Steel Justice (A Romantic Suspense) (16 page)

He chug-a-lugs the entire contents of the cup and hands it back. “Thanks. I needed that,” he says. “Jesus Christ, Jesse! How many fucking strippers are in this room? I don’t know how much more I can take. The last one tried to put her nipple in my mouth!” He wipes his lips with his hand. “Got any mouthwash on you? That was downright nasty, and not in a good way.”

The next stripper in line, a petite blonde in only a G-string that covers absolutely nothing, interrupts our conversation by putting her hands on his shoulders and grinding on his groin.

Flint cuts his eyes at me. “You got to help me out here, man.”

I touch the blonde’s arm and motion for her to move on. “Okay, ladies,” I say to the remaining girls. “Let’s give the man of the hour a little break before he has a heart attack. I’m sure the other men would love a show, so spread your love out around the room.”

The blonde looks slightly disappointed, then her face lights up when she sees Sam beckoning her over.

Flint stands up and scoots the chair out of the way. He takes a deep breath and blows it out. “Whew! That was something,” he says, wiping off his lips again with the corner of his shirt.

“That bad, huh?” I ask, unable to hide a smile.

“More like overwhelming,” he answers. “I’m not complaining though. I appreciate the bachelor party. Thank you. I know you put all of this together and it means a lot. Seriously.”

“I couldn’t let my brother get hitched without a party.” I squeeze his shoulder. “By the way, you have red lipstick on your shirt.”

He looks down at the stain left behind on the white fabric. “Damn! Now I’ll have to toss this shirt before I go home. Kendra is going to fucking kill me. The last thing she said to me the morning I left was ‘look at the girls all you want, but don’t touch, Flint.’”

“Technically, they touched you. Not the other way around. So you’re square.”

“Oh yeah, like Kendra is going to appreciate the tiny distinction there.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “She’ll never know. Come on. Let’s go catch up with some of our friends.”

We almost make it across the room before we hear screams coming from the bar downstairs.

“What the fuck is that?” Flint turns to me to say.

“We’d better go find out,” I reply, already on my way out the door.

Taking the stairs two at a time, we rush down to the lower level. The bar customers are pushing in a wave of panic toward the back of the bar while trying to get away from flickering flames near the front windows and door. A tablecloth catches on fire, spreading the flames further into the room.

“What the hell?” Flint yells.

While we’re standing there trying to figure out what is going on, the front window of the bar shatters in a loud explosion of glass as a bottle comes hurtling through.

“Molotov cocktails!” I yell to Flint. “Go upstairs and get everybody in the party out the back. Someone is trying to set the place on fire.”

Flint takes off back upstairs and I frantically search the bar for Trish. She’s standing behind her beer cooler, frozen to the spot in confusion and fear. Pushing my way against the crowd of people moving toward me, I finally reach her side and grab her hand.

“Come on! You need to get out of here now! Where’s the back exit?”

She points to a hallway behind the bar and I start dragging her that way. A series of loud pops in quick succession rattle the building. I can’t tell if it is explosions or gunfire. I look toward the front of the bar and see two security guards with guns raised firing through the blown-out windows into the parking lot.

“Shit! Where the hell did Roger get those bouncers from? ISIS?”

Another security guard runs toward the flames with a fire extinguisher spewing out foam. Trish looks over her shoulder while I keep tugging her toward the back door.

I need to get her out of the building before the rest of the crowd realizes this is the only way out. A fire in a bar full of drunk bikers with one small door isn’t a good combination. Trish might be crushed in a stampede.

I throw open the back door and push her out in front of me. “Stay here where you’ll be safe. Don’t go back in.”

Trish grabs my sleeve. “Where are you going?”

“Around to the front of the building. I know who did this.”

Before she has a chance to argue, I dash around the corner of the building and head to the front parking lot. The bouncers are outside the building now with their guns pointed at a man lying on the edge of the pavement. His bike is on the ground beside him.

“Oh shit!”

I know him.

––––––––

“J
esse! Wait!”

Where the hell does he think he’s going? Didn’t we just hear gunshots?

