Outlaw's Bride (27 page)

Hatred. Bitterness. Sadness. Love.

Each time Roman's face flashed in my mind, I didn't know whether I wanted to kiss him or rake him across the cheek with my nails. Mostly, I just wanted him to come home so I could make up my mind, preferably before my intestines tangled up in a permanent knot.

It was so fucking dark out. Almost midnight.

There hadn't been a word all evening, not since we got home from the hospital, and Rabid took off with his guys, leaving a two man skeleton crew of prospects watching over us.

Caleb stirred in my arms. He kept crying no matter how often I tried to feed him, fusing every time I rocked him or smoothed his brow the way he liked. The kid could sense the tension on some scary primal level.

“Damn it!” Missy whispered for the third time in an hour, tearing the phone away from her ear. “Still no answer. I tried all of them. I really
don't
understand this. Somebody should pick up. Even Rabid isn't talking.”

Christa's shoulders slouched. I watched her bring a hand up to the scars on her cheeks, touching them and then snatching her fingers away, like they burned her hand.

“Something's wrong. They've never kept the line dead this long, and never all of them at once. We can't just sit here all night.”

“What's your plan? Lower a rope made out of our skirts and jeans down the window? Rabid said we're not going anywhere. I'm scared too, but there's no way we'll get past the prospects down there. You sweet talked your old man, but those boys only care about following orders, whatever it takes to earn their bottom rockers.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You think they're not sweating rivers down there too? Hope you've got a mop, Sally. Their orders only go so far. They'll be just as confused as us the longer they wait with no word from the rest of the brothers.”

“We have to try something!” Missy exploded, stood up, and reached for the door before I could say another word.

Maybe she was right. My heart throbbed pure adrenaline, a cold, harsh fuel for the pessimism grinding my heart to ashes.

I wanted to believe he was okay. He had to come home. But this world had no guarantees, and the damning silence gave a good idea about what happened without the specifics.

I looked at Caleb and clutched him tight, carrying him out as the other two old ladies ambled down the stairs. My mind had already gone to that dark pit, wondering how I'd afford this place if Roman was really gone.

Jesus, and it wouldn't get any easier as the years went on. I couldn't lie to my son, not when he'd barely met his father.

One day, I'd have to look him in the eyes, and tell him his dad did – what? Defended his family? Or went down the same as his grandfather, pulled into a world of savage violence he never should've embraced?

I'd say anything to stop it from becoming a family tradition. Caleb would never end up like Dagger and...Roman?

My heart turned to cold, dead rock just considering the possibility he was gone.

I shook my head, following the girls downstairs. Missy and Christa did most of the talking. The two prospects eyed us glumly, sharing nervous looks.

“Can't do that, ladies,” a prospect named Thorn said. “The brothers'll have our asses if anything happens to you. Shit, we don't even know what's going on at the clubhouse. It could be compromised too.”

“Oh, please.” I rolled my eyes and stepped forward. “The whores still sleep there. They'd be the first to come screaming if anything happened.”

“Yeah, assuming they could. You know these invasions can happen so fucking fast it'll make your head spin, right?” Thorn gave me a sharp look, his goatee twitching.

I cocked my head. “You sound like you're talking with experience. Jeez, at the rate the club's bringing in new blood, you've been wearing that prospect patch for like a month, maybe two? Hard to believe you're a battle-hardened biker badass in just a few weeks.”

His face tightened. Christa and Missy laughed. Brass' old lady pushed through us and got in his face.

“Come the fuck on. We'll drive carefully, take my car the whole way there. We'll pull over a couple miles away. You boys can go on and make sure the coast is clear. I'm sure the Prez and VP will appreciate somebody looking over home base.”

“She's right. What? You're not scared, are you, boys? I hear the ones who show some initiative get their bottom rockers a whole lot faster.” Christa smiled, and we all suppressed a laugh, watching them eyeball each other like nervous owls.

“Whatever, you bitches are crazy, you know that?” Thorn growled at last. “We'll ride in front and rear 'til the very end, and then we'll go on ahead to scope it out. Soon as we're in, you're getting guns and going in the back. I'm not letting anybody out in the bar 'til I hear something from higher up.”

