Crash (The Brazen Bulls MC Book 1)

by Susan Fanetti

  He didn’t care how much trouble she’d caused. He would take care of her and keep her safe, and he would straighten out this mess.

  “I got you, baby. It’s okay now.”

  Easing his arms from her, he stood up. “This is on me. The Rat took her, we came for her, and I killed him. That’s the word.”

  Ox shook his head. “A lot of people saw you lose it at the truck stop, brother. And the Horde heard the real story. That’s a lot of people to keep on board.”

  “Big Ike wasn’t there. He’s the only one I’d worry about flippin’ on us. Nobody but us knows that she came here looking for a confrontation.”

  “Gotta tell Delaney, Sarge.”

  “Yeah, Si, I know. I’ll tell him, and it’ll be his call whether it goes to the whole club. For now, we hold it between us.” He looked at the two prospects, who’d been standing against the wall since the patches had arrived. “Do you understand me?”

  They both nodded.

  “Okay. I need to get Willa the fuck out of here. I’ll take her in her truck. I’m gonna need somebody to get my bike to the clubhouse.”

  “I got it,” Wally volunteered. “I’ll go back for the flatbed, when all this is done.”

  “Good. Thanks, kid.”

  “What about the Rat?” Ox kicked at the body as he asked.

  To think clearly, he had to get the sights of this room out of his head. Rad closed his eyes. “We need him out of Tulsa. He must be here alone, or Slick and Wally would’ve had trouble before we got here. We don’t know if the Rats know he’s here, or if they know about his thing for Willa. I guess we need to assume that they do. So he needs to be on his way back to Lubbock when he dies.”

  “He’s already dead,” Slick interjected, confused.

  Gunner slapped him upside the head. “When they find him, it needs to look like he died away from here, short bus.”

  “Oh. Yeah, I get it.”

  “Wouldn’t it be better to disappear him?” Wally asked. “Like with that—”

  Now Gunner slapped him. “Fuckin’ prospects. Shut the fuck up.”

  But Rad answered the kid. “He wears a patch, Wally. His club’ll look for him. Dirty Rats is a shit club, no honor at all, but they look out for their own. If he’s missing, and they know he was in Tulsa for Willa, they’ll look our way.”

  “We can take the Rats. On our worst day, we can kick every Rat ass and all be standing,” said Ox.

  Rad nodded. “Yeah, but we got enough goin’ on now, with the Russians. Kirill is already on edge bringin’ the fuckin’ Horde in, and we’re still on guard to see if the restitution we made with the Dyson crew over Gunner’s last shitshow”—Gunner dropped his head at that—“keeps the Street Hounds out. We have to keep this out of our way if we can.”

  “Okay.” Simon had been resting against the dresser. Now he stood straight. “Prospects can clean up what we leave behind—and kids, I mean squeaky clean. Strip the bedding, take it with you. Clean the carpet—get the big machine from the clubhouse. Spray a gallon of Glade or whatever to get the smell out. You are not done until this room is ready for its next guest. I’ll drive the Rat’s van, stop at one of those off-ramps to nowhere, leave the van in the bushes, him in the back like he pulled off to catch ten and got did. Ox and Gun can follow, and I’ll ride back with one of ‘em.”

  “With Ox,” Gunner corrected. “Only bitches ride bitch with me.”

  Simon rolled his eyes. “You are twelve years old, you know that?”

  Gunner flipped him off.

  Rad shook his head. “It’s good, but not good enough. Look at all the fluids—her puke, her blood, his blood, his shit, his piss. No way we can make sure all of her is off of all of him.”

  Quiet took over the room as the men considered that problem. Then Gunner grinned. “Crash and burn, baby. I know just the place to do it.”

  “What?” Rad asked.

  “We crash the van and set it on fire. We know how to start a damn engine fire. I know one of those off-ramps Si’s talkin’ about, where the road falls off into a ravine on one side.”

  “How the hell can we make that happen right?”

  “Because I’ll do it. When we get to the off-ramp, I’ll take over. I’ll drive off into the ravine and crash the thing into a tree. I’ll get the fire goin’ just right to obliterate the fuckhead, and I’ll climb back up. Then it’s just a crash—no foul play to dig into.”

  “That’s suicide.”

  Gunner laughed at Ox. “Nah, man. Not that far a drop. Might get a little banged up, but we all know I got a hard head and nine lives.”

  “No,” Rad said. “This is not the time for you to play chicken with Death, Gun.”

  Gunner crossed his arms over his chest. “You got another way, Sarge? It’s not just about protecting your lady. This is about all of us. That fuckhead’s patch makes it a club problem. I fuck up plenty. Let me do something to make things right.”

  Rad could think of no other way.

  “Okay. Keep his kutte. We might need it.”

  ~oOo~

  With Willa draped over his arms, Rad unlocked the back door and stepped in. Ollie was right there, tags jingling as he bounced and wagged. Then he saw Willa and went still. He whined and sniffed at her hand, which hung limp. He whined again.

