Blood & Bones: Cage (Blood Fury MC Book 5)

by Jeanne St. James

  “Don’t pull it out. Don’t know what it hit. Don’t need you bleedin’ out on this mountain,” Trip yelled with one hand on Dodge, who was walking under his own power, but also injured.

  “Hurts like a fuckin’ bitch,” Ozzy griped, his face twisted in pain.

  “Hurt’s better than dead,” Trip reminded the motel manager.

  “Got that fuckin’ right,” Dodge agreed, blood soaking the sleeve of his T-shirt and dripping down his arm.

  “You get shot?” Cage asked him, holding Dyna closer to the center of his chest in case bullets began to fly again. One would need to go through him first to get to her.

  “Let’s fuckin’ go,” Judge bellowed at them. “They can pick us off easier than we can them. Stop jawin’ and start movin’, we’re almost there. I ain’t carryin’ anyone’s ass. I’ll drag you by your fuckin’ foot ‘til we hit pavement. Then I might drag you some more.”

  Deacon snorted, but everyone listened to that order. Gunshots were still heard higher up the mountain. They felt like a herd of deer being driven into a trap made up of waiting hunters.

  He hoped to fuck that wasn’t true.

  “Anyone check with Easy and Whip?”

  “Yeah,” Rev answered him, still hauling around one of the crying toddlers. “They’re good. They’re waitin’ on us.”

  Thank fuck.

  When they got to Copperhead Road, Easy was waiting, looking anxious.

  “Thank fuck!” the young brother yelled, turned and waved his arm in a signal.

  Within seconds, Whip pulled up with the plain black van used for the Tioga Pet Crematorium business.

  Judge took the hands of both Shirley boys, guided them a few feet back up the mountain road and pointed upward. He gave them both a gentle, but firm, nudge and watched for a second while the two boys joined hands and began to walk.

  Cage figured the two Shirley boys were related to each other. Probably brother-cousins.

  Judge jogged like Sasquatch over to the van and climbed into the passenger side.

  Even though it was a tight fit, the rest of them piled into the back, sitting on the floor since the van had no back seats.

  Before Easy could even drive away, Trip was on his phone. “Stel, we got Dyna. On our way back. Got two injured. Grab Granddaddy’s first aid kit from the upstairs’ closet. Tell Jemma we’ll need her nursin’ skills. Will be there ASAP.”

  Now that he could breathe a little easier, he took the time to unwrap the filthy fucking blanket and check Dyna from head to toe. Surprisingly, she had a semi-clean cloth diaper pinned on her. Other than needing a bath to wash off the Shirley filth and a bottle to fill her tummy, his baby girl was perfect.

  Thank fuck.

  His eyes burned as he stared into Dyna’s gray-blue ones. He tried to blink the sting away as she smiled up at him and let out a surprising squeak, her arms and legs jerking. Then her face scrunched up, turned red and she began to cry.

  Best. Fucking. Sound. Ever.

  He closed his eyes and simply listened for a moment.

  She was alive, she was well and back in his arms.

  “Boy.”

  He glanced up at his father, who didn’t hide the look of relief on his weathered face as he stared at his granddaughter in Cage’s arms.

  “Good fuckin’ job.”

  Damn.

  Cage leaned back against the side of the van and propped Dyna in the crease of his thighs before glancing across at Trip. “We’re not done.”

  He needed to hear that reassurance. He had gotten it from Judge, but he needed to hear it from their president, too.

  Trip’s expression was grim. “Yeah, we’re not done. This was the beginnin’ of their end.”

  He could no longer hear Dyna crying when the inside of the van became deafening with all the hollers and stomping of his brothers’ boots.

  Fuck yeah. For our brothers we live and die!

  As soon as the van pulled up to the back of the farmhouse, the women were running out the back door and down the porch steps.

  “Get them inside,” Trip ordered their brothers in regards to Ozzy and Dodge. “You grab the kit?” he yelled out to his ol’ lady.

  “Yes, in the kitchen.” Stella held the screen door open to let the guys inside.