If he thinks I’m going to patiently wait here while he goes off and gets himself shot, he had better think again. I hurry after him as fast as I can in my high heels. He’s standing at the far end of the building, and it takes me a minute to catch up.

“What’s going on?” I ask when I reach him, out of breath. “What’s happening?”

“Trish, no. Don’t look,” he says in an anguished voice, turning and stepping in front of me to block my view.

Too late.

“Ty!”

I tear loose from Jesse’s grip and take off running across the parking lot.

“Trish, stop!” Jesse yells from behind me.

I don’t stop running until I reach my brother’s body sprawled out on the pavement. His eyes are closed and blood is gushing from a gunshot wound in his stomach. The bright red liquid is dripping steadily and pooling into a big puddle onto the ground.

“Ty!” I cry. “Are you okay? Can you hear me? Ty!”

I tug his shirt loose from his pants and pull it up so I can see how bad he is hurt. I gasp when I see his abdomen. So much blood everywhere, and it isn’t slowing down.

I place my hands against the wound in a pitiful attempt to stop the bleeding. Immediately, the blood seeps between my fingers and soaks my hands.

“Help!” I scream, looking around in a panic, hoping someone is coming to his aid. The bouncers are still standing there with their guns pointed at us. “Call 911! Why did you shoot him?”

“I’m here,” Jesse says, kneeling down beside me.

He quickly dials 911 and tells them to send an ambulance to the Silver Shark Saloon for a gunshot victim before clicking the phone shut.

“He’s bleeding so much,” I say, my voice catching on a sob. “He’s still alive, right? Right? Please tell me he isn’t dead! Why did they shoot him? I don’t understand.”

“Yeah, he’s breathing,” Jesse assures. “It’s shallow, but he’s definitely breathing. We need to try to slow down this bleeding until the ambulances get here.”

He pulls a rag out of his pocket and nudges my hands away so he can press it against the wound. Red blood instantly soaks through the white rag.

“Damn!” Jesse swears.

He leans over Ty’s body to put more pressure on it.

“Please don’t let him die, Jesse. Please.”

He doesn’t look up at me.

“I’ll try my best,” he says.

I sit down on the pavement and cradle my brother’s head in my lap like a little child.

“Hang in there, Ty. You’re strong. You can beat this.”

Tears flow down my cheeks. I sniffle and try to wipe them away with the back of my hand. In the distance, the wail of sirens lets me know the ambulance is on the way.

“Thank God,” Jesse says without glancing up.

In a matter of minutes, an ambulance and fire truck pulls into the parking lot with lights flashing and sirens screaming. I jump up and wave my arms.

“Over here!” I yell. “This way!”

A team of paramedics rush toward us and instruct Jesse to move aside so they can do their job. He quickly stands up and engulfs me in a big hug. His chest is warm and his shirt is now wet from my tears that I can’t seem to stop. He rests his chin on the top of my head.

“He’s going to be okay,” he says, rubbing my back. “I’ve seen guys live through worse.”

“Really?” I ask, knowing he’s probably only saying that to make me feel better.

“Sure. He’ll be okay.”

A male paramedic places an oxygen mask over Ty’s face. “What happened here?” he asks.

“I’m not exactly sure,” Jesse answers. “Someone threw Molotov cocktails through the front glass windows. A fire started inside the bar and everyone panicked. Shots rang out in the parking lot. That’s all I know.”

The paramedics give each other a knowing look. “Fool bikers,” one of them mutters under his breath.

“Will he be okay?” I ask. “He’s lost so much blood.”

“He’s alive, and that’s a start.”

The paramedics carefully load Ty onto a stretcher and carry him to the ambulance with me following close behind. They lift him up gently and start to shut the doors.

“I’m going with him,” I say, hopping up into the ambulance without waiting for an invitation. “I’m his sister, and he needs me.”

Jesse starts to climb in behind me.

The paramedic stops him. “Sorry, only family can ride in the ambulance.”

Jesse backs away. “Where are you headed?” he asks.

“St. Mary’s Hospital.”

“I’ll meet you there,” Jesse yells to me as the paramedic slams the doors shut and flips on the sirens again.

***

“C
an I get you a cup of coffee?” Jesse asks. “Or something to eat? It’s going to be a few more hours before Ty is out of surgery, and you can’t go that long without eating. I’m worried about how you’re holding up.”