  Rad kept the door open. “You wanna go outside, bud? I know you gotta pee.”

  Ollie stared longingly out the door but didn’t move. Another whine, and he licked Willa’s hand.

  There was no way the dog was leaving her right now. Rad closed the door. “She’s gonna be okay, boy. Just needs water and rest, and we’re gonna take care of her. C’mon, let’s make her better.”

  He laid her on her bed and stripped her, tossing her defiled clothes into a trash bag. Then he stripped himself and lifted her into his arms again. She barely stirred.

  Ollie followed, whining.

  In the shower, he held her up with one arm and washed her with the other, smoothing her almond-scented gel over her body, lathering her hair twice to get it clean.

  She finally began to rouse as he rinsed the shampoo from her hair. She didn’t come fully awake, but she struggled weakly and moaned. He heard his name.

  “Right here, Wills. I’m right here.”

  “Need you,” she slurred.

  “I know. Wake up, baby. Come on back.”

  But she’d settled into her vexing, mysterious deep sleep again.

  When he had her clean and dry, he tucked her into bed. Ollie sat at the side, next to her, and set his block head on her hand.

  “Come on outside, Ollie. Let’s get you a pee.”

  Willa’s dog whined but didn’t move.

  “Ollie. Come.” Rad snapped his fingers.

  Ollie came. When they got to the back door, he hesitated again, but he obeyed Rad and went out. Then he ran like a greyhound to his special area. When he came back, he seemed lighter.

  “Good boy. Okay. Let’s get inside and take care of Momma.”

  In the kitchen, he filled Ollie’s bowls and tossed him a Milk-Bone. He found a pitcher and filled it with water and ice, and he carried it, with a glass and a bottle of aspirin, back to the bedroom.

  He set everything on the nightstand and slid into bed next to Willa. A minute later, Ollie came in. He ignored his bed and lay on the floor next to his mom.

  Rad leaned on an elbow and watched her sleep, worrying that her breathing wasn’t deep enough. He studied the bruises and scratches on her face and felt ferocious rage—at Smithers most of all, but at himself, too, for not protecting her.

  And at Willa, for crashing headlong into this danger.

  He was so fucking furious, his head throbbed. His stomach ached. But he lay still and kept calm. His first priority was Willa, to bring her back from all of it.

  He thought of his brothers, cleaning up their mess. He thought of Gunner, laughing yet again at death. When he went to the clubhouse, he wanted to see that crazy, grinning mug alive and well.

/>   Gunner had told him Willa would need to sleep it off, and she’d probably be dehydrated and feel like she had the worst hangover of her life when she woke.

  So he’d stay with her and see her through it. Then they would talk. Boy, would they.

  Knowing he wouldn’t sleep, Rad rested his head on the pillow and watched her breathe.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Willa opened her eyes—and then slammed them closed again when hot white blades of light sank into her head. Her eyelids were not enough protection, so she wrapped her arms over her head. Jesus, her head hurt.

  The bed moved, and it felt like she’d been pitched wildly on a stormy ocean. Her stomach rolled.

  “Oh my God, oh my God,” she groaned, trying to swallow her gorge back down. But her throat felt like its sides had stuck together.

  “Easy, Wills. I closed the curtains. See if that helps.” The bed moved again, and she made a sound at the back of her throat that was like a grainy creak.

  She eased her arms from her face and slowly peeled her eyelids up. It was still too bright—pitch black was too bright—but she could bear it.

  Rad was sitting on the side of the bed, at her hip. She blinked until his smeared edges sharpened up and she could see him—bare-chested, hair tousled, dark bags under his eyes and a deep crease between them.

  But when she focused, he smiled. “Hi, baby.”

  “Hi?” Willa tried to understand why she felt so fucking bad, and why she was surprised to be in her bed with Rad sitting there, but her brain was too busy baking inside her skull to make coherent thoughts. “I don’t…what?” Her words were soundless, stuck in the muck of her throat.

  “You need to get some water and aspirin in you. Can you sit up?”

  She tried to push up on her arms, but the second her head left the pillow, a spike drove into the back of her head, and she gave it up. “What the hell?”

  Rad stood, rocking the bed again, and slid his arm under her shoulders. He propped her up—ow!—and put a cool glass to her lips. Icy water touched her lips—oh, her mouth hurt, too. A lot.

  But the water was the best idea anyone had ever had. A brilliant idea. A Nobel-prize-winning idea, and she grabbed the glass in both hands and drank until he pried it from her grip.

  For a moment, she felt bitter at the loss. She would have scowled at Rad for depriving her, but it hurt too much to make a face.

  Then the water churned into acid and came right back up. Rad stuck the plastic wastebasket from the bathroom under her chin, and she heaved into it. It felt like her stomach was being dragged up through her esophagus with a garden claw. When she was done, Rad wiped her mouth and set the wastebasket away.

  God, she had never been so sick before.

  “Try again. Slower.” He held the glass for her. She was rescinding his Nobel nomination. But she sipped at it this time, and the cool felt good against her ragged throat and sore lips. Why was she sore?

