Bound by Steel: Mountain Misfits MC Book 3

by Voss, Deja

  There’s blood everywhere. I don’t know what’s mine and what’s his, but everything is starting to get blurry.

  “Red, stop,” she cries out.

  “He’s trying to kill you,” I say. My mouth tastes metallic, and I realize there’s blood pooling in my throat.

  “I know, babe, I know,” she says. “You got him.”

  The last thing I see is her falling to her knees next to me. I can’t keep my eyes open any longer.

  “Stay with me, Red,” she’s screaming.

  “Is he dead?” I try to ask, but I’m choking. I’m suffocating. I feel her cold hands on my face. I feel her breath on my forehead. I feel her tears on my cheeks. Then, I feel nothing.

  36

  Tank:

  As soon as I get her message, I feel a sinking in my soul. I’m glad Red is back. I missed my brother. I missed my friend. I would do anything for that crazy fucker, and we are bound for life by this patch, this club. Still, that twinge of jealousy starts creeping through me, and I don’t even stop at the clubhouse for a beer with the guys. Tires to the ground, I need to get home before he can undo whatever good has come of the last few months without him.

  I know my girl is mine. I know she’s true to me, but we set her up for this. I’d never blame her for anything that happened.

  The only light on in the house is in my bedroom. When I shut my bike off, the sound coming through the open window turns my blood to ice in my veins. I’ve never heard her wail like that before. She sounds like she’s being murdered. I sprint inside as fast as I can.

  “Hello?” I scream from the living room. “Olive? Red?”

  As I step into the bedroom, I have no idea how I’m going to keep my shit together. I feel vomit welling up in my throat. I don’t even know where to start. I just stand there, paralyzed, and I have to forcibly remind myself to breathe.

  It’s not so much Red’s dead body laying on my bed, the bullet hole in his chest, and the blood covering his face, but the way that she’s got him gripped in her arm, like she’s trying to squeeze him back to life. She’s got a gun in her other hand, pointed at the floor below. Her eyes are wild, and she’s just screaming like a mad woman.

  “Don’t touch him,” she growls at me, like a rabid dog, as I approach the bed. “Don’t take him from me.” She points the pistol at my head and I put my hands up in the air, slowly taking a few steps back.

  “I promise, Olive, I’m not,” I say. “I just need to assess the situation here. Are you hurt?”

  She points the gun back to the floor beside the bed and I gaze over at the man on the floor, covered in blood, curled up in a ball, groaning in agony.

  “Put the gun down, Ollie. It’s ok. You’re safe. I’m not going to hurt you. He’s not going to hurt you.”

  I notice the handprints on her throat, and my heart starts racing. She needs to go to the hospital right now. The way she’s whispering to the lifeless body in her arms, unintelligible phrases, I really don’t know how to proceed.

  “Olive, seriously,” I yell. “Throw that gun over here right now.” I have no idea how long this has been going on. I have no idea how long she’s been sitting here like this, or even what transpired.

  “He’s dead, Tank,” she screams. “He was just trying to protect me and now he’s dead.”

  “Shhh…” I say, sitting on the bed next to her, trying not to lose it. I can’t look at him. I take the gun from her and she stares into my eyes, like somehow I’ll know the right thing to do.

  “Who is that?” I ask in a whisper, nodding to the man on the floor.

  “I don’t know,” she says. “I woke up and he was choking me.”

  I run my fingers over the marks on her neck and she winces.

  “I’m gonna call Sloan, ok?” I’m pretty sure she needs to go to the hospital ASAP, but at least Sloan is a doctor, and her best friend. She just blinks and hugs Red tighter.

  I pull my cell phone out of the pocket of my cut and call Gavin. I don’t even know how to explain to him what I’m looking at.

  “I need everyone at my house,” I say. “Sloan too. Tell her to stay outside, though.”

  “We’re at the clubhouse. I’ll give her a call. What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, my hands trembling, reality setting in that I never got a chance to say goodbye to my best friend. I drop my phone to the ground and start to cry.