I shake my head, feeling numb. There’s no way I can think about food right now. Not with Ty on an operating table, fighting for his life.

“I’m not hungry,” I say.

I scoot closer to Jesse and put my head on his shoulder. Luckily, the hospital’s waiting room is almost empty and we were able to grab a small sofa to sit on instead of the hard metal chairs.

“Rest your eyes,” he says, reaching an arm around me and tucking me into his shoulder. “You must be tired. I’ll let you know if the doctor walks in or if there’s any news.”

“I won’t be able to sleep. I keep thinking, what if Ty doesn’t make it? I can’t believe this is happening. This is all my fault.”

“No, it’s not,” Jesse says adamantly. “Why do you think that?”

“If I hadn’t created such a mess by walking out on Big Roy, then Ty wouldn’t have had any reason to come to the bar looking for me. He was probably there to try to talk me into coming back with the Liberators. I can’t think of any other reason why he would show up. He’s on an operating table with a big hole in his gut because of me.”

Jesse sighs and stretches out his long legs in front of him.

“Trish, you can’t blame yourself. It’s crazy to think that way. Who do you think threw the Molotov cocktails through the windows and started the fire? The Liberators, that’s who. It’s their calling card. They did the same thing to our tattoo shop about six months ago.”

“What are you saying?”

“We shouldn’t be discussing this right now. It isn’t the place or the time. You have enough on your mind as it is.”

I sit up straighter and turn to look at him.

“No, I want to know. What did you mean their calling card?”

“The Liberators knew we were all inside the bar for Flint’s party. Sam has been running his mouth off about it to different biker clubs all week. Maybe he said something to someone he shouldn’t. Or the word could have just gotten out. Bikers like to talk among themselves as much as gossipy old women sometimes.”

“Are you saying the Liberators were going after the Steel Infidels tonight?”

“Not so much going after us. More like letting us know the feud between the clubs is back on full force again. Not that we ever thought it wasn’t. It was a signal that they could get to us whenever they wanted. And as a more personal threat, that they could get to you as well. That’s why they hit the bar and not our hotel. Big Roy and the Liberators like to make big, showy statements. It was an added bonus to them that all of the other biker clubs were in the bar, too. Think of it as the Liberators hanging up a ‘now open for business’ sign for everyone to see.”

I rub my forehead where a headache is starting to form.

“Ty wouldn’t do something like that. Not if he knew I was inside the bar. Or even if I wasn’t. What if the fire had spread? People could have been trapped inside. Me, too. Thank God the security guards knew where the fire extinguishers were and how to use them quickly. It scares me to think how badly it could have turned out.”

Jesse doesn’t argue with me. He clearly believes Ty is involved. Well, I’m his sister and I know better. My brother has his faults. That doesn’t mean he would be willing to kill people or set a building on fire.

“Do you mind if I go down the hall to grab some coffee out of the machine?” Jesse asks. “I’ll bring one back for you too. You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want it.”

“Thanks. A hot chocolate would be good.”

Not really, but I know Jesse needs to walk around for a minute and stretch his muscles. We’ve been sitting here waiting a long time, and he hasn’t left my side.

While he’s gone, I open the bag of Ty’s belongings the nurse handed me before they took him into surgery. I check the pockets of his leather jacket and pull out his cell phone. When my hands hits something cold and metallic in the other pocket, I slide my hand back out carefully. It feels like a gun and I don’t want to touch it.

I flip open Ty’s cell phone. He would be furious if he knew I was prowling through his stuff. I idly scan through his text messages. There aren’t too many of them, mostly back and forth with me. The Liberators aren’t big on technology.

I start to close his phone when I notice the date of my last text message to him. Yesterday’s date. That’s weird. That would have been after we had the big fight at the bar and after I lost my phone. How can that be?

I open the message to read it.

“I’m sorry. Meet me tonight after work?” it says.

I don’t understand. Why would there be a fake message from me to Ty asking to meet him after work? Who could possibly have something to gain by pretending to be me?

I check the time on the message. Not more than five minutes after Jesse dropped me off at work yesterday.