Outlaw: Screaming Eagles MC (18 page)

Chapter Thirty-Five

“I think I might be a little past first aid at a cop’s house,” Falcon said. He still couldn’t see out of one eye and he couldn’t breathe through his nose. His ribs ached every time he took a breath and coughing was utter agony.  He could only see her eyes as she stared at him from the rear view mirror. Her green eyes were tinged with worry and it seemed like she was glancing back to check on him every other second as her eyes flicked between Falcon and the road.

“My mom was a nurse, so I know more than the average girl,” Grace said as she made a turn onto a nice looking residential street. “Plus, the Screaming Eagles will be looking for you and the hospitals are the first place they’ll go. We can’t let them find you; we need to hide you somewhere safe and at the moment my place is the safest.”

The road was lined with ranch houses painted in muted colors and impeccably green lawns. Falcon had never been inside one of these nice houses. He had driven past them a few times, but everyone he knew lived in apartments and split levels out the outskirts of town.

Being in this neighborhood felt wrong to Falcon. He didn’t belong here and anyone who looked at him would know it. His motorcycle and now his bloody and beaten face marked him as a man who didn’t belong amongst such pristine houses. He belonged in places with dirt roads and dive bars where liquor was cheap and women were cheaper. People here would turn their noses up if Falcon walked past. They would complain about the noise of his bike in the late hours.

She turned down another street, taking the route that was so familiar to her and so strange and alien to Falcon. Finally, at the far end of a long, mostly empty lane, she turned into a driveway in front of a small brick house. It was quaint and rustic looking in a way that appealed to Falcon. It wasn’t new and he liked that. This was no cookie-cutter house with it’s effective plastic siding. No, this was an old house, a holdout from when an entirely different type of people lived in this area.

Grace opened her door and stepped out of the car. Falcon followed. As he opened his door Grace rushed to help him. She held out her hand to steady him, but Falcon just brushed her off. His legs were shaking and he was in pain, but he stood on his own two feet and took a few steps onto her onto the vibrant green grass of her lawn.

Grass. Dirt. Sky. Had Falcon ever really appreciated them before? He had been in that cell for days and he had been sure he would never see anything other than cement and iron bars for the rest of his short life. But here he was. Falcon knelt down in the grass and ran his fingers over the delicate green blades. He felt their spindly arms caress his hands as he moved his arm back and forth above them.

He could smell the dirt beneath him, he could feel the wind on his face. He was alive and he was free. How many men had never come this far? How many had died, alone and cold, in the bowels of the Screaming Eagles’ headquarters? How many would only see the sun from the prison yard? At that moment he wanted to cry. He wanted to fall and let the soft ground cushion him and he would have been fine just sleeping outside in the grass with the blue sky above him.

Grace took him gently by the arm and pulled him up into a standing position. He couldn’t help but list against her like a sinking ship as she struggled to get him into the house. With her arm around Falcon as she half-supported him she pulled out her keys and opened her bright red front door. They took a step inside and Falcon looked up and saw a house with white walls and dark hardwood floors. She turned to the right and they walked past her bedroom before she pulled him into her bathroom.

He stood up in the harsh glare of the bathroom light and looked at his own reflection in Grace’s mirror. He didn’t recognize himself. It was a Neanderthal that looked back at him from the other side. His face was swollen and misshapen and he barely recognized himself.

“Here,” Grace said and she reached for the hem of Falcon’s shirt, but he pushed her hand away.

“I can do it,” he said, avoiding her eye contact.

“Okay,” Grace said, tucking a non-existent stray lock behind her ear. She turned on the shower and they were surrounded by the noise of falling water. “I’ll wait outside; I’ll bring some clean clothes in for you.”

“Fine,” Falcon said. She turned and walked out the door, closing it behind her. The bathroom was filling with steam as Falcon struggled out of his shirt. It ached for him to lift his arms above his head and he bit back a cry of pain as he finally managed to remove his shirt.

His torso was covered in yellow and purple bruises; in the mirror he saw that they extended around his back. He undid his pants and slipped out his shoes, letting his pants slide down onto the floor. He took off his boxer briefs and stepped into the steaming hot shower. He winced as the water hit his many cuts before it washed away the blood and the dirt and he sighed in pleasure and leaned against the wall.

