by K. L. Savage
“Why would the mafia want to do this? We have been in good business with them. Hell, I just got back from the casino, and the private rooms were booked. They have no reason to take us out,” Tank states. “And who would want to hurt Boomer? He’s just a kid.”
“I don’t think there was a target in mind. I think they were aiming at anyone they could as long as they took out one of our own.” I stand and take another sip of coffee. It’s sad that seeing a dead body feels like any other fucking day. “I need someone to call Badge. He might be able to run the cell phone records and fingerprints.” Badge is the only one of us who’s a cop. Some days, he turns the other way from what we do, and other days, he joins us. We toe the line of the law, but when we get too close, he backs off.
It can be murky waters sometimes, but I can’t say it isn’t convenient to have a Ruthless King on the inside with the police. Badge does a lot for us. “Burn the body. Keep the fingers so Badge can run them. Take his wallet and phone or anything else you find necessary to I.D. this guy.” I’m considering bringing in a prospect who can do all that tech shit from here. I’m not trying to ruin Badge’s career, and I know if he does too much for us, that’s exactly what will happen. The MC isn’t exactly on the department’s nice list.
“How’s Boomer, Prez?” Knives asks as he starts cutting away at the fingers. It helps that the guy is already dead. There won’t be a mess since the blood stopped flowing.
I stare into the depths of my coffee and feel older than I have in a really long time. “I’m not sure. Doc is still working on him. Anyone with O negative or A negative blood, go donate. I’ll be down in a minute.”
Not many, but a good handful of men make their way toward the basement door, and one by one they disappear as they descend the steps. I don’t want to go down there and see the kid I practically raised hanging on to life. I’m not ready.
I knew when I took the position of being President things wouldn’t be easy, but no one could have ever prepared me for it being this hard.
7
Sarah
I wake up by someone shaking my shoulder. My vision is blurry from sleep, so I scrub my fingers over my eyes to see Reaper in front of me. He looks so tired. I’ve never seen him look his age until right now. His shaggy hair is dirty, like he has run his fingers through it one too many times, he has dark circles under his eyes and new wrinkles on his forehead that weren’t there the other day.
It’s still dark out; only a trickle of the sun paints the sky giving it a muddled red hue. Red. Blood. Boomer. I sit up so fast, I don’t register how close Reaper is to me and smack his forehead with mine. “Ow,” I groan, holding my forehead as I fall back on the pillow. Of course, Reaper is unmoved like I didn’t just whack him in the head with mine.
“You okay, doll?”
“You have such a hard head.” My head swims a bit and the thought of having a concussion crosses my mind for a split second, but my vision rights itself.
“I’ve been told,” he says with a grim smile. “Boomer is out of surgery. He’s stable. You want to see him?”
“He’s alive?” I can’t hold back the tears, and Reaper drops down beside me, grazing his knuckles over my cheeks.
“He’s alive. He isn’t awake, but he is alive,” he tells me.
I throw myself at Reaper and hold him tight. I hardly remember anything from last night. I only remember being in complete panic and falling asleep in Reaper’s arms. For a second, he doesn’t hold me and again, rejection hits me. It’s just a hug, and I’m not trying to throw myself at him right now. I’m relieved and want to hug someone with the happiness I feel.
“Can I go see him?”
He straightens to his full height, and I crane my neck back to look at him. He’s such a big man. And after last night, I know that I have zero chance with him. I’ll love him always, but maybe I need to tone it down.
Reaper holds out his massive hand. It has calluses all over it from time and hard work. His hands are stained with grease, and his nails are dirty. I guess for other women it would be unattractive, but not me; I find it attractive. I dream of those hands on my body and dirtying my flesh.
I slide my palm into his, and a spark of electricity has me gasping. I pull my hand back, but Reaper tightens his grip. And stupid me, I think it’s because he wants to hold my hand, but then he helps me up and pushes me toward the door.
