in his bloodstream.
But the last text truly made her nervous. I know you hate us. I wouldn’t ask you to come check on your father if it wasn’t critical. Please. Her mother never said please, and she never made reference to their relationship. She tended to pretend everything was fine between them when she wanted something. Clearly, there really was something very wrong with her father, and as much as she hated it, Susan knew she would go over there tomorrow and check him out. She wasn’t a doctor or surgeon yet, but she’d been through enough medical courses beyond her EMT training to make a diagnosis of something simple.
She quickly sent a text back to her mother. Sorry, was working. Will stop by tomorrow morning before school. Be ready early. As she clicked the ‘send’ button, she jumped at the sound of the door behind her opening. It was Eric, and his face was grim. Pressing her lips together in a thin, tight line, Susan nodded. “She’s gone.” It was a statement, not a question.
He turned away from her and shoved his hands in his pockets. “They got her stable for a few minutes, and they were going to wheel her into the OR for emergency surgery to repair a ruptured spleen. But she coded again in the hallway, and they couldn’t get her back.” He came quickly toward her. “You did everything you could, Susan, and so did I. This shit happens now and then. We’re creatures of emotion, but you can’t let losing one patient out of thousands get to you for long.”
But Susan had a bad feeling this was just the beginning. What were the odds that she’d lose her first patient the same day her mother expressed true concern about her father? And on top of that, she still hadn’t heard from Jim. At this moment, she hated him. She hated him because he made her want to like him, even though she knew better, and she couldn’t reconcile that desire to like him with him not being considerate enough to call her back. He was a selfish bastard, and they were going to have to iron out a few things for sure, if they were even going to just keep having sex. She sure as hell wasn’t going to make friends with him.
“I knew when we got there,” she muttered, returning to the current subject. “I knew she wouldn’t make it. I was so certain I probably missed something…”
“Stop it, Susan. You did your job the best you could,” Eric chastised her, his tone sharp. “Now, I don’t smoke, but I think I want a cigarette. I think it would help soothe both our nerves if we bummed one from someone.”
The idea of smoke brought back the smell of Jim, and she wanted to bang her head against the wall, not because the thought of him bothered her, but because it comforted her. “Yes, I think a cigarette might help.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
In a foul mood, Jim led his caravan back into the compound, revving the engine of Ari’s ride before turning it off and lighting up. He swung off the machine and headed around the back of the club, needing separation before he clocked one of his guys and got into trouble.
The run had not gone as planned. Any minute now, a few of the Diablos Blancos they’d outrun three hours back would catch up with their asses, and heated words would be exchanged at the very least. Everything had been just fine. They’d gone in to the printing shop, shown the paper to Ernie Foswell, a forty-something geek with thick glasses and a beak of a nose, and he’d shown them prints on plain paper of ones, fives, tens, and twenties. They were perfect.
Foswell’s cut was five percent, and they’d dropped half of that up front and been on their way with his reassurance that he was on board. Considering he looked like he’d never seen the kind of cash they were paying in his life, Jim trusted Ernie a little further than he would have someone who’d been in this business for a while. So they’d gotten ready to ride out.
But he’d forgotten to take his pain meds, and he pulled into a gas station just outside of Salem, claiming he had to take a leak, and gone to swallow a pill. His leg already hurt, and they had a long ride ahead of them. When he came out, his guys were whispering. Jim jutted his chin toward Boxer as he lit one last cigarette before hitting the road. “What’s going on?”
“In the couple of minutes you’ve been in there, three separate pairs of Diablos Blancos have ridden by, glaring at us. We need to get the fuck out of here now, before there’s blood on the road.”
Jim had cursed under his breath, tossed the cigarette, and gunned the bike out of there, the others on his tail. But a six-pack of Blancos had followed them out of town. Doubling back at an exit and riding into an empty barn before the rival club had managed to find where they went, Jim had led them back to the highway double-time, and they’d barreled toward the Oregon-Washington border. From there, they would only have another hour and a half to the clubhouse, and they’d have territory on their side.
But Jim wasn’t stupid. He knew they’d been followed, and he was pissed, mostly at himself. Without the damn leg injury, they probably would have made it out without notice. Sure, they would have had to deal with these guys later, but it would have given them time to prepare.
On top of that, he’d forgotten to check his phone again when they’d gotten to the hotel, in too much pain to remember he had a message. He’d laid down with his leg propped up on extra pillows and taken another pain pill, asleep in minutes. He hadn’t remembered till this morning, and when he’d listened to Susan’s voicemail, he cursed.
He wanted to respond, but Digger had come to collect him so they could get to the printing press and out of town. He’d hung behind, trying to sneak a text message out, but he’d gotten it half typed and hadn’t had a chance to send it before Boxer put an arm around his shoulder and started razzing him about having a slight limp.
