“No. Don’t leave Eddie’s apartment,” Joker shouted, the desperation could be heard in his voice. Exactly what he didn’t want.
“You all right?”
Double fuck. Now he had the kid on edge.
“I know you got trouble with Digger,” Derek said. “Heard him saying all kinds of shit before Eddie picked me up.”
A heat circled Joker’s neck that had nothing to do with the sun blazing down his back.
“Maybe I could help you out,” Derek offered.
Joker smiled sadly into the phone. The kid was so loyal it hurt.
“The only way you can help me is by staying at Eddie’s.”
“You don’t have to lie to me. I know what goes on.”
The main reason why Joker had to get Derek out.
“In a couple of years, I can patch in and be a full member so—”
“You will never patch in,” Joker shouted.
“Why not? You did when you were seventeen. That’s only four more years for me.”
“When I get back, everything’s gonna be different.”
“Different how? I like being around the guys.”
“I don’t give a fuck. Just do as I say.” The minute the words left Joker’s mouth, he regretted them.
“Don’t treat me like a fuckin’ kid. I know more stuff than you think.”
“And that’s another thing. Watch your damn mouth. From now on, no more cursing.” Joker sounded deranged even to his own ears. He was going off the rails fast, and yet he couldn’t stop. “You’re gonna finish high school and go to college, and you’re not gonna join the club.”
“Ever since mom died, you’ve been acting weird.” Derek’s accusing tone shot right to Joker’s soul.
Desiree. No, he couldn’t allow himself to go there. The sooner he got home, the sooner he could make Derek understand. Sure, the kid was confused. Living with him and the Raiders was all he knew.
“Digger said you’ve been getting soft. Like you don’t care about the club anymore.”
Fuckin’ Digger poisoning Derek’s mind. The minute he knew Derek was safe, he was having a showdown with that bastard.
“Goddamn it, don’t be listening to that asshole. Just stay at Eddie’s. We’ll talk tonight.”
The phone went dead. Great time for the kid to act like a rebellious teenager and hang up on him. He considered calling him back, but they’d only fight, and he’d tell him everything tonight. Then he made another call.
“Hey, how’s it going?” Eddie’s deep rasp filled the phone.
“I’m coming home tonight, but shit is getting deep. Put someone at your apartment to make sure Derek stays there.”
“Sure. Anything else?”
“No, man. Thanks.”
They disconnected, and Joker relaxed his grip on the phone. Eddie was a man of few words, but he was loyal and dependable, and about the only one Joker could trust.
By tomorrow, he and Derek would get far away from New York and all the bullshit. He’d saved a fair amount of money, some legal, some illegal, but enough for them to make a fresh start.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Three hours later, Joker landed at JFK airport in New York. He’d spent most of the flight staring out the window at the billowing clouds below him. He tried to organize his thoughts and focus on his next move, but his mind wouldn’t cooperate. Every thought, every idea brought him back to Daisy. What could’ve been, what might’ve been, and mainly, why hadn’t it worked?
When the plane finally landed, he shifted his stiff body and realized he’d barely moved during the three-hour flight. The confining coach seat wasn’t kind to his big body, and when he stood to exit the plane, his back ached, and his knees creaked.
He bypassed luggage since he had none and headed for the signs marked transportation. He hit the Uber app, just as a black limo pulled to the curb. When the rear door opened and Eddie hopped out, Joker’s heart kicked up. Eddie’s usual passive expression was drawn and taut as he approached Joker.
“What the hell?” Joker stepped to him.
“Get in the car.” Eddie stood by the door, and Joker had a sinking feeling.
The traffic sped around them on the Long Island Expressway as Joker stared out the tinted windows of the limo. Eddie sat still on his side of the seat, waiting for Joker’s reaction. Joker waited for his own reaction, but nothing came. Just a dull ache in his gut and a heavy sucking sensation in his chest, like a vacuum hose had drawn all the breath from his lungs.