He soaped up his arms and legs and watched as the water went from tinged with red to clear and finally he was done. Falcon stepped out of the shower and saw Grace had left a pair of sweatpants and a black t-shirt in the bathroom for him. He dried off and dressed and stepped out into the house.

He walked past her bedroom and then the kitchen and then he was in the living room. He dropped onto a paisley blue couch next to a leather chair. The room had large windows and bright daylight was flooding through the room illuminating the dancing dust moats.

Falcon sat on the edge of the chair and put his face in his hands as he looked around her living room. It was sparse and barely decorated, a large flat screen TV that sat across from the couch and a few paintings on the wall. After a few moments Grace appeared in front of him with a professional looking first aid kit. She knelt down and opened the kit taking out gauze and bandages and antiseptic and lining them up on the coffee table. She had a glass of water and she handed Falcon two white pills and he took them both without even asking what they were. He drank the water, chugging it down in thirsty, desperate gulps.

“More,” he said, handing Grace the glass.

“In a minute. You need to give your stomach time to absorb what’s there. If you drink too much you might get sick,” she said, setting the glass down on a coffee table.

“I feel thirstier than before,” Falcon said as Grace began gently wiping the remaining dried blood from Falcon’s lip. He winced, but she was patient and took her time.

She let the water soak into the blood so it would wipe away easily. From there she moved onto his still swollen shut eye. She placed her hand gently on his chin as she guided his face up and down as she tried to fix him.

There was worry in her eyes. A pained sort of worry. Sometimes she would open her mouth as if there was something she wanted to say and then her eyes would flick to Falcon’s and she would change her mind and snap her mouth shut. A troubled look would cross her face as she sought out some other scar or bruise she could soothe.

Finally, when his face, neck, and arms were bandaged up she stopped what she was doing and looked up at him. “What about your chest? Does it hurt badly,”

Falcon scoffed and shook his head, looking away from her. “A couple of cracked ribs, nothing too serious,” he answered.

“Let me bandage them up,” she implored him. “It will help you heal faster.”

He rolled his eyes, but he lifted his arms above his head and bit back as a cry as he pulled off the black shirt. Grace’s soft fingers touched his chest as she tested his bruises. For a moment he thought he could see a tear in her eyes, but she looked away quickly and he couldn’t be sure.

Chapter Thirty-Six

She wrapped the gauze around his torso pulling it tight, but not too tight. Once she was done, she helped Falcon back into his shirt and brought him a second glass of water. As he chugged, she sat down next to him on the couch; she sat close to him, but not too close.

“I’m so sorry this happened, Falcon,” she said, shaking her head.

“There was a shoot-out on the road. Why didn’t you call me? I was screwed, they had me surrounded, and I had no chance of getting out of there.”

“I didn’t hear about it until it was too late,” Grace said. “It was the beat cops manning the entrance to the highway. All they were supposed to do was wait for the signal and then close the entrance. But a couple of bikers saw them and they panicked and shot at them. Then they tried to cover it up and not tell anyone it happened. But a civilian reported the noise. By the time it came to me, it had already been an hour and you hadn’t shown up. I knew I was screwed. I thought about calling or texting, but I was worried that a call at that moment would look suspicious,” she was begging him. Her hand was resting on his knee and she was gripping it tightly as she spoke.

“I was down there living like a dog for days,” Falcon spit, pushing her hand off of him. He missed her touch immediately.

“I didn’t know how to get to you. We scouted the club, but there was no sign of you or your bike. We traced your phone and the trace led to clubhouse, but we didn’t know if you were in there. We didn’t want to raid the clubhouse; we were worried it would turn into a shootout and we didn’t have enough evidence to warrant one. Plus, if there was a shootout, we were sure you would be the first to die. We didn’t know if you were there. It’s hard to do the right thing when you don’t have all the information you need. The pigeons were just a gamble that paid off,” she continued, holding both of his hands in hers as she leaned closer to him. “I’m so sorry this happened to you. I feel so guilty. I haven't slept in days; I broke a lot of laws-”

Falcon ripped his hands away from hers and leaned back on the couch. He was feeling dizzy and lightheaded and he couldn’t listen to any more of this. He hadn’t slept in days and his brain was barely operating. He didn’t know if he should believe her or not, he didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t anymore.

“Come to bed,” she whispered to him.

“No,” Falcon said. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“Falcon, don’t be ridiculous. You’ve been in a cell for days and you deserve a soft bed. I’ll take the couch.”