He’d never sent it, and that was bad enough. But worse, he was angry about it. Right now, he wished he’d never met Susan. He didn’t want to think about her, didn’t want the distraction, and certainly didn’t want to manage the guilt of not being around when she needed him because he was on a job. He wasn’t going to deal with something like what happened to Trina again. He wanted to make it perfectly clear that he couldn’t be at Susan’s beck and call, and that there was no way they were going to move beyond a physical relationship.
He didn’t love her. He hardly knew her. All he needed to know was that she had incredibly sexy curves, a great rhythm with her hips, and a need that matched his own closely enough to make them compatible in bed. He didn’t want her calling him every time something went wrong. If he allowed that, it would turn into her being clingy and codependent, which had been Trina’s problem all along.
Just like he refused to put his club in danger, Jim refused to put Susan or any other woman in a position where she was waiting on him to come home alive all the time. He was better off alone. And if he had to give up that tender touch to keep her off his ass when he was on the road—and to keep from feeling guilty about it—then so be it.
/> CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
He found Ari scowling at him when he stepped inside.
“The boys tell me you had some issues that you brought home with you.”
Jim rolled his eyes. “If you think for one second that the five minutes we stopped at the gas station made a difference, you’re delusional. They obviously had us tagged the whole time. They planned to hit us when we got on the road, out of town, with no witnesses, where they could bury our asses in the woods off the highway. And I averted that disaster. They’ll come here, and that puts them in our territory, in the middle of our entire club. Six of them are going to do what? Threaten us? I don’t think so. I made the right decision, and I wasn’t the reason it happened.”
“You seem awfully cocky, Jimmy boy.” Ari had his perpetual cigar in his mouth and poured two shots of whiskey, shoving one at Jim. He hated whiskey, but the painkillers weren’t helping anymore, so he threw it back, hoping it would take the edge off his pain. “They may have spotted you before, but they tagged you at that gas station. That’s the only reason they got to follow you in the first place.”
Jim’s rage was building, his blood pressure going up, and the sore on his leg throbbing. “Actually, boss, the only reason they got a line on us like that is because you sent us on this shitty run in the first place. And by the way, you can have your bike back. I’m buying a new one today. Yours is overheating because you don’t care enough to change the oil and grease the chain, ever.”
Ari came out from behind the bar and stood in front of Jim. It was a really bad idea with the mood Jim was in. “You got a bug up your ass about something, son?”
“I’m not your son, Ari,” Jim said quietly. “Your sons are in the ground, and you should keep that in mind when you make decisions for this family without their input.” He knew it was a sore spot for his leader, and he wanted to push buttons. He was gunning for a fight, wanting to beat the hell out of someone and get a little blood and maybe some bruises on his knuckles.
Ari put the cigar in an ashtray, a sign he was serious and might throw a punch. “Are you suggesting I don’t know how to run my own club? Because you signed on for this a long time ago, Wade, and nothing’s changed since then… except maybe your attitude.”
Boxer suddenly appeared between them and put a hand on each of their chests, pushing them apart. “We got Diablos on our tail, guys. It’s not the time to start beef within the brotherhood. We’ll talk it out later if we need to, but right now, we all have to be on the same side.”
Jim’s eyes blazed red, blurring his vision. He wanted a piece of that asshole, and Boxer was calling him down. What was worse, Jim knew he was right. But he also knew that, eventually, things would come to blows with Ari. And even if that didn’t mean anything changed, which it probably wouldn’t, Jim would feel all sorts of warm and fuzzy inside from being able to at least get his aggression out in a very appropriate way.
Stepping back from Boxer, he nodded at the big guy. “I guess we need to get to the table and figure out how to deal with these guys before they show up.”
An hour later, it was done. Jim wasn’t happy about it, but the Talons had agreed to make the offer to cut the Diablos in if they took on part of the risk, with a caveat that, for the first two runs, they’d share the trip with the Steel Talons to assure that relations stayed positive. Jim and several other members packed loaded guns in the back of their jeans, the rest taking up posts around the compound as backup.
The intention was to be on guard but appear to want to keep the peace, so Jim, Ari, Boxer, and Donnie stood out as the ambassadors to welcome their enemies with a modicum of hospitality. Then, if things turned ugly, they would still be prepared.
Standing vigil and worried for perhaps the first time in his career with the Steel Talons, Jim thought to pull out his phone and quickly text Susan. Sorry I didn’t get back sooner. Been busy but I’ll call later. He turned off the phone and stuck it in his pocket quickly, before Boxer could look over and see who he’d contacted. He felt better having sent the message; with a promise to talk to Susan later, he gave himself a false sense of safety. If he had an obligation later, he sure as hell couldn’t die now, right?
