Voices shouted and gunshots exploded around us as bullets pinged off the rocks. I had no idea who was shooting or what the condition of the rest of the convoy was. I was trapped, and my crazed eyes looked around me as my head twisted in a wild scan to see where things were happening. The gunshots tapered off before they finally stopped. We heard yelling and boots running in various directions. No matter how hard I tried to see outside the Humvee, it was hopeless. We were lying on my side of the vehicle, and all I could see was the rock out of my door. “SSG Alcott! SGT Lange! SPC Thompkins! Is anyone still in there?” That was when the adrenaline started to fade and the pain started to set in. I remembered excruciating pain, moaning, and then blackness. That was the beginning of the next few months of hell…
We had med-evac’ed into Germany first. After that, they shipped us to BAMC, Brook Army Medical Center, down in San Antonio, Texas. I sat by Reaper and talked to him every fucking day. They had him in a medically induced coma for what felt like forever because of his severe TBI and the injuries he suffered. Sometimes I thought he heard me; other times I just prayed he did. He was wrapped up and wired up to so many machines it scared the shit out of me. There were countless times I would sit by his bedside in a wheelchair and doze. After he finally came around, he gave me shit about both my lower legs being casted and how would I chase girls with them. Those were the few moments that he seemed like the old Colton I knew. Most of the time, he just lay there staring out the window.
The doctors and nurses tried to explain his injuries to him, but he didn’t want to listen or talk to them. When he finally asked me, I explained to him he suffered fractures to his left arm, the side of his skull, three of his left ribs, his left leg had a rod at the thigh, and the lower leg had pins, plates, and screws. It killed me to have to tell him what we had thought was mud from the dirt and a busted canteen was all of our blood being tossed around inside the Humvee. A fucking human milkshake. If we hadn’t hit that giant-ass rock in the road, we would have all been killed instantly, but they said it set us off-track just enough.
We lost a few good friends that day in the firefight that ensued after the explosion, not including our driver and interpreter in the Humvee with us. It fucking sucked, and it tore me apart inside at nights while I lay alone thinking. You do a lot of thinking laid up in the hospital with nothing better to occupy your time.
Reaper and I spent Christmas and New Years in the hospital. Yeah, I had suffered mild burns and breaks to both of my lower legs, but they healed long before Reaper did, so I used to walk in Reaper’s room—first with my walker, then the cane—and made it my mission to get him to mentally come back to me. I gave him shit and talked his ear off in an attempt to get any kind of response out of him. Even after I was released to the Warrior Transition Unit, or WTU, I went to the hospital daily, whether I had a therapy appointment or not. We were brothers, maybe not by blood, but in every sense that mattered.
In a last-ditch effort, I went to see Reaper one more time before I left to go home. I had already spent a week of my terminal leave with him trying to convince him to come up to Iowa after they discharged him from the Army. Every time I’d asked him, he always said he would think about it. He never called me, and I was worried as hell about him. When you lived through all the shit we had, you ended up with a bond most people would never understand. Brotherhood.
My family was supportive, and I was lucky I had them to help keep me grounded after I went home. My dad had been a biker my whole life, so it was second nature for me to ride a bike before I even drove a fucking car. Scared the crap out of my mom, but she never once told me no. By the time I joined the Army, I probably had more experience on a bike than a lot of the guys I was stationed with put together. So, it was no surprise to anyone when I put a lot of miles on my bike after I got home… just riding with no destination in mind.
When I was finally accepted as a prospect for the Demented Sons MC, I felt I had gained some of the camaraderie back that I felt lacking after the Army. We were more than that, though… we were a family. But without Reaper, something was still missing. After numerous voice mails with no reply, the last time I called, his cell had been disconnected. I literally felt as if I had been torn in two when I couldn’t get in touch with him. Hacker had mercy on me and tracked him down, because having served, he understood the bond you have with those you deploy with. With me being a prospect, he shouldn’t have, but we kept it between us, though I had no idea how I was going to get to him. As a prospect, I really didn’t have the luxury of running off whenever I wanted. It sucked big time.