And then his hand is gone, leaving me a bit colder and little more alone than before. I open the door. The first thing I notice is how quiet the clubhouse is. Usually someone is up and walking around, drinking and causing havoc, but not this morning. It’s a ghost town. I gather my tangled blonde hair and throw it in a messy bun on top of my head as I make my way through the kitchen and to the basement door.
“I’ll bring you coffee. You go ahead and go down there.”
Like he has to tell me twice. I usually look back at Reaper as I walk away from him, but I’m feeling too rejected this morning, too tired, and too worried about my brother. My feet are bare against the old wooden slates of the steps. It smells like a hospital down here. Most basements are creepy, dark and haunted with cobwebs and horror stories.
I’m sure this one does too, but at least this one has a good use. When I make it to the bottom step, I always get a little speechless when I see this room. It’s set up like an emergency room. There are ten beds, all with their own machines and one is a surgical room. Reaper wanted to give Doc more, but with him being the only doctor in the club, it seemed pointless.
I see my brother in the middle of the room, the only one down here. The air is cold, and the faint beep of his heart rate monitor can be heard from the steps. Thank god it’s even there.
“Sarah,” Doc calls me over to where he stands in front of Boomer, clipping a chart to the bed. I don’t see why Reaper couldn’t talk to Doc about hiring a nurse or two. Doc is overworked. He pulls long hours here and at the hospital. There’s only so much one man can do.
I get closer to Eric and see that even the name tag on his white coat says Doc. It makes me snicker internally. I don’t understand why they can’t just go by their names here. Some of them get so silly, like Poodle. Poor guy didn’t ask for that. All because he has a poodle, the guys give him a hard time for it.
“Thanks for taking care of my brother.” I engulf Eric in a big hug and squeeze. He doesn’t hesitate to hug me back, like Reaper does, and it feels nice. I don’t feel that way toward Eric but feeling like I have a friend instead of being on the outside is a good change of pace. “How is he?” Gosh, I thought Reaper looked rough; it’s nothing compared to what Eric looks like. The Doc has had better days. He looks dead on his feet.
I run over to the side of the bed and take Boomer’s hand in mine. I want to give him a hug, but I’m too afraid I’ll hurt him. I bend down and press our foreheads together. “Don’t ever scare me like that again, okay?” I know Boomer can’t answer me, but I can only hope he can hear me.
Eric’s cheeks puff out as he exhales and then he yawns, stretching his arms over his head. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long fucking night, but he is stable. I’m going to watch him for the next twenty-four hours. Right now, we want to watch for infection and clots, but I’m not worried. He should be alright. Don’t just thank me, though. The guys really came through and donated a lot of blood. At least eight of them.”
“Oh my god; I wanted to do that. I fell asleep.” Guilt eats away at me. I shouldn’t have cried myself to sleep. My brother needed me, and I acted like a child.
“If I really needed you, I would have woken you up. It was touch and go in surgery. Gunshot wounds to the abdomen can be hard to control, but I’m me, so I fixed it.” He puffs out his chest, all proud just as he should be.
I lean up on my tiptoes and place my hand on his shoulders, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “You’re a superhero in my book. Thank you so much.”
“Ah.” He rubs his cheek with his hand. “I’m just doing my job.”
I
run my hand down his arm until I can grip his hand and squeeze. “Why don’t you go lay down and rest? I can stay down here with him. I want to visit with him anyway. If anything happens, I’ll come wake you. You need to rest.”
He seems unsure. Eric chews on his bottom lip and rocks back on the soles of his shoes. “I don’t know. I really need to be quick to get to him. Seconds matter.”
“Sleep in the bed next to him. I plan on reading him his favorite book. Maybe it will help you rest too.”
“I’m not going to lie, that sounds fucking fantastic.” He makes his way to the bed on the right of Boomer and sits down with a loud, overexuberant groan. “Oh my god, I haven’t sat down in like fifteen hours.”
