by Zahra Girard
To my left, a prospect known as Goldie goes down with a spray of blood soaking the wall behind him. Brewer, the club VP, fires back and turns one of the Makris thugs into a bloody-faced nightmare.
“Miss me, Samantha?” Kael says as, gun in hand, he hurls aside the table I’m sheltering under and rips me to my feet.
Screaming, I kick him square in the groin and sprint for safety.
I make it ten feet before a hand wraps around my shoulder and hurls me to the floor.
My own brother.
“Robbie, what the fuck are you doing?”
His eyes are wide. Frantic. There’s blood on his shirt — not his, an unfortunate prospect’s — and he towers over me.
“I made a deal. I’m sorry, but I had to.”
I try to fight to my feet, but he kicks me and sends me sprawling.
“I’m trying to help you. Help you clean up the fucking mess you made. And you do this to me?” I scream at him. “I’m your fucking sister for fuck’s sake.”
All around us, people are shooting and screaming and falling to the bullets that fly through the air like a storm of angry hornets, but all I can see is my brother. There’s a look in his eyes like nothing I’ve ever seen: utter, selfish cruelty. He doesn’t give a damn about me or anyone else but himself, and he’ll kill whoever he has to to keep himself safe.
“And now I’m getting myself out of it. Sorry, Sam, but this is how it’s got to be. This is my only way out.”
He reaches down to haul me to my feet and take me prisoner — and then, with a stunning crack he freezes. Blood soaks the front of his shirt and oozes from his mouth in a thick waterfall.
I look to my right.
Ruby’s got her gun pointed right at Robbie, a steely look on her face.
“Run, dear,” she says. “I’ve got this one.”
I turn.
I try to flee.
But a stinging shot hits me in the calf, sending me stumbling. Over my shoulder, I see a grinning Kael Makris come right towards me through the gunfight. He charges me like none of the bullets zipping by him even matter. He’s relentless.
This room is a bloody terror and that nightmare of a man is going to take me.
“Don’t you fucking touch her,” Tricia screams. She leaps over the bar and unleashes a shot right at Kael. He whirls, the shot catches him in the shoulder and sends him spinning into a table. But he doesn’t fall. Snarling, he points his gun right at Tricia and fires a bullet right in her abdomen.
She falls like a rock.
Kael’s bloody hand wraps around my throat and he hauls me up like I’m nothing.
“You little fucking bitch, you’re coming with me,” he snarls.
I try to fight him; I kick and I punch and I claw and I scream, but I might as well be a fucking child for all the good it does. He hauls toward the door like I’m weightless.
Behind me, the MC is locked in the firefight of their lives. Bodies and wounded from both sides lie on the floor and, whoever wins, they will be left with a room of blood and death.
But I’m not dead, yet.
As we step into the thick dark of the parking lot, two pairs of headlights blink in the distance — approaching at pedal-to-the-metal speed, Razor and the rest of the MC is flying down the driveway to the clubhouse.
“Son of a bitch,” Kael snaps. He drags me to his waiting car and throws open the door. “Get in.”
I don’t protest. I don’t argue.
I fight.
Because, if I’m going to die tonight, I might as well do whatever the hell I can to make this bastard feel pain. Screaming, I leap on him like an animal and I draw deep bloody furrows down his cheek with my fingernails.
All my effort earns me is a shattering blow to my face that makes the world dim and brings me to my knees.
Then I get another. More brutal than the last.
My head shakes and my knees fail me.
I get a faceful of gravel and I know, deep in my heart, that I will die.
Crack.
I open my eyes. Blink once, then twice more. Though blood-blurred sight, I see my savior standing over me with his gun in his hands.
His voice is everything I want to hear right now. His voice is warmth, comfort, safety. “It’s going to be OK, Samantha. I’ve got you.”
All around us, the rest MC storms into the clubhouse to finish off the Makris gang.
I take Razor’s hand and rise to my feet. Then I shake my head clear — though I want nothing more than to hold this wonderful man close and try to forget everything that’s happened to me, I can’t. Instead, I let him go and I race into the clubhouse and back to the carnage.
There’re bodies everywhere.
Mostly Makris men, but Goldie and Brewer are both in bad shape and Stitch is working like a madman to stabilize them. My brother is among the wounded, too. He’s bleeding out on the floor from a serious shot.
But he’s not who I run to.
Hell, no matter the blood we share, he’s not my brother anymore.
I run to Tricia.
When I get to her, Stone is already at her side. He looks feral, like a dog whose master is in danger. I’m gentle as can be when I put a hand on his shoulder.
He turns and looks at me with pain in his eyes.
“Stone, I need you to move aside. I need space to help her. Can you do that for me?”
He doesn’t speak at first — his eyes are glassy and there’s a look of agony on his face — but then he nods and does as I ask.
“You need to save her. Please. She’s my heart.”
Then I get down on my hands and knees and get to work.
The wound is bad, my hands color with blood within seconds, yet I refuse to let her die.
I have to save her.
But there is so much blood.