  Cage had waited for the two injured men to get out of the van first before climbing out of the sliding side door with an upset Dyna in his arms.

  When Jemma rushed over, their eyes met for only a split second before she took Dyna from him, giving her a quick onceover, then pressing her lips all over the crying baby’s face.

  “She’s okay.” Jemma tried to soothe Dyna, but his daughter was having none of it.

  “Yeah, she’s okay. Hungry. Gotta get her a bottle.”

  Without taking her eyes off the baby, she asked, “Who’s hurt? Just Ozzy and Dodge?”

  “Yeah. They were shootin’ at us.”

  “Oh my God,” she muttered. “What the fuck, Chris?” She spun on her heels and headed back up the porch steps and into the kitchen.

  Cage followed.

  Trip was inside giving orders to anyone uninjured. “Clear the table. Get Jemma whatever she needs to get these two fixed up.”

  Their prez wasn’t the only one shouting demands, so was Judge. “Saylor, get Daisy out of here. Ry, walk them back to the house and stay with them ‘til we get back. Hear?”

  “Yes,” Judge’s son said. Looking shell-shocked, he was taking in everything around him. The men, the blood, the injuries and a wailing Dyna in Jemma’s arms.

  Welcome to the Fury, kid.

  “Sis, gonna have to give up the baby. Need your help,” Judge told Jemma.

  “Get Ozzy up on the table. Someone cut off his jeans. Dodge, sit down in that chair,” Jemma ordered, pointing. “Take off your shirt.”

  She could still get bossy while holding tightly onto a wailing Dyna. Cage had felt the same way once his daughter was in his arms. He didn’t want to let go. So, he understood it.

  “One of you ladies clean up Dodge’s arm so I can see how extensive the damage is.”

  With a last kiss to Dyna’s head, she glanced up at Cage. Her face was stony, unreadable. “Take her back to the trailer, give her a bath and put her in a fresh diaper. Give her a bottle. She’ll need a nap after all this shit. As soon as I’m done here, I’ll be home.”

  He took Dyna from her arms. Though, he could tell she was reluctant to let go. “Jem...”

  “Do it, Cage,” she barked, brushing him off to concentrate on the injured.

  Cage.

  What. The. Fuck.

  Everyone who was left in that kitchen froze at her tone and most of them knew she never called him by his road name.

  He would give her this. This once. He figured she’d been freaking out the whole time they were gone, on top of dealing with her own head injury.

  He wouldn’t doubt this whole thing stirred up bad memories, too.

  So, yeah, he’d give her this.

  For now.

  But she wasn’t the only one reeling after what happened. With how close they came to losing Dyna. With how close they came to losing some of his fellow brothers.

  Shit could’ve really went sideways. They were lucky they walked away with only a couple minor injuries.

  But this wasn’t over yet.

  Not even close.

  However, this was not the time for that discussion.

  Now was the time for Jemma to do her thing and help the club out. While he needed to go take care of his daughter.

  Priorities.

  Then the club would deal with the remaining Shirleys.

  Then Cage would deal with Jemma.

  Because he knew it was coming.

  She hated the MC life.

  What happened today probably just cemented it.

  However, he couldn’t do anything about it but deal with the fallout.

  With one last look at her shouting orders and dealing like a pro with Ozzy and Dodge, he he
ld his baby girl tightly to his chest and headed out of the farmhouse back to the trailer.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Jemma fidgeted in her seat and an unexpected shiver shot through her.

  Whether it was from the A/C making the office an ice box, or her memory of last night, she didn’t know.

  After she had finished removing the shard of wood from Ozzy’s leg, cleaned and bandaged his injury, she had moved onto Dodge, cleaning the wound where a bullet grazed his bicep.

  He’d have a scar, but he thought that was cool. A war wound, he called it.

  Right.

  Jemma didn’t think it was so cool.

  Some of them could’ve died up on that mountain. They were lucky only two had somewhat minor injuries.

  Dyna could’ve been badly hurt or even killed. Luckily, she wasn’t.