Nightmares plagued me, but I dealt with it as best I could. Going into grocery stores, malls, department stores, and places like that was awful. I fucking hated it. The crowds had my skin crawling and my senses on overdrive. When I first got home, I drank a lot too, but after riding my bike home drunk one too many nights, my dad had my ass and told me he worried every damn day about me coming home from combat in a fucking box and he would be damned if he was going to let me climb in one of my own volition after I was lucky enough to have made it home from that hellhole alive. I remembered thinking I was glad he thought I was lucky, because I swore it felt like I’d never be whole again… like a part of me was left back in that shithole, never to be recovered.
I decided to get help with counseling for a while. God, I hated the fucking meds they put me on at the VA. They made me feel like I was swimming in syrup half the time, and I couldn’t bust a nut for shit. I felt like a freak whenever I had sex with a girl. It sucked. The pain pills made me high, and they became a little too easy to take. That scared me too. So, I quit taking the shit, and with Hacker, Gunny, and my dad’s help, I quit drinking so heavy. Sure, I may use a little weed every so often when shit gets especially bad or I can’t sleep, but not enough to really get high, just to take the edge off.
The most important thing I did, though, was making it my mission to enjoy life and appreciate the gift I had been given by coming home in one piece, as my dad put it. Maybe a broken, slightly scarred piece, but one piece just the same. So many didn’t.
For the most part, it worked. I kept my ink bright to remind me of the happiness I had all around me. I loved my brothers in the MC, and the day I got patched was one of the best and worst days of my life. The gauntlet I had to run with everyone getting a hit in left me bruised and battered, but it was a rite of passage, and I accepted it with honor. But shit, it fucking hurt. Damn.
All in all, I had a great life. Women loved me, and I loved women. My little family was there for me, and I had my brothers in the club. It was easy to tell myself I didn’t need any more than that.
When the prez, Snow, told me I was going along with Gunny to a small town outside of San Antonio, Texas, I knew there must have been divine intervention involved in that shit. Call me crazy if you want, but some shit in life makes you believe in fate.
We were heading down to pick up a bike we had been hired to customize for some rich fucker. Gunny was my sponsor in the club, and as a Marine, he had deployed to Iraq a few times before getting out. During our time together, I talked a lot about Colton; he wasn’t Reaper until he came home with me and joined the club. We made a detour to the shitty neighborhood he had holed up in and pretty much dragged him with us. There was no way in hell either of us was leaving a brother in arms behind like that. We never admitted it out loud, but even hardened as we were, it scared the shit out of us.
Now here we all were in Vegas with Reaper, where he was preparing to marry the love of his life and mother of his child—soon to be children. Returning to the hotel, I pulled back into the parking lot with Hacker rolling up next to me as I backed into a parking spot. Killing the motor, I sat for a minute in silence, listening to the occasional ticking of my motor. Hacker threw a questioning look my way, but I appreciated his silence. The ride distracted me and calmed me, as I hoped. Thank God. Now if only I could get a certain redhead out of my mind and move on.
WHAT A SELF-RIGHTEOUS
BASTARD. The more I stewed on the events of this morning, the angrier I became. It wasn’t like Hollywood had worried about whether I was with someone when he pinned me up against the wall in the club… or when he was screwing my brains out in the limo. How dare he be so accusatory and condescending to me when he didn’t even know the entire story?
Like I said, Trevor’s call had definitely been unwanted and occurred with horrible timing. If I had thought to look at the caller ID, I wouldn’t have answered and I would’ve dealt with Trevor later. For the thousandth time, I questioned myself regarding my stupid decision to agree to talk about our relationship when we got back. Damn me for being non-confrontational and not wanting to deal with a big blow up right before I left. Now it’d come back to bite me in the ass. Shit.
Hollywood was so different from Trevor and every other guy I had dated, if the truth be told. He was funny, sweet, hot, gorgeous, sexy, and hot. Oh, did I mention hot? Geez, there had to be a better way to describe him, but hot just described him… singe-your-heart hot. Set-your-nerves-on-fire hot.