And she is fading so fast.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Razor
The Emergency Room isn’t prepared for our arrival. The entire MC — every injured person who can ride and every one of us who is whole — arrives in a caravan right behind the ambulances ferrying those straddling the fine line between life and death. Stone’s wife is one of them.
Stone and Samantha are both waiting outside the ambulance doors as soon as they open and the paramedics rush her into the emergency room. Samantha’s there to help and, as I’ve heard several times tonight from Stitch and the paramedics, Tricia wouldn’t be alive without her. But Stone? He’s there because for so many years Tricia’s been the center of his heart and even the thought of losing her has that man teetering on edge.
As a family, we enter the emergency room.
Stone tries to make his way in back, to follow his wife further, but as soon as he crosses the threshold, a fiery-eyed demon of a gatekeeper named Colleen intercepts his path.
“Sir, you need to stay out of the way. If you want your wife to receive the best care — without distractions — you’ll sit down. Now. I will tell you if there’s any news,” she says.
“She’s going to make it,” I say, putting my hand on Stone’s shoulder and guiding him to a chair. “Come on, brother, let’s take a seat. There’s nothing to do now but let the doctors do their work.”
“I need her, Razor. They’ve got my heart back there. What am I going to do without her?”
“The paramedics and Stitch both say she’ll probably pull through thanks to what Samantha did. The best thing you can do for her is stay here and be ready in case the doctors need to ask you anything,” I say. As odd as it feels, there’s pride in my chest as I try to comfort Stone — Samantha was impressive as hell in the clubhouse, taking control of the situation and working like a fucking demon to take care of Tricia. She’s a brilliant, formidable woman and I am lucky as hell to have her in my life.
Somehow, I get Stone back in his seat.
He settles in tensely, his feet tapping in agitation and a thousand-yard stare in his eyes.
Stitch, seeing his mood, takes the seat next to Ston
e.
“Hey, Stone, buddy, Tricia’s tough and she’s in good hands. The road won’t be easy, but she’ll pull through. But she’s going to need you to have a cool head in the coming days. So can you bring it down for me? Why don’t you shut your eyes and take a nice, deep breath?”
Stone does as he asks. Several times. Then shakes his head. “I can’t just sit here doing nothing. We can’t just sit here doing nothing. Not while our family is back there. I need to be doing something, brother. I need to feel useful.”
Colleen pipes up from her spot behind her desk. “If you need something to do, you can donate some blood. You have no idea what kind of strain nights like tonight put on our system.”
Stone nods, then he raises his voice in that commanding way that only Stone can manage. Even before the words leave his mouth, every man in the MC — and even most of the civilians in the waiting room — goes quiet. It’s clear even at a glance that Stone is not a man to cross.
“Listen up: every single one of you will talk to this nurse here about donating blood. And I want you to give as much as you fucking can — if your head isn’t swimming, you need to keep going. Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” comes the response. And, in unison, every one of my brothers lines up in front of a now-beleaguered Colleen’s desk.
“Not you, Razor,” Stone says. “You can take care of that later.”
“What’s up, brother?”
“Your woman lost her job earlier today, right?”
“Yeah.”
“My Tricia might be dead if not for her help. As far as I’m concerned, your Samantha is a part of this family. We need to make her whole.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Who do we need to convince to hire her back on?”
I grin. “I know just the man. He’s very well connected.”
* * * * *
Stone doesn’t knock on Dr. Ayers’ door. He opens it with one powerful kick.
One moment we’re on the doorstep of Dr. Ayers’ large house, the next, we’re storming through the doorway with our guns in our hands. Because Stone is on the warpath and Dr. Ayers is the moron who will bear the colossal force of my President’s rage.
I follow right behind him, my gun ready and a smile on my face. This is going to be fun; I can’t wait to see the look of surprise on this asshole’s face.
We catch Dr. Ayers in his living room. He’s wearing a robe, half-done up and with a what-the-fuck expression on his face.
I’ve never seen anyone’s eyes open as wide as his are right now.
“Who are you? What are you doing here?” He says and then, once he gets a better look at me, he tries to run. “Not you again. Leave me alone.”
“Not a fucking chance,” Stone growls. Then he motions to me. “Grab him.”
I leap over Trent’s sofa and grab him by the throat, throwing him onto his couch.
He stares up at me in futile fury.
“Take a seat, doctor,” I snap, then I press the barrel of my gun to his forehead. “Stay nice and still for me.”
“Please don’t kill me,” he says, making a hard transition from defiance to begging. It’s in times like these that men show their true colors and, like I always suspected, Dr. Trent Ayers is a cowardly rat bastard.
“We’re not going to kill you,” Stone says.
“Well, he might not. I’m still undecided,” I say.
“What do you want?” Dr. Ayers says, quelling the tremor in his voice. “Money? Cause I can pay you. Just leave me alone.”
“You’re responsible for hurting a member of our family. Someone that we care about. Samantha Baker.”
“That bitch?”
Big mistake.
I lash out with my gun, smashing him so hard in the face there’s a sickening crack and Dr. Ayers spits two broken teeth from his busted, bloody mouth.
“Say that again, see what happens,” I growl.
He simmers in silence for a while before opening his pouty, busted mouth.
“Tell me what you want.”