“I’m not arguing about it,” Falcon said as he laid back on the couch and a blissful sensation of relaxation spilled through him. Finally, the bruises stopped throbbing and the cuts stopped stinging and he was barely conscious as Grace stood him up to put sheets down on the couch. He lay down on the soft cushions and let the warm blanket encircle his body. He was asleep in seconds.

In the middle of the night he was jerked awake by a deep throbbing pain in his head and ribs. He stared around him at the darkened house and was immediately aware of where he was and what his options were. He could leave. He could rob her. He could take her gun and her badge and her car and really go to town. The thought was tempting. She had fucked up his life; why shouldn’t he get to fuck up hers?

He turned his head and saw a glass of water and two more white pills. He had no memory of Grace leaving them for him, but he wasn't going to let them go to waste.  He drank the water and swallowed the pills and before he even knew what happened he had sunk back to sleep.

He awoke in the morning to a cup of coffee and a plate of bacon and eggs waiting for him. He devoured the food as his appetite suddenly returned. He felt better. He had slept for fourteen hours and the pills had numbed the pain. Some of the swelling had gone down and he could finally open both of his eyes.

“What happened in there, Falcon?” Grace asked him as they sat drinking coffee in the early afternoon’s light.

“What do you think happened?” Falcon asked. “They beat the shit out of me and then they stuffed me in a box for days without food or water, just time.”

“They questioned you, right?” She leaned forward as if to touch him, but then remembering earlier she sat back and gave him his space. “Did you tell them anything?”

“No. I denied everything.”

“And they believed you?”

“Obviously not. They beat me up and then they put me in the cell. I think they were trying to wait me out. I think they wanted to break me. I was in pain, I was starving, I couldn’t sleep, and I had no idea what was going on in the outside world. I had no sense of time. I thought it would last forever,” he took a deep breath and steadied himself as he spoke. “But they never questioned me after that first time.”

“You did the right thing denying it. And it took strength to not tell them everything in hope of some relief. You’re acting like it was nothing, Falcon, but I know what kind of strength that took. I know how hard that was. I know how much you must be hurting right now.”

He turned away crossed his arms, ignoring the pain. “You don’t need to feel bad for me. It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“Really? Because it looks really bad.”

“Like I said, I’m fine,” Falcon said. He drank his coffee and looked at Grace where she sat across from him. It seemed like she was always there staring at him and pleading with him for something. But it was too late. He knew better than to get involved with her. She was right; they were chaotic and dangerous when they were together and they were going to ruin everything.

She had abandoned him when he needed her most. Were it the other way around and she were the one locked up he wouldn't have let anything stop him. He would have gone in guns blazing if it had been her.

“Talk to me, Falcon,” she begged him. “I know that had to be horrible for you. You can tell me about it. I’ll understand.”

“There’s nothing to say. It’s over. I don’t dwell on things. They happen and you have to move on.”

“All right,” Grace said. “But I’m here if you change your mind.”

Falcon stood and tested his leg. He stretched out and took a few steps around the living room. It was getting easier to move around. He hurt less than he used to, already he felt better. He wanted to keep up his strength, but when he leaned against the wall to do an easy push up his arms and abs shoulders screamed in pain. He was up and moving, but he wasn’t in any state to fight.

“So, what’s the plan now?” Falcon asked.

“You need to focus on getting better. You need to rest and recover and then we’ll take it from there.”

“They’re looking for me; do they know you’re on the case?” Falcon asked.

“I don’t think so. The investigation is high up and you need a security clearance just to know what it’s called. I don’t think we have anyone who could tell the Screaming Eagles where I am.”

“We’ll see,” Falcon said. “How is Sophie?”

“She’s fine. We haven't seen anyone around her or looking for her.”

“Good,” Falcon said with a sigh.

“You should lie down,” Grace said. “Are you sure you want to sleep out here?”

“Yes,” Falcon answered without thinking. He couldn’t let himself start to think about it because then he would start rationalizing it and he would give himself reasons why sleeping in her bed made so much sense. He could reach out and touch her, gather her in her arms and feel her sleeping form resting against his. No, it was far too dangerous; he would have to get better on the couch.

Grace nodded and walked out of the room, turning off the light as she left. It was still early and Falcon could see a deep blue sky outside of the window. He could hear Grace rustling about in the house and he wanted to call out to her, but then he heard her enter her bedroom and shut the door behind her.