  But what happened on that mountain weren’t the only injuries.

  Her scalp had stitches at the back. Jemma hoped her hair covered them enough to make them unnoticeable. She hoped the makeup she’d applied over the half-moons of worry under her eyes covered them enough, too. She didn’t want to discuss her injury or exhaustion with a prospective employer. If asked, she’d have to lie.

  She thought about cancelling today’s interview. Then, after a sleepless night, decided she would go no matter what. She needed this job. She needed to get the hell away from the MC.

  This job might be her quickest way out.

  It would also be the perfect excuse for her to walk away. To get free once more.

  From a life she knew could be disastrous. Even heartbreaking.

  Like yesterday when she was jumped and Dyna was stolen from her.

  Yesterday was a reminder of how dangerous the MC life could be.

  Dyna had been lucky. Cage had been lucky. Dodge and Ozzy were lucky they’d heal up without any issues. The whole club was lucky there weren’t more casualties.

  Jemma was damn lucky she had this interview.

  As she sat in front of the director’s desk of the hospice organization, she chewed on a fingernail and her knee bounced uncontrollably.

  It wasn’t the interview that worried her.

  It was Dyna growing up in an MC.

  When she finally headed back to the trailer last night, she had been ready to collapse. The day had been long and exhausting, and her adrenaline was finally crashing. Her head throbbed and all she wanted to do was soak in a hot bath.

  The problem was, the trailer didn’t have a bathtub. She settled for a quick shower, pulled on one of Cage’s T-shirts, and after eating a plate of lukewarm leftovers and checking on Cage and Dyna in his bedroom, she crawled into her bed.

  It wasn’t long before her door opened, Cage came in smelling like he had just smoked a bowl and, without a word, carried her to his bed.

  She should’ve resisted. But didn’t.

  She wanted to be close to Dyna. And, if she admitted it, Cage, too.

  He laid Dyna next to Jemma in the center of the mattress and settled in on the other side, sandwiching the baby between them.

  They laid there quietly.

  She was pretty sure they were both reflecting on everything that happened.

  In the dark, Dyna’s loud breathing filled the silence as she slept. In the end neither Cage nor Jemma got much sleep. Each kept a hand on Dyna, making sure she was still there.

  Between them.

  She drifted off eventually because when she awoke, Cage and Dyna were already up. He was in the kitchen feeding his daughter.

  The only conversation they had was with the baby, not with each other.

  Everything seemed still too raw and the possibilities of how badly the previous day could’ve gone still weighed heavily on them both.

  He ended up staying home from work and she eventually left, hoping to nail this interview.

  Hope was pretty much all she had at this point. What she clung to.

  The door opened and a woman strode in, wearing heels and a very light scent which filled the office space. Not cloying but fresh.

  Jemma stood and they shook hands. Georgette Anthony introduced herself as the regional director of the hospice organization, then moved around to the other side of the desk and they both took a seat.

  The brunette appeared super-polished with her makeup, her nails, her posture. She was well-spoken. Flawlessly dressed. Completely professional.

  In contrast, Jemma felt like leftovers a raccoon dragged out of the trash.

  After a little bit of small-talk the director got right to the crux of things. Jemma, too tired for unnecessary conversation, was relieved.

  “Let’s get right to it. First off, your resume is impeccable. Honestly, this interview was unneeded, but required by the board.” She leaned forward, like she was about to tell Jemma a secret. “Truth is, I’m extremely short-handed. I have patients who desperately need our help and I don’t have time to nitpick about what we women are forced to do to protect ourselves from over-eager hands.”

  Jemma opened her mouth to defend her actions.

  Georgette lifted a well-manicured hand to stop her. “No need to explain. Been there, done that. I have the pink-slip to prove it. We have a zero-tolerance policy when it comes to that kind of behavior. I don’t care who it comes from.”

  Georgette dismissing the false accusation that Jemma sexually assaulted the doctor made her sit back and relax a tad. She figured what happened to her out in Cleveland would be her biggest hurdle.