“You need to take better care of yourself.” I help him swing his feet on the bed and untie his shoes. “What if you mess up because you’re too tired? You need to talk to Reaper about getting help down here. Maybe when I graduate, I’ll try to get my nursing degree to help you. We can be a great team.”
“You just worry about graduating first.” He yawns.
The air conditioning kicks on, and I shiver, my teeth almost chattering. Has it not been on this entire time? Why is it so damn cold? I lift the blankets up to Eric’s chin, and he scoffs but doesn’t stop me from tucking him in like he is a little boy. I barely sit down before Eric is passed out and lightly snoring.
I sit between the two of them in a leather recliner and hold my brother’s hand. Now that I feel like I’m by myself, I let go. I drop my forehead to the bed and pour out all the sorrow that has built in my chest. It’s like I’ve unzipped my sternum, letting all the emotions spill out of me. My sobs, while I try to quiet them in the blanket on the bed, are still loud.
“I can’t lose you too.” I hold his hand against my cheek and remember the first time I saw him. He stared at me like I was up to no good, that I wasn’t someone who needed help. He has always been so cynical, but then the moment he realized I was his sister, he changed. Sometimes, I think he is only here at this club for me. If I wasn’t around, I don’t think he’d be here. “You can’t do that to me. You have no idea how much I need you. You can’t leave me alone. You’re the best part of my life now. Do you know how long I dreamed of having a life like this? I’d die, Boomer. I’d die if anything happened to you.” Or, at least, losing him would feel like death.
A hand falls to my shoulder, and it doesn’t startle me like usual. I know whose hand it is. I know the feel of it, the shape and width, the warmth, the strength of the fingers, I’d know them anywhere. “I brought you coffee,” Reaper says, squeezing my shoulder before letting go.
He always let’s go.
“Thank you,” I tell him, never looking away from Boomer. Staring at my brother in the hospital bed, anger builds inside me when I think about Eric doing this all by himself. Eric saved my brother. Eric is working himself to death; does Reaper care? No. He only cares about himself. “You know…” I lean back and shake my head. “Eric deserves more than you give him. Boomer wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him. Look at him, Reaper, he can’t keep doing this. Two hours of sleep here, two hours there; it isn’t fair. You need to be better.” I turn around and poke him in his chest. “So be better because Eric deserves better, and you know what? So does my brother. Eric is a good doctor, but any patient deserves a doctor well-rested. Either give the man a raise so he can quit his job or hire others. It really ticks me off that you have even waited this long. It’s fucked up.”
“Language,” he says, but I know he isn’t serious. I can hear the smile on his lips.
I take the coffee in my hand, and the heat makes the slight chill in my body fade. I bring my nose to the ceramic cup and press the cold tip against it and sigh. It feels like winter down here.
Reaper lays a blanket on my lap and then tucks it under my chin. My arms are free so I can drink my coffee, but I’m already feeling better and it’s because Reaper thought of me. Even if it was for a split second, he thought of me and got me a blanket.
I’m going to hold onto that.
“How is he doing?”
“Don’t really know. Eric says he is stable and the next twenty-four hours are important, but he won’t know more until after that.”
“You’re right.” Reaper drags a chair across the room and settles next to me. “Eric does deserve better.”
“What happened out there?” I ask, remembering the sound of the bullet. I jump, feeling like the moment is happening all over again.
Reaper doesn’t answer right away. I wait patiently, drinking my coffee and watching my brother’s chest rise and fall.
At least he is breathing.
“I don’t have answers, but I promise you, I’m going to figure out who did this, and I’m going to put their heads on a stick.”
I turn to him, keeping the blanket draped around me. I know Reaper will stay true to his word, but there is one thing I want him to save for me. “I want to be the one that puts his head on a stick. Can you do that?”
“Looks like you have a bit of Ruthless in your veins after all.”
“I am my father’s daughter,” I say, reminding him that Boomer isn’t the only one allowed to thirst for revenge.