Joker swallowed hard and turned away from the window, staring straight ahead. “What hospital is he in?”
“Cornell Medical on Sixty-fifth Street. Best in the city. Jonny called in a favor from one of the doctors who plays in our private poker games. He’s one of the top surgeons—”
“This is my fault.” Joker heard himself say the words, but they seemed to come at him from a distance.
“No man, if anything, it’s on me. I put one of the bouncers from the club on the door, and the kid conned him. I should’ve kept eyes on him myself.”
Joker huffed out a short laugh. Derek learned a lot by watching and listening to bikers run their mouths about every job their fucked-up minds could dream up. Sure, the kid was a pro at getting what he wanted. He’d been coached by the best.
They rode in silence the rest of the way to the hospital. There was nothing else to say. Joker didn’t blame Eddie or the bouncer. He blamed himself. Derek was his responsibility, no one else’s. If he hadn’t gone to Miami … If he hadn’t let himself get wrapped up with Daisy … If he had gotten back to New York sooner. It all came back to him and another life he’d fucked with because he didn’t know any better.
When the limo stopped, it took Joker a few seconds to realize they were at the front entrance of the hospital.
“You need anything, you call.” Eddie gripped his forearm. “Got it?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
Joker found the information desk in the lobby of the huge hospital and retrieved a visitors pass and directions to Derek’s room. Once he was on the correct floor, he was stopped at the nurses’ desk. He had to show his ID proving he was Derek’s father because ICU only allowed immediate family members to visit.
The head nurse directed him three glass cubicles down where another nurse sat outside the glass and monitored the machines that kept Derek alive. Joker stood outside the glass and sucked in a few deep breaths before he entered the room.
No amount of deep breathing would prepare him for the fact that his son was shot in the chest.
A stark white sheet covered Derek’s body. An IV in one arm, a blood pressure cuff automatically inflating and deflating on his other arm, and drains winding their way from his body to the many machines built into the wall behind him.
The only sound was the rasp of the respirator keeping his son alive. Joker stood at the foot of the bed for a long time, then moved to Derek’s side. He pulled over a chair, then gently laced their fingers together, careful not to disrupt any of the wires that snaked around his frail body. His dark hair framed his pale, sallow skin, making him look much younger. Way too young to be caught up in a gang fight between two bikers. Joker knew Digger was a crazy fucker. He threatened Derek the last time they’d talked, and yet this was the life that Joker had dropped him into. The kid never had a choice, and now it looked like he didn’t have a chance either.
Hours later, a nurse said he would have to leave while they changed and re-dressed Derek’s bandages. Joker roamed the halls and found the waiting room until the nurse gave him the okay to sit with him again.
His mind tortured him with memories of the past year: Finding Desiree sprawled out on their bed, an empty pill bottle beside her. Hugging Derek as he shook and shivered while trying to hold back his tears because he thought that was what Joker wanted. Then, Derek finally letting go and sobbing like a little boy who lost his mother.
He and Desiree were adults; she knew what he was and chose to stay with him, and even t
hough he’d always blame himself for her death, it couldn’t compare to the pain he felt now. Derek was a part of him, and Joker experienced his pain the same as if he were in that bed himself.
“He’s about the same.” Joker sat in the uncomfortable molded plastic chair of the hospital’s waiting room on the ICU floor. “Doctor says he’s unconscious because of the blood loss.”
“Try to be patient,” Eddie said.
“I’m trying.” Joker stretched out his legs, hoping to relieve the kink in his back. “And you’re sure he didn’t say anything when the paramedics found him.”
“Nah, he just told them my address,” Eddie said. “Then they contacted me.”
“I know it was Digger. He was either behind it, or he pulled the trigger himself.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out and then—”
“I can’t think about anything until Derek’s better.”
Strange how most of his life had been centered around revenge and payback, and yet, now he had no room for it.
“Yeah, man, I know.”
“Thanks for being there for him.”