His eyes were an amazing blend of a tawny gold and a dark green, making them possibly the most beautiful hazel I had ever seen. His dark blond hair always stood up in a short, wild mess like he had just rolled out of bed and run his hands through it, calling it good. He seemed like he was a tease and a happy guy at first. I caught a glimpse of that side of him again this morning before the phone call. But physical attributes aside, he was the perfect blend of sensitive lover while being a total alpha when he wanted something. He also seemed secure in himself, happy in his skin.
His hot and cold threw me for a loop, though. He started out flirty, got pissy, turned hot and sex-driven, then sensual, loving, and funny, and then pissy again. If I was honest, and if we were closer, I could have seen us finding a way to see what developed, but I sincerely didn’t expect much more than a little fun last night. The more I considered it, I wondered if he only mentioned me going home with him because he knew I wouldn’t. And why had he been angry last night before we left the club? Surely he wasn’t jealous? That was impossible. He didn’t even know me. Maybe he’d decided to rock my world after the bachelorette party and got pissed when he thought I was hooking up with the other guy instead of him. Maybe? Funny, I couldn’t even recall that guy’s face now.
Oh, well. To hell with Hollywood. I probably wouldn’t ever see him again after the wedding anyway. It didn’t do me any good to sit here and brood over him and his up and down attitude. We had a great night full of great sex—exactly what I had set out to do. No harm, no foul. So why did my chest still ache when I pictured the look of disgust on his face before he walked out my door?
The laughter and tittering of the girls as we all sat and had our hair and makeup done at the salon was grating on my nerves. I felt wound up and on edge. The constant conversation around me was nothing but a wordless drone that drilled through my head. Shit, I needed some Tylenol for my pounding headache. The smell of hair chemicals in the salon wasn’t helping either, and my nostrils felt like they burned from it.
My hair and makeup were done, and the stylist turned me toward the mirror for my approval. I didn’t even recognize myself in the reflection that stared back at me. Over the last few years, I had rarely applied makeup, with the exception of last night, and my hair ended up in a ponytail or braid more often than not. I always felt like I had the “good girl” elementary school teacher image to uphold. Not to mention, Trevor felt too much makeup was a sign of vanity, and he didn’t really approve.
The stylist had outdone herself. My deep auburn locks were swept up in a sleek twist that ended in a tumble of curls. She had captured the usual wild tangle into smooth ringlets that cascaded down and teased the top of my left shoulder. My makeup was soft, but my eyes were dramatic and appeared to be a deep jade color framed by a thick fringe of lashes. I never felt like I was ugly, but she made me look… well, just, wow.
When the first thought in my head was to wonder if Hollywood would think I looked good, I gave myself a mental kick. Ugh! What the heck was wrong with me? Who cared what he thought? Well, actually I hoped he ate his heart out. Ha! Jerk. I was looking forward to sliding the silky, form-fitting, black bridesmaid dress on and strutting my stuff. A smug smile spread across my face. I would show his ass.
I was starting to look forward to antagonizing him and pouring it on thick. You see, I knew how to work myself and my body. Just because I had tried to maintain a low-key appearance and life for the last few years didn’t mean the real me wasn’t buried deep inside. Now, I felt like a butterfly breaking out of its chrysalis of self-imposed restraint to be the person I should have been all along. I took a deep, cleansing breath. Damn, it felt liberating.
Steph and Reaper had chosen a little chapel called the Graceland Wedding Chapel with the officiator of the wedding dressed like Elvis. They decided not to have Elvis walk her down the aisle though, as that was an honor reserved for her father. It was sweet and an experience they would never forget. The bright smile on my face had been in place since we arrived, and I couldn’t have held it back if I tried. Just seeing how happy Steph was made me feel warm and fuzzy inside. Her husband-to-be was hot as hell, lucky bitch, and she would have her beautiful baby girl, Remi, as her flower girl. They would all be a real family, finally.
I remembered being with her the day she found out she was pregnant. She’d been terrified with no idea where Colton, aka Reaper, was back then. She was strong, and I was so proud of her for having Remi, working hard to be what and where she wanted in life, and for being a survivor. After everything she had been through, she totally deserved every bit of this happiness.
