Wring: Road Kill MC #5 (8 page)

“I'm sorry, he—Snare?” I ask a question at him,
and he gives a quick nod. “He accidentally touched my wrist.” I
give a little shrug, and my face heats as everyone inside the club
focuses on me. I want to crawl underneath something.

Snare gets to the heart of everything quickly.
“Let me see.”

I raise my hand, holding my breath as he touches
my wrist and flips my hand over.

I breathe through the pain.

His eyes meet mine, filled with a knowledge I
didn't give him. “What guy did this?”

My brows come together. “How do you—”

He shakes his head.

“I know.”

“Fucking Blood,” Wring says in both answer and
explanation.

Shouting erupts, making me jump.

“Crips!”

“Fucking gang bangers!” From my left.

I cover my ears, and the noise goes away.

Suddenly, Wring is there, his eyes on mine.
“Shannon.”

I nod.

He looks at Snare. “Getting Doc to see her.”

Snare asks, “How'd you happen to be
Johnny-on-the-spot?”

Wring's lips twist, and he's handsome again.
Heartbreakingly handsome. My hands drop, my wrist howling at being
used.

“Just lucky, I guess.” His hand rises to tuck a
stray hair behind my ear.

I gulp back a wave of tears caused by the
unexpected gesture.
What's wrong with me?
I guess I'm so
freaked from Vincent and all the… whatever this is turning
into.

“Yeah,” Snare says, but not like he agrees. He
backs away from Wring. “Well, I'll leave you to it, you
temperamental flyaway fucker.”

Wring gives a sheepish grin. “Sorry, brother,
don't know why I flew off the handle like that.”

Snare smirks, opening his mouth to speak.

“Don't say it if ya wanna live,” Wring
warns.

I want to know in the worst way what Snare
would've said.

“Doc just came in. You got lucky.”

Naked relief crosses Wring's features.

Probably can't wait to get rid of me.

“Great, let's go.”

I let him drag me to the back and through a door
marked with a medical symbol—sort of. It has a silver naked lady
right underneath it. Someone's got a sense of humor. But I'm not
laughing.

I walk in behind Wring, and a man is perusing
something on his laptop, scouring something pretty thoroughly.

“Doc, shut off the porn. I've got a real live
patient.”

Oh God.

The man looks up, flustered, and shifts his
weight, quickly closing the laptop.

Gross.

He stands, and I keep my eyes on his face.

Doc's on the good side of sixty, with spindly
arms and legs and a jolly Santa Clause belly. He kind of reminds me
of a human spider, but like Snare, he has compassionate eyes.

“Okay, what do we have?”

Wring points his jaw at the guy, indicating I
should move forward. I stay put. “I don't have any medical
insurance.”

Wring gives me