They talked bullshit for a little longer and then hung up. Eddie had called him every day with encouragement, but as the days went on, Joker’s hope faded.
He stood and stretched out his back, then nodded at the nurses as he passed their station outside Derek’s glass cubicle.
One week of pacing, hoping, bargaining, and then flat out cursing everything and everybody in his path didn’t change the fact that Derek still lay unresponsive and hooked up to machines and monitors in ICU.
After the first few days, some of the nurses told him he needed to eat and shower. Apparently, he was scaring the other visitors. Thanks to Eddie’s wife, Paige Drake, of the Drake Hotels, there was a suite reserved for him at their East Side location. Joker made a quick run to Target for a change of clothes, then to Duane Reade for essentials. Inside the spacious bathroom of the suite, he stripped off his clothes. When he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he understood the nurses’ concern. His day-old scruff had turned into an unruly beard, and his hair was tangled and wild from him dragging his hands through it. His clothes didn’t look much better. The lack of food had turned his hardened features into a gaunt, sunken face with the wild, dark eyes of a rabid dog. Yeah, he’d gone from his usual terrifying to downright ominous.
Eddie had picked up a new phone for him as he ditched the burner the minute he hit New York. The only number he’d entered was Daisy’s. She’d probably also gotten a new phone and number, but somehow looking at her name in his contacts calmed him. He’d never see her again, never get to hold her or talk to her again, but just remembering their time together gave him some peace.
Joker pulled up the same chair he’d sat in for the last seven days and squeezed Derek’s hand. He stared into his son’s face and stilled. Was his mind playing tricks on him, or had Derek’s lashes fluttered? Joker watched, mesmerized, as Derek’s fingers moved and curled around his own. His lids flickered, then opened in a wild-eyed stare. He choked, and shrill alarms sounded. Joker jumped up, sending the chair backward onto the linoleum floor. Nurses crowded the room, pushing him out of the way.
His back hit the glass wall, and he stared helplessly as his only child gasped and choked against the black breathing tube lodged in his throat. Derek reached for it, trying to remove the tube while another nurse restrained him.
Time stood still as chaos reigned around him. They removed the breathing tube, and more alarms sounded. Joker’s questions went unanswered as Derek continued to choke and gasp for air.
“Try to relax,” one of the nurses soothed Derek. “In and out, easy, deep breaths.”
Deep, raspy breaths replaced the choking, and Derek began to breathe on his own.
The doctor and more nurses crowded the room. One took his vital signs while another checked the machines he was still hooked up to.
The doctor seemed engrossed in Derek’s chart, then rounded the bed and made eye contact with him. “Can you tell me your name?”
Derek coughed hard, then finally croaked out. “Derek Harrison.”
Joker’s throat tightened at the sound of his son’s voice.
“Do you know what year it is?”
“Two thousand nineteen.”
Hot tears wet Joker’s cheeks as he clenched his fists. He didn’t think he’d ever been happier than he was at that moment. Derek was awake and seemingly well. Sure, he still had a long way to go, but he was awake, and right then, that was all that mattered.
The doctor turned and caught Joker’s eye, then nodded toward the corridor, while the nurses continued to make notes on Derek's chart and record his vitals.
“As I said earlier in the week, the blood loss caused the coma, but it looks like he’s come out of it. Luckily, the paramedics got him here in time.”
Joker nodded, only hearing the doctor’s every other word.
“The bullet ruptured a main artery, but your son is young and healthy, and all that will go in his favor. I want to keep him here for another few days to monitor his vitals and drain the wound, but I think it’s safe to say that he’ll make a full recovery.”
Joker’s first instinct was to grab the doctor in a bear hug, but over the last week, he’d seen the looks he’d gotten from most of the staff and the doctor, so instead, he clapped him on the shoulder and mumbled, “Thank you.”