“Sounds like a plan!” Missy said. “Very thoughtful. Very original. Totally not mine.”

She reached up and slapped Thorn on the shoulder, then turned around and led us out. The prospects scrambled to get their bikes going before we pulled out of the driveway. I sat in the back, holding Caleb, trying to let the light humor wash over me.

The girls made me laugh, even with the uncertain hell waiting up ahead. But I couldn't hold onto the comic relief.

Not until I knew what happened to Roman.
Please, God, let him be okay.

I'd closed my eyes the whole way there. Not far from the clubhouse, Missy pulled over and waited. It took the prospects about ten minutes to ride in, comb through the place, and then give us a call to come through the gate.

We parked and made our way to the back. They shoved several guns into everybody's hands. I'd learned to shoot with Norm and Uncle Ralph. I wasn't afraid of guns, but there was something strange about having one in my purse on the floor while Caleb sat on my lap.

I prayed I wouldn't have to use it, but I would in a heartbeat to defend my baby, or any of these girls here. We headed for the storage room in the back.

It was the only place with a thick metal door. Missy and Christa both suffered here, back when the club was run by Fang. He'd used it as a torture chamber, and I could feel the black pain dripping off the walls, cold and unsettling. I cuddled Caleb close, if only to guard him from the same dark energy.

We huddled together, waiting for what felt like half the night, though it was only another hour. Caleb finally dozed off. I was afraid Christa would wake him when she jumped up, pressing her ear to the wall.

“You hear that? Motorcycles.”

Missy and I stood, following her to the thick wall. It wasn't easy to hear through it, but the longer I strained my ears, the more I could make out the distinct guttural roar of Harleys. Lots of them, swarming like bees.

A couple minutes later, Thorn pounded on the door. “Coast is clear, girls.”

“We're ready! Let us out!” I yelled, covering my son's ears.

The door creaked open. The same two prospects blocked our paths, and Thorn muttered something about guns.

We all reached into our purses. I was relieved to get rid of mine, and hopeful because it meant
maybe
things were going to be okay after all.

But at the last second, something stopped me. No, I didn't want the gun around, especially with Caleb. But what if I needed it someday to keep him safe?

I looked at the empty hand Thorn held out for mine. “Let me keep this for a little while.”

He squinted. “Can't let you do that. Club property.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, come on. I know you guys have tons of these things. The serial numbers are all filed off too, aren't they? I know how to shoot. My Uncle took me out to blow up bottles in my teens. He sent me to a safety class. I know how to handle these things.”

“Christ. You gonna give me anything but trouble today?”

“Maybe. But I guess that depends whether or not you want me to explain to Roman how you yanked away the only thing making me feel safe...”

He let out a long sigh. “Fuck it. You win. Keep the gun. But if something happens, you didn't get that thing from me. Promise?”

I nodded, smiling to myself. I didn't want to carry it around anymore as soon as we got home, but something made me feel better about having a spare at home.

Even if this all blew over, Roman couldn't always be there. One day, I might have to depend on myself.

The men were filing in through the garage door when we got into the bar. Blackjack stepped through first, motioning to Asphalt and a prospect. They were carrying a strange, sweaty man in a dirty white suit. When I saw the deep, dark blood stain all the way up his leg, I covered my mouth.

“Keep moving, boys,” Blackjack growled, following his men. “Get this piece of shit in the back. We'll get something on the bastard's bum leg after everybody's done playing doctor. Then he's
ours.
”

They disappeared down the hall we'd just left My heart pounded like a war drum, and I counted all the familiar faces filing in.

Brass and Rabid appeared together, their faces solemn. Christa and Missy bolted out of their seats. They hit their guys hard, locking their hands over their huge necks, smothering them in kisses and questions.

More prospects came. Southpaw was next. Then a gigantic man wearing Prairie Devils MC colors, the Grizzlies old rival-turned-ally. He was almost as big as Roman, and he carried a black bag, marching straight toward the back where the others had gone.

No sign of Roman.

Missy and Christa were still chattering away when I walked up. Rabid saw me, and his gaze darkened.

“Where's Roman?”