We all stood around, looking in the mirrors set up for us to get ready with to double check our hair, makeup, and dresses. All of our dresses were different styles, but each of them were black and classy. I wore the same black heels from last night. They had a black platform with five-inch heels, and I loved how they tighten up my calves, making them look even more sculpted and firm. For the second time this trip, I thanked my escape time to the gym for having a tight butt, and thanked the booby fairy for her blessings. Yeah, Hollywood, eat your damn heart out.
My heart gave a little gallop just from his name running through my mind. For the first time since arriving, my smile slipped. Disgusting. Jesus. I needed to get a grip. Yes, he was gorgeous and a good lay, but that was all he was. I couldn’t even stand him anymore. There was no reason he should be taking up so much real estate in my head. So, tossing him out of my head like a piece of trash, I pasted my smile back on my face and finished settling Steph’s veil around her shoulders. She was a beautiful bride. Stunning, really.
“God, Steph, you look beautiful. I’m so damn happy for you. Who would have thought we would be here today? Destiny has a crazy way of twisting and turning until your life gets to where it’s supposed to be, huh, chica?” Tears welled in her eyes as she hugged me.
“I love you, Becca. Thank you for being there for me through the pregnancy and all. I wouldn’t change any of it if it meant I wouldn’t be where I am now.”
The wedding music began to play, and we all kissed her on the cheek as we exited the room, leaving her to her father. He was such a handsome man, and he looked like he was going to burst with pride or collapse from the stress of giving away his baby girl. A chuckle escaped me, imagining my own dad someday. Hopefully. I sighed. Someday, I hoped this would be me getting ready for my own wedding.
Being the maid of honor meant I had to walk down the aisle with him since he was the best man. God, give me strength. I tried not to make eye contact as I reached to hook my arm through his as we prepared to start down the aisle toward the little Elvis impersonator. The other members of the wedding party, who had walked before us, awaited on either side of the archway ahead. When my hand touched the crook of his arm, I felt a jolt of energy and the heat of his arm through his crisp, white, long-sleeve shirt. There went my heart again.
Breathe, Becca. Deep br
eaths. It was just primitive sexual tension, that’s all. That’s what I kept telling myself. God, he smelled so damn good. Okay, maybe not so deep of breaths. My appreciation of his firm muscles under that white shirt was strictly a result of appreciating a beautiful male form, not because they were his muscles. Definitely nothing to do with him. Nope.
As we separated at the archway, I snubbed my nose to him and turned the other way to take my place. We glared at each other from our respective sides as we waited for the bride to walk up the aisle. I noted Colton’s—ugh, Reaper… I needed to remember to refer to him as Reaper—curious expression as he looked between the two of us, and I pasted my fake smile back on. He raised an eyebrow at me and gave me a questioning glance. I smiled bigger and was so relieved when the wedding march began to play, pulling his attention to his bride as she slowly advanced down the aisle toward him.
Reaper and Steph were exchanging vows and rings. So, what did I do? I resumed glaring at Hollywood. I hope he chokes on wedding cake later. Why did he make these evil thoughts swim in my head? My teeth ground in frustration. Thankfully, it was a brief ceremony, and before we knew it, we were headed back to the banquet room at the hotel for the reception.
The toasts, congratulations, and dinner were a blur of laughter and smiles. Despite my own inner turmoil, I was truly happy for them. When it was time for the bride to throw her bouquet, I joined the single ladies but hung back behind everyone else. Truth be told, I would have been just as happy to stay seated for the whole bouquet thing. When it smacked me in the face, I reached up, pulling it to my chest by sheer reflex. My mouth gaping open as all the girls teased, patted, hugged, and kissed me, I stood staring at the bouquet like it was a viper. When I raised my gaze from the deep red roses, my line of sight collided with Hollywood’s. He stood there with his arms crossed over his chest, and if looks could kill, I would have dropped dead on the spot.
Demented Sons Series Volume One: Books 1-4 (Demented Sons MC Iowa) Page 32