  37

  Olive:

  I’m afraid to open my eyes. I want to believe that I just had the worst nightmare of my entire life, but the pain in my throat tells me otherwise. The clinical smell in the air and the sound of beeping assures me I’m not home.

  The overhead lights are so bright in this hospital room. I feel dizzy the second I start looking around.

  Maybe I’m still dreaming, I pray with all my might, but when I can wiggle my toes and fingers just by thinking about it, I know that my nightmare is just beginning.

  I look over to the chair next to my bed. Tank is sitting there, hunched over, head in his hands. I can see Brooks and Gavin from behind, standing outside the doorway. I have so many questions—what am I doing here? Am I ok? Is the baby ok? I feel like I should just go back to sleep and wait for someone to wake me. I close my eyes, and instantly I see his face, covered in blood, the sound of his last breath, that wheeze before I knew he was gone. I snap my eyes back open, unprepared to deal with that vision.

  “Tank,” I cry out, my eyes stinging with tears. “What’s going on?”

  He wasn’t sleeping soundly, jumping to alert the second he hears my voice. His eyes are bloodshot and I can tell he’s been crying. He hovers over the bed, grabbing my hand, squeezing it so hard I feel like it might break.

  “What’s happening?” I ask. “Why am I here? Is our baby…” I don’t even want to say it out loud. We’ve already felt too much loss today.

  “The baby is fine, Ollie,” he says, his eyes welling up with tears. “They just wanted to keep you here for observation for a little bit.”

  I put his hand over my stomach, hoping that the feeling of life inside of me is enough to let us forget just for one second about the horrors we experienced. I feel my heart racing and I take some deep breaths, trying to slow it down. This poor little thing doesn’t deserve to feel this stress. The only thing this baby needs to know is love. How much we love him or her, how much their uncle Red loved them, so much that he risked his own life to save them.

  “I’m sorry, Tank. I’m so sorry,” I whisper, trying not to go into full-blown panic mode.

  “Don’t be,” he says.

  “Who was that man? What did he want from me?”

  “It was just a random break-in,” he says.

  “Don’t lie to me,” I plead.

  “Don’t worry about it. You’re safe now. Everything is going to be ok.”

  “A man lost his life,” I stammer.

  “Shh,” he says, pressing his lips to my forehead. “He would’ve wanted it that way. He was a good man, Olive. He would’ve done anything to protect you.”

  Sloan steps in the doorway. She’s dressed in bright blue scrubs, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She doesn’t work at this tiny hospital full-time, but she fills in as needed, and apparently, she knew she was needed tonight. I’m sure the club has a little bit of clout around here anyway, knowing their reputation.

  Her smile is sad, fake, and her eyes are red, too. “You ready to get out of here?” she asks.

  “Aren’t the police going to want to talk to me?” I ask.

  “No,” she says. “We aren’t doing that again. Everything is taken care of, we just need to get you out the back door before shift change, ok?”

  I know what she’s trying to do. I know what the club is trying to do. This is going to get brushed under the rug.

  “I want justice for Red,” I whisper. “We owe it to him.”

  “He’ll get it, babe,” Tank says, kissing my shoulder. “I promise. You trust me, don’t you?”

/>   I look to him, I look to Sloan, I look to the two men guarding the hospital door… these are a handful of the only people I can trust in this whole world, and they’re all here trying to help me. They might have a backwards way of doing it, but I know I need to just be strong and let them take care of things for a minute. Let them carry this burden so I can be healthy enough to carry this baby.

  “I can’t go back to that house,” I say. The memories there, both good and horrifying, are too much for me to stand right now. “Not right now.”

  “We’re never going back to that house again, Ollie.” He kisses my forehead. “Do you care if we stay at your place for a little?”

  “That sounds ok,” I say, shrugging. He helps me up from the bed and Sloan hands me a clean pair of sweatpants and a hoodie as I slowly get dressed. The five of us walk down the short corridor, Tank’s arm wrapped around me tightly, and slip out the back door into the night. Heat’s waiting there in his black pickup truck, engine running, and the men whisk Sloan and me into the back. Trixie is sitting in the passenger seat, and she smiles over her shoulder at me through tear filled eyes.