They could hear the bikes coming from a couple of miles away, and Jim squared his shoulders with everyone else, him and Ari stepping forward, with Donnie and Boxer at their backs. They stood in the center of the parking lot, hands at their sides, but Jim’s fingers twitched, itching for the gun at his back. Their rivals rode in single file but stopped in a straight line of six. He recognized Sauza, the Diablos’ vice-president, but he didn’t see Rechoncho, the big man in charge. It was typical: the man earned his nickname, sitting on his fat ass and letting his men do the dirty work.
There were a couple of other familiar faces, but their names blurred in his mind. It wasn’t important. They’d be talking to Sauza, who stepped out in front of the line of bikes while the others remained seated.
“A few of your men seemed to be lost earlier, jefe,” Sauza said. “At least five of them were in Salem, and I don’t remember sending out invitations or getting any sort of notification your boys wanted to grace us with their presence.”
Ari opened his mouth, but Jim stepped forward. “Well, jefe, our errand had us in and out in less than 24 hours, and we didn’t encroach on any business of yours. I didn’t think it would be necessary to give forewarning of our arrival. It wasn’t intended to offend anyone.”
Sauza was tall and lanky, and he looked at odds with the rest of his crew as he chuckled. “Really? And how would you like it if we conducted business here without making reservations, even if it was just for a few hours? This is your territory, and we,” he motioned toward his crew, “can respect that. It seems you don’t carry the same respect for us. We know your business, chicos. Why did you need to pay our territory a visit to conduct your business?”
Ari exchanged glances with Jim and stepped forward, hands splayed. “You make a good point. And as for our business, I’m sure you can figure it out. You had to be watching my boys the whole time. You know where they went, and you say you know our business. Now, we may ask for notice when you’re coming into town, but we don’t ask the details of your business.”
Sauza crossed his arms, and the other bikers finally stood, circling around him. “This is true. But we provide a service to people in your area that you don’t want to provide. We would be more than happy, with the right resources, to take over your business in our territory. If you wanted part of our business here, we would negotiate. Perhaps show us the same courtesy.”
Sighing, Jim nodded. “We might have an offer for you, but there are some pretty strict terms, and no room to compromise. You don’t have to decide right here. I’m sure you’ll want to run it by Rechoncho. I know he wouldn’t be happy with you making decisions without his input. And you know how to get in touch with us when you decide.”
They laid out the terms of the agreement, and Sauza looked none too happy with it. “Ten percent for all the risk isn’t much, ese.”
But Jim shook his head. “Sorry, man. The risk with our product, and our trucks, is low. It’s an easy buck for you. Fifty thousand a ride, every couple of weeks. You can’t really beat that.”
“And if Rechoncho says no?”
“I don’t think your jefe will like the alternative very much, Sauza,” Ari told him, squaring up. “You might want to remind him that we’ve got a lot of backers who would stand on our side, and we’ve got plenty of money to pay for hired help.”
Sauza narrowed his eyes, looking at every each of the four of them separately, then nodded. “I’ll take this home, and we’ll talk it over. We’ll be in touch.” He climbed back on his bike, and the others followed suit. “I think there should be some consideration of the infringement on our territory. Keep that in mind, jefe, and we might be okay.” His engine roared to life, echoed by the rest of his crew, and he led the group out of the compound.
Jim watched them carefully, leaning toward
Boxer. Speaking just loud enough for his friend to hear him over the roar, he asked, “You think they’ll take it?”
“I hope so,” Boxer said, also facing forward. “Otherwise, it’s going to get bloody.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Susan lied back on her couch, staring at her ceiling. The shitty day coated her like she’d been caught in an oil slick, and it dragged her down, making her limbs heavy and her breathing labored, as if she’d inhaled too many fumes. She’d at least had the satisfaction of hearing from Jim, but that didn’t win him any brownie points. He was still on her shit list right now.
Now, it was after midnight, and she couldn’t sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she pictured Anna Winkler’s face, her eyes and mouth gaping open in death. Anna Winkler, she reminded herself. So many of her patients remained nameless, but she wasn’t going to forget the ones she lost. Unfortunately, she couldn’t get rid of the image, either, despite the fact that she hadn’t even seen the woman’s eyes. In her mind, they were black, as if her pupils had dilated to consume the irises, and bloodshot. It was a nightmare, and it made her fear falling asleep.
Her phone, resting on the coffee table just within arm’s reach, buzzed, and she scowled. Who would be calling at this hour? But she realized she only knew one person who kept hours like this, and her heart skipped a beat. That alone made her think about ignoring the call. Good sex or not, she shouldn’t look forward to hearing from Jim so eagerly.
But she had started this game of phone tag, so she would be the one to end it. She answered. “Hey.”
“Hey.” Great, she thought. This was going to be incredibly awkward. “I’m sorry it took me a while to get back to you. I’ve been a little busy. I had some business to take care of out of town, and it sort of followed me home.”
Prince: Devil's Fighters MC Page 30