“They're working on him now, Sally.”

Oh, God.
If it wasn't for holding onto Caleb, my knees certainly would've dropped out. “Working on him?”

“He's gonna be okay. He took a hit in the shoulder, lost a lot of blood. We've got the crew patching him up, disinfecting his shit. Tank's here from the Devils too, and he's got his girl on the line. She's a nurse. He's learned a thing or two about dealing with this kinda shit, or so he says.”

“Girl, wait!” Missy called after me, tried to stop me from spinning around, but I wasn't having it.

I stroked Caleb's head and moved forward, heading for the back, looking for the spare room the club used as a makeshift infirmary before these bloody battles. My heart threatened to give out, drop me to the floor with every step I took.

The door was cracked. Men yelled inside, and so was a woman, cutting through the static. I shoved it open with my foot.

My jaw practically hit the floor. Roman was slumped in the bed, looking ghost white, a tube running into his arm from a blood bag suspended overhead. A shallow metal bowl sat next to him, a rusty looking bullet in the center. The big man in the Devils cut had his phone propped up on the small nightstand next to him.

He looked down at Roman's bloody shoulder, a needle balanced in one hand, thread dangling all over the place. “Say it again, babe,” he growled toward the phone.

“You've got to pull the skin
tight,
Tank
.
Stitch by stitch. Hurry, before it's left open too long! There's germs in the air, all over the place, really. That disinfectant only works so long!” the woman barked over the phone.

The prospect on the opposite side of Roman saw me, looked up, and waved his arm. He pointed to a chair in the corner. “Get the fuck in, or don't.”

Holding Caleb tight, I stepped forward. I stuffed back tears, watching in horrid fascination, wishing for nothing more than being able to walk up and grab his hand while they worked on him.

Tank's thick hands moved fast. They seemed to do the job, but he also moved like he wasn't sure, and that made me nervous as hell.

“Don't fucking know about this, Em,” he whispered into the phone. “This shit's a lot bigger than the ones you taught me how to patch at home. He's still bleeding, slower and darker.”

“It's clotting, Tank. Keep going. Seal him up quick. He's plenty disinfected by now.”

Tank sighed, working his hands, swearing when he stubbed his finger on the needle. Roman's eyes twitched, and he kicked his legs slowly.

“Hold him the fuck down,” Tank told the prospect. “This is gonna be ten times harder if he starts flopping like a goddamned fish. Guess we should've given him more of that ether shit after all...”

The prospect made a face, and walked to the end of the bed, flattening Roman's feet. I stood up, saw my in, and took it.

“Let me. He knows my touch. Here, hold the baby for a second.” I didn't wait, pushing Caleb into the bewildered prospect's arms.

Tank gave me a sharp look, but he didn't order me away. Roman's movements beneath my hands were so weak, so fevered. His chest rose erratically, somewhere in between sleep and pain and rage.

“Rest up, baby,” I whispered to him. “He's trying to help you. Just let him patch you up. Caleb's here. So am I. You're going to be fine.”

Up here, I had a scary view of the wound. Whatever tore through his shoulder, it wasn't small. It looked almost like a dog bite, if dogs had teeth more like sharks.

“Last one, babe,” Tank said sternly into the phone.

“Now do the seal. Just like I taught you. Wrap it up, clean and neat.”

My stomach did a sickly flip as I watched Roman's torn flesh mesh together. Tank formed what looked like a knot before he shifted the clamps on Roman's shoulder, holding the skin together. He didn't stop until he cut the last thread with the small silvery scissors.

The tools slammed down on the nightstand, and he grabbed the phone. His hands were a bloody mess.

“It's done. I gotta hang up so I can talk to their Prez. I think he's gonna live, hopefully without any fucked up complications.”

“Make sure somebody's with him for the next twenty-four hours. Don't let him sleep alone. You need to tell them to refresh the fluids too. Don't just assume they're going to know –“

“Babe, I've got this. Believe me, some of these boys'll put my ass on the line if he dies. I'm doing everything by the book as fast as I can so I'll be coming home soon. Love you, Em, I gotta go.”

He hung up. We shared a brief, tense look, and he nodded to me.