  Tank presses his lips to mine.

  “I’ll see you in a little bit,” he says.

  “You’re leaving me?” I cry. “Please don’t.”

  “I’ll be back before you know it. I promise. I’m sorry.”

  I try to stay strong, knowing that everyone around me is suffering just as much as I am. I know whatever it is that needs to be done is for the greater good.

  “I love you,” he says. “These guys are going to keep you safe. Don’t worry.”

  I kiss him one more time, needing to feel him close to me, praying that whatever he’s doing, he’ll be safe. He shuts the door, and the rumble of their bikes shakes the truck.

  “How you holding up, kiddo?” Heat asks as he puts the truck in drive. “You hungry? Do you want to stop somewhere before we go home?”

  “Is that how this is going to be?” I ask, trying to hold back my tears, my confusion. “Are we just going to pretend like everything is ok?”

  I love Heat. As chaplain of the club, he’s usually the wisest and most thoughtful man in the room, but right now I feel like he’s clueless.

  “That’s not what I’m doing, Olive. I know everything isn’t ok. You think it’s easy for me to just try and act calm? What I’m saying is, things are going to get worse before they get better. You have to take care of yourself and you need to take care of that child before you can face what’s going to happen in the next couple days. Now, is that baby hungry or did you eat something at the hospital?”

  He begins to sob, and I feel horrible. He’s just doing what he knows best. He’s trying to take care of the people he loves.

  “Let’s just go through the drive-through,” Trixie says. “We can pretend like ketchup is a vegetable for now.”

  I’m really not hungry. Food is the furthest thing from my mind. I have a feeling everyone is stalling, and even though I know it’s for my own good, I hate being left in the dark.

  Still, I pretend like the little brown bag of French fries is the greatest gift that anyone’s ever given me, forcing myself to choke them down while everyone watches.

  When we make the turn to drive up the side of the mountain, the sun starts to come up. Any other day, this would be a beautiful sight, but all I can smell is burning, and I roll down the window, gasping for fresh air. I feel like my lungs are being pumped with smoke. It smells like death. I begin to gag, and Heat pulls over as I fling open the door.

  “What is that?” I cry as I begin to lose my French fries on the side of the road.

  “It’s just the end of a chapter, baby,” Trixie says, holding my hair back. “It’s going to be ok. Sometimes the only way to get the stain out is with gasoline and matches.”

  38

  Tank:

  I stand outside the shack, pipe wrench in one hand, a cigarette in the other. I don’t normally smoke, but my nerves are at an all-time high. Usually, when it comes to my job as an enforcer for the club, I’m just slapping around guys who owe us money, or scaring sense into some other scumbag who’s committed some minor infraction. This is different though.

  The man between those four walls killed my best friend.

  He tried to kill my old lady, my unborn child.

  I want him dead, that’s for sure, but I need answers first. It’s like Red gave me one last gift, just barely sparing this guy’s life with the beating he gave him. Austin and Goob spent the last few hours watching over him, keeping him awake, making sure he didn’t die. He isn’t entitled to just slip off into the night. This fucker is going to get to see my worst.

  “You ready?” Brooks asks, slapping me on the back.

  I take a deep breath and picture Red’s dead face, covered in blood. I picture Olive’s neck covered in bruises and I hear her screams in my mind. I picture my house burning to the ground, all the memories that place held. I picture Red’s ashes drifting through the air, dusting the mountain with his spirit for the rest of time.

  I throw open the door and stare down the man who tried to take everything away from me. He doesn’t look like much, tied to the folding chair, duct tape across his mouth. He looks to be about thirty, average build, not someone you would take a second glance at walking down the street. Perfectly nondescript. Familiar yet unfamiliar.

  “Sorry, chief,” Austin says. “He was irritating me with his whining.” He tears off the duct tape in one loud swipe.