  After a few sips, her need for water had ceded ground to her need to stop holding up her head, and she pushed the glass away. Rad laid her back on the pillows and set the glass down.

  “We’ll try aspirin later. How about this? Close your eyes.”

  She did, and felt the cool, damp weight of a washcloth over her forehead and eyes. It felt so incredibly good—just enough weight, just enough wet, just enough cool—that she sighed.

  He chuckled and laid the lightest of kisses on her lips—so light, she felt his beard more than his mouth. “Good. Relax. Get some more rest. You’re gonna be okay.”

  “What’s wrong with me?” she asked, already feeling sleep coming on, despite the many demanding pains racking her body.

  He didn’t answer right away. Willa felt his fingers comb gently through her hair. “Sleep, Wills. We’ll talk later.”

  ~oOo~

  DRINK! DRINK! DRINK THE BEER! DRINK!

  Willa sat up with a screech and slammed her hands over her mouth. Her gorge rose, and she lunged over the side of the bed and grabbed the wastebasket, dry-heaving until her body stopped spasming.

  Rad swung around the doorway into the room. “I’m here, I’m here.”

  Ollie was there, too, nosing at her leg and whining. She reached a weak arm out and patted his head. He squirmed under her touch until he could lick her hand.

  The lamp on her dresser was on—the old-fashioned, milk-glass one that she’d had since she could remember. It had been a great-aunt’s or something. It was the only light in the room, and the sun had set, so everything around Willa was dim and soft.

  In contrast to the dream she’d just clawed her way out of. She put her hands over her face again.

  Rad sat on the side of the bed and took one of her hands from her face and held it. It had been his customary position all day, between long bouts of deep sleep: making her drink, helping her get aspirin down, urging her to take some toast.

  Her mind had continued to offer her nothing but a blank void—some strange kind of amnesia where she knew everything around her, knew Rad, knew Ollie, saw everything as it was supposed to be, but she had no clue why she was sick and sore, or why she felt as if she’d lost time. Days of it—but she couldn’t place the last thing she remembered. It was like she’d woken in an alternate universe, where her life was the same, except for some missing thing, unknown but crucial.

  Every time she’d asked Rad what had happened, how she’d gotten so sick and why she couldn’t remember, he’d said they’d talk when she felt better.

  Well, she felt better.

  The dream she’d had—the nightmare—was starting to break up and fade out, and Willa was suddenly consumed by the notion that it could not. As horrible as it had been—what had it been?—she had to keep it.

  She closed her eyes and grabbed what was left. When she had the broken pieces, she made the picture she could of them.

  “Shit, oh shit. Jesse.” She opened her eyes and clutched Rad’s hand. “Jesse’s here.” Coming on the same train as that thought was a critical physical awareness. “I have to pee.”

  Rad’s expression shifted abruptly from the creased frown he’d worn all day to an open laugh. “Good. I was startin’ to worry about that. Let’s deal with the second first. Then, if you’re up to it, we’ll talk.” He stood and held out his hand.

  Willa was clear enough now to understand that Rad knew what was missing.

  “I can deal with my own pee.” Tossing the covers back, she turned her legs to the side of the bed. When she stood, the room whirled like a carnival ride, and Rad grabbed her to hold her up.

  “You need me, baby. Best you come to terms with that.”

  Needing to pee immediately, she conceded the point and leaned on him.

  As they walked to the door, she caught her reflection in the mirror over her dresser, and she froze, forgetting her bladder. Her mouth, chin, and cheeks were deep red and purple, and livid scratches ran from her mouth to her right cheekbone.

  “Jesus! Rad—what happened to me?” The fractured picture she’d saved from her dream came forward and brought an awful reality. “Jesse?”

  The implications of Jesse getting to her slammed down on her sore head, and panic rose up around it. “Oh God! Fuck, Rad—did he? Oh please, no. Fuck no!”

  Rad turned her in his arms so that they faced each other. He held her body, frantic now with alarm, firmly to his chest. “You are okay. Listen to me, Willa—you’re okay. He didn’t hurt you like he wanted. It’s time to talk. First, I want you to use the bathroom. You haven’t gone in at least a whole fuckin’ day. You’re gonna spring a kidney or somethin’.”

  “He didn’t…?” She couldn’t make herself say the word.

  Rad understood her anyway. “He didn’t. I promise.”

  At that, the most important thing Willa had to do right then was cry.

  ~oOo~

  After the bathroom, Rad led her into the living room. He wrapped her up in a throw that she kept draped over the back of a chair, settled her on the sofa, and sat at h
er side.

  Ollie followed them into the room and lay against the front of the sofa with a grunt.

  “What’s the last thing you remember?”

  “No. You tell me what you know.” She had to know what Jesse had done.

  But Rad was resolute. He got a look about him, like his features had been set in concrete, when he was feeling stubborn. With one arm stretched behind her across the back of the sofa and his other hand grasping one of hers, he leaned in. “Listen to me, baby. It’s better if we work forward from what you remember and get to the end in the right order.”