  Thank fuck it wasn’t.

  “You haven’t burned out yet?”

  Jemma hadn’t expected that question and Georgette studied her face, waiting for her answer. Burnout was common with hospice nurses due to the nature of the work.

  “No, I... I need to do this. I watched my uncle die from cancer, but I also watched his hospice nurse help ease his way into his next life. That’s what made me want to take this path. I do it for him and others like him.”

  The director nodded, looking pleased at Jemma’s answer. “While the work can be gratifying, it can also be hard on your psyche. Unlike working elsewhere where you can help a patient get better, see them heal and walk out of the hospital, in hospice work, you are helping a patient to the end. There’s no getting better. No miracle. No happy ever after. You’re only twenty-seven, Jemma, you haven’t been doing this as long as I have. But just know, within our organization, we have opportunities to move up once you’ve proven yourself, to get out of the trenches when it becomes too much.”

  “I love dealing directly with the patients and their families. Of helping a patient spend their last days at home, surrounded by familiar things and their loved ones. But, if needed, having other options would be wonderful.” None of that was a lie.

  “And you’re willing to travel to wherever we need you?”

  “Yes, I have no...” Family. Jemma’s heart raced and the pressure on her chest became almost unbearable. She pinned her hands to her lap so she wouldn’t rub at it. “I have no problem with that.”

  Georgette smiled. “Well then... How soon can you start?”

  Jemma returned the smile, though hers wasn’t as big or as bright as Georgette’s, who stood. Jemma rose to her feet, too.

  Was the interview over already?

  Georgette held out her hand and Jemma shook it. “Expect a contract in your email later this afternoon. Look it over. If it’s acceptable, you can start Monday. You’ll spend your first day with HR to get your paperwork in order, get your ID and some of the staff will go over our policies and procedures. Then, on Tuesday, we’ll place you with another nurse and once you get to know that patient, you’ll be on your own.”

  What?

  Monday? Today was Thursday.

  That meant she had three days to get organized and find a place to live in Williamsport. She might have to find a motel temporarily. Where she settled also depended on where the majority of her patients would be located. So much to think about. So much to plan.

  She took a deep breat
h. She also needed to break the news to Cage.

  Fuck.

  She had warned him to prepare. He didn’t. He had arrogantly assumed she’d stay no matter how many times she told him differently.

  But still...

  Dyna.

  After a few last words with Georgette, she walked out of the office building and back to her car. She climbed in and sat in the driver’s seat.

  Her heart was already breaking and she hadn’t said goodbye yet.

  Yes, she wouldn’t be far. Yes, she could stop back to visit when she had time. But she would take as much overtime as her new employer offered to get her finances back on track.

  She’d need first and last month’s rent, a security deposit, to make her next car payment, to buy groceries. Not to mention, get her things from storage and have them shipped from Ohio.

  Even so, it was a new beginning. A fresh start. Which was what she’d been looking for.

  Then why wasn’t she feeling more excited about it?

  Damn it.

  Cage slouched in one of the Adirondack chairs with his boots planted wide and his knees cocked. He stared at nothing in particular. He was lost inside his head more than anything.

  He finished a hand-rolled, ground out the butt on the wide plastic arm of the chair and grabbed the beer by his foot, downing what remained in the bottle.

  One bottle wasn’t going to be enough.

  A six-pack wasn’t going to be enough.

  A goddamn case might be enough to dull the unbearable tightness in his chest.

  Jemma came home from her interview hours later than he expected and when he asked how it went, she shook her head and told him they’d discuss it after dinner, once Dyna was down for the night.

  During that time she kept Dyna close, constantly picking her up and hugging her, getting down on the floor during the baby’s tummy time and entertaining his daughter every moment she was awake.

  While Cage watched his two girls, his chest was cracking open and dread was rushing in to drown him.

  From the other arm of the chair, he picked up the glass pipe with an already packed bowl and, lifting it to his lips, lit it. He pulled the hit deep within his lungs and held it as the trailer door opened.