“You are going to get her hired again,” I say.
“I can’t do that. Not my department.”
“To hear half the shit you talk about yourself and how much bragging you do to anyone who will listen, you’re quite the connected man at the hospital. I think you can make it happen,” I say.
“It’s not that easy,” Dr. Ayers protests. “You don’t understand.”
“How’s this for motivation: you make it happen, or every single man in the MC will spend an hour alone with you. Except for Razor here. I’ll give him a full day. And you can find out why he has the road name ‘Razor’. We got a nice place out in the mountains where we can lock you away and no one will ever find you,” Stone says. “That motivating enough for you?”
Dr. Ayers nods. “I’ll do what I can.”
Stone strikes out with his fist, hitting Dr. Ayers so hard in the gut that the man vomits all over my shoes. “That’s not good enough. Come on, Dr. Ayers, you’re so fucking quick to brag about your performance and now the best you can manage is a fucking ‘maybe’? Trust me here, you piece of shit, you don’t want to find out what happens to you if you disappoint me.”
I grin at Stone. “You know, I’m sure Samantha will land on her feet. Why don’t we just kill this motherfucker and be done with it?”
“Maybe you’ve got a point, Razor. What do you say, Dr. Ayers? Should we just stop hassling you to pull some strings at your hospital and just get it over with instead? After the night I’ve had, I wouldn’t mind blowing off some steam by beating your face in. In fact, the more I think about it, the more it sounds like fun.”
Stone chambers a round in his gun and levels it at Dr. Ayers’ right eye.
And then Trent Ayers breaks.
Tears, sobbing, begging, the whole satisfying works.
“Don’t. Please. I’ll do it. I’ll fix it,” he babbles, shaking his head over and over. “Please don’t kill me.”
Stone puts his gun away. “That sounds better. Razor, shall we get out of here?”
I nod. Then fire a round into Trent’s sofa.
It makes him jump.
“I will take any excuse to kill you for what you’ve done to the woman I love. So don’t make me come back here, motherfucker. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” he says.
I grin. That’s the first time that he’s ever said anything to make me smile.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Samantha
When I leave the Emergency Room, I’m exhausted beyond words. Everything hurts, I’m woozy, and my mind feels drained of the capacity to even think. It took everything I have to keep myself focused enough to save Tricia. By the time my own wounds are tended to, I’m ready to sleep for days.
The doctors tell me it’s unnecessary that I stay at the hospital — my wounds are light enough that they can patch me up and send me home. Once they finish with me, I say a quick — and loving — goodbye to Razor, Ruby, and to the rest of the MC, and head straight home to bed.
But, though I’m exhausted beyond words, I can’t sleep.
My head touches the pillow and everything from earlier in the day hits me at once; Robbie’s actions and his death, all the terror that happened in the clubhouse, the whole bloody nightmare crashes over me and breaks me to pieces. My brother was ready to sell me out to unspeakable people just to save his own skin. After all I’ve done for him — after all I was willing to do — he was still ready to see me suffer rather than risk any further inconvenience in his own life.
This nightmare has taught me who my real family is, and it sure as hell isn’t Robbie. My real family are those people around me who were willing to risk their lives to keep me safe. The people who care just as much as I do, who want to see their loved ones safe and happy and will give everything they’ve got to make it happen.
I spend so much time sitting on the edge of my bed, trying to process the anger, the sadness, and the joy that fight
for supremacy in my heart. Hours pass in that state of emotional agony before exhaustion overtakes me.
My eyes close. Sleep wins. I sleep for a day.
I could sleep longer, but the sound of my phone wakes me.
It’s my former boss, Jackie Price.
I ignore it at first; I don’t have the time or inclination to listen to her berate me again. She can do that all she wants when I don’t have a pounding headache or a bullet wound in my leg.
Then she calls again.
Still, I ignore her. She can go fuck herself.
On the third time, I answer.
“Hello?” I say. It takes everything I’ve got not to answer the phone by screaming that she fuck off.
“Hey, Samantha. This is Jackie Price from St. Paul’s Hospital.”
“Yeah, Jackie, I remember you. You only fired me a couple days ago.”
“About that…”
“Yes? What about it?”
“There’s been some talk among management that maybe that was premature.”
“Oh really? Premature?”
“Or maybe unfounded. Considering everything that’s come to light. We’d like you to come back.”
I sit up in bed, my heart surging in my chest. Then, remembering everything about why I left that place to begin with, I take a deep breath.
“Not until I get an apology.”
She’s quiet a second. “An apology? What? From me? I’m sorry if I upset you, Samantha, though I’m just doing my job. But I think you’re a talented nurse and I would like you back on the team.”
“No, Jackie, not from you. Though, thank you. I’d like an apology from Dr. Ayers.”
“Dr. Ayers? Why?”
“His behavior was wildly inappropriate, to put it lightly. That he then filed a complaint against me as retaliation for turning him down, well, that was flat-out disgusting. He’s a menace, Jackie.”
“I see. Well, an apology won’t be possible at the moment.”
“Oh? Well, that’s unfortunate. Do you really not want me back at the St. Paul’s?”