8
Reaper
“Who the fuck sent the hit on my club?” I rip my fist back and slam it against the face of the man who texted the sniper who shot my son. Cheekbones crush under my knuckles, and blood drips from the shattered face of this piece of shit human being. I’ve worked way too hard to build this MC up and keep it safe.
I’ve sent my men to the strip and hitting every casino we work with to get more information. I’ve had them double-check all the people we have forged documents like licenses, passports, and any other legal documents that could get flagged in the system for having a criminal background. I’ve even had them hit the other MC gang on the other end of the strip. No one knows anything. The mafia says they have nothing to do with it, but if there is one thing I have learned while being in this city it’s that everyone lies.
I promised Sarah I wouldn’t rest until I found the fucker who nearly killed her brother, and I meant it. If it means I need to clean this city of lying fucks, then I will. Someone is lying to me, and I’m going to find out who, even if it means giving it my last fucking breath.
“Fuck. You.” The man tied to the chair spits his blood and saliva in my face then grins. It’s wicked looking since the blood is covering his teeth, and his lip is split, but if he is smiling, it means I haven’t done enough.
“Fuck me?” I throw a punch to his gut, and he groans. I pull him back by the hair until the dirty black mane rips from his scalp. His nostrils flare as he swallows down the pain. I respect that. He’s trying not to show weakness, but I know better than that. He is hurting right now, and it’s only going to get worse until I get answers. “Fuck me?” I point a finger at my chest and toss my head back and laugh. It’s loud and dramatic because what the fucker said isn’t funny at all.
I walk over to the cart I have and look through my weapons of choice. I pluck the brass knuckles out and slide them onto my fingers. “I’m going to give you one last chance.” I bend down until I know he can smell the beer pouring off my lips. I’ve been drinking it between punches. Torturing someone works up a thirst. I grip his chin, squeezing the bone so hard that he whimpers like the little bitch I know he is. “Your number was the last number on the phone of the guy my men killed. The guy who almost killed my son. I have a feeling you know him.” I let go of his face that’s sweat and blood soaked. Tongue and Bullseye are in the corner off to the side of the surgical room.
I had to have my own space when we redid the basement for Doc. It’s soundproof, and every inch of the walls and floor are stainless steel. There’s a drain in the middle and a hose hooked on top of the ceiling for easy cleanup.
Things get messy when you’re trying to make a point.
“If I say anything, he’ll kill me.”
“And if you don’t say an
ything, I’ll kill you.” I graze the knuckles over his split cheek. I can see the bone peeking out, and it makes me feel a bit giddy on the inside.
“You’re fucking crazy.”
I punch him across the face, and he sobs when his nose breaks. He gasps for air, and blood fills his throat from how much I just fucked up his nose. It’s crooked, and not even resetting it will make it better. “You haven’t seen crazy. Do you taste the blood dripping down your throat? You feel it bubbling? It’s only the beginning if you don’t tell me what I want to hear…” I reach for his wallet that is next to his phone on the counter and open it. “Alex Torres from… Oh, guys, look, we have a local. Born and raised right here in Vegas.”
“Maybe you can show us around sometime,” Bullseye says. “I’ve been meaning to sightsee more.”
“Me too,” Tongue says simply.
I grip the man’s face again, and dark red blood spills from his lips. I force his head to the side, and his eyes land on Tongue, who is currently licking the sharp blade he has in his hand. “You see that man right there, Mr. Torres? Do you know what he does for me?”
His head doesn’t move, but his eyes slide to mine, a sliver of fear shining back at me. Good. He needs to be scared.
“He cuts the tongues out of all our enemies. I bet you’d love to speak again, wouldn’t you? Whisper those sweet little nothings as you have sex with a woman and try to have her orgasm with your pathetic cock?” I grin. “He isn’t afraid to cut that off too. My man here is a guy of many talents.” It isn’t often that I threaten a man’s junk because the thought has me cringing, but the first thing I did when Bullseye tied this fucker up was to undress him. I want this asshole to feel vulnerable in every way, and when I get the answers I want…