The doctor nailed him with a direct look. “Shootings have to be reported, but since Derek was unconscious and in ICU, the police were not allowed admittance.” He paused as if trying to get the words right. “Now that he’s regained consciousness they’ll be back so—”
“I get it, doc. Unfortunately, I was in Florida on business so I know about as much of what happened as you do.” Joker added a shrug. “Probably some junkie looking for quick cash.”
“He was barely conscious when the paramedics found him in the subway.” The doctor’s gaze never faltered. “The police have suggested this wasn’t a random shooting. Why they think that, I don’t know.”
This wasn’t the doctor’s first rodeo. Working in a big city hospital, Joker was sure he’d seen it all. Right now, he was wondering what kinda business involved Joker, and how a thirteen-year-old kid got in the middle.
“I wanted to give you a heads up.”
“Appreciate it.” Joker cocked his head. “Sadly, random street crime affects everybody.”
The doctor held his gaze for the few extra seconds that told Joker he knew he was shining him on, then flipped Derek’s folder closed and moved on down the hallway.
There was nothing random about this shooting. Joker knew who did it, or who was behind it, and now that Derek was conscious, Joker would find out exactly what happened.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“You scared the shit outta me.” Joker pulled up the same chair he’d been sitting in for the last seven days. “But the doctor says you’re gonna be all right. A few more days and you’re out.”
“I feel good. Why can’t we leave now?”
“’Cause you’re gonna listen to the doctor. You were fuckin’ shot in the chest.” Just saying those words constricted Joker’s heart. Shit, how close he came to losing the most important thing in his life.
“Are they at least gonna give me something to eat? I’m freaking starving.”
Joker smiled. The kid had a crazy appetite, so him being hungry was a definite good sign.
“What the fuck were you doin’ in the subway? I thought I told you to—” Joker drew in a deep breath. “Just tell me what you remember.”
Derek lowered his head and directed his words to the sheets. “I was going back to the clubhouse. I wanted to talk to Digger. Make things right between you and him.”
“Why would you do that?” Joker struggled to keep his voice level. “Digger is a fuckin’ maniac.”
“I know.” He gripped the sheets. “I know I screwed up, it’s just that I thought if I put things right we cou
ld stay at the clubhouse, then everything could go back to the way it used to be”—he raised his head and held his gaze—“like before Mom died.”
Joker felt like he’d been hit with an ax. The kid was already about five foot eight, could ride almost as good as him, and cursed a blue streak, but deep down, he was just a little boy who wanted his mom back.
“Things will never be like that again. They’ll be different, but maybe good different.”
“We can’t go back to the clubhouse, huh?” Derek pulled at the bedsheets.
“I don’t know exactly how yet, but we’re gonna work it all out.” Joker wouldn’t freak him out more by telling him that Digger had put a price on his head in Florida, or that he’d nearly gotten shot trying to save a woman he’d never see again. He had to keep his explanation simple for Derek’s sake. “Right now, you have to concentrate on getting better.”
“It was Digger,” Derek whispered. “I was waiting for the train, and he called my name. When I turned around, I felt this burning in my chest, and everything started to spin. People crowded around me. Then, the paramedics asked me a bunch of questions.”
A wave of suffocating anger closed Joker’s throat. And even though he’d known all along it was Digger, hearing the words out of his son’s mouth tripped off a switch that couldn’t be reversed.
“I figured you’d wanna take care of it yourself.”
It scared the shit out of him how much the kid knew about his life, but it wasn’t a surprise. The guys talked in front of him all the time, and Digger was the loudest, especially when he was high and showing off for some chick.
“Not this time.”
“You mean you’re not gonna do anything?” The disappointment in his eyes confirmed Joker’s decision to send Derek far away from him and that life. At thirteen, Derek already internalized the club’s mentality. “Fuck with me, and I’ll fuck you worse.” Words Joker lived by most of his life. And yeah, revenge at any cost was his first reaction, but he had to break the links of this destructive chain.
Beyond Redemption: Joker (Serpents MC Las Vegas Book 1) Page 19