  “Fuck you,” the man shouts.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Austin shrugs. “Fuck me. Good one.”

  “Who are you?” I ask.

  “Nobody!” he says. “Nobody at all.”

  “Surely you’re somebody. Only someone who had a wife and kids at home to protect would be willing to lie to a guy like me.”

  Gavin pulls the wallet out of the man’s pocket and thumbs through it until he finds his ID.

  “Brent Miller. 1403 Dewey Circle. And would you look at this!” He holds up what looks like a professionally taken picture of Brent and a woman embracing. “Engagement picture?”

  “We’re not together anymore,” he says. “I swear. She dumped me.”

  “You can say whatever you want, Brent. We’ll find out the truth either way,” Gavin says.

  “Yeah, Brent. That’s all we really are. Truth seekers,” I say, tapping the pipe wrench off my hand.

  “You want the truth?” he says, a cocky smile forming on his bruised and bloodied face. “Your woman is a slut.”

  I can’t control myself. I take the wrench and smash it into his kneecap. He howls in pain.

  “What do you got against my woman, Brent? Did she get a load of your tiny dick and dump you back in the day or something?”

  “That slut killed my father!” he shouts.

  “I killed Buzzy, if that’s what you mean,” I say. “Felt pretty good, too.”

  “Buzzy’s my uncle, you ass. My father died a long time ago. Buzzy was just trying to get some dirt on her so he could file a civil suit. Pretty slick what you did to him. That bitch kills everyone I love and just gets to walk away like nothing happened. How’d ya’ll get the DA to drop the charges? Did you suck his dick, Tank?”

  I hit him in the other knee with the wrench. The feeling of metal connecting to his bone is oddly satisfying, but I need to keep this fucker talking.

  “How did she kill your father, huh?” Brooks asks. “She weighs a hundred pounds soaking wet.”

  “She blackmailed him. Well, she threatened to. It consumed his whole life, until one day, he up and killed himself. His suicide note was just a bunch of pictures of him and her in bed together.”

  “So your dad was one of the sick fucks who took advantage of a teenage girl?” Brooks asks. “Sounds like he got what he deserved.”

  “She trapped him. I know he wouldn’t do that. It was all her fault. My mom lost her mind and had to be put into a home. Do you know how hard it is to lose a parent? What about b
oth of them?”

  “Oh son, you’re barking up the wrong tree there,” Brooks laughs, eyeing Gavin.

  “I really do feel bad for your losses,” I say, “but your game plan here is kind of weak. First, ya’ll were going to shake her down for money and take her to court, and now you’re climbing in her bedroom window and strangling her? That escalated quickly.”

  “The only place that bitch deserves to be is in a ditch. I said it all along. Uncle Buzzy was too good to her.”

  I have to bite my knuckle or I’m going to take this wrench to this idiot’s head. If she hadn’t gone out of her way to be kind to that moron, if we would’ve tossed him like we should’ve ages ago, we might not be here today.

  “You gotta stop calling my old lady a bitch. Fuck, man, you already murdered my best friend today, and you damn near killed my unborn child. I’m really trying to hear you out, Brent, but every time you insult her, all I can hear is these voices in my head telling me to smash your ribs in with this wrench.”

  He spits on the floor and stares at me, challenging me with his eyes.

  And there goes that switch. Suddenly, I’m in that zone, I’m not Tank, Thurston, everyone’s buddy, the golden child, the man with the loving parents who lives a simple life, fixing bikes and taking care of his old lady… I’m Tank, the enforcer. The only enforcer left around this place. This man took from my club and he tried to take from me the most important person in my world.

  Anything he says from this point on is moot. I don’t care if Olive lit his old man on fire and pissed on his grave. I’m sure she had a perfectly good reason if that were the case.

  “Untie him,” I say. “I wanna see how bad this asshole wants to live.”

  Goob cuts the zip ties off his wrists and I tower over him, pipe wrench in my hand. He holds his hands up to his face, slinking back into the chair. I drop the wrench to the ground with a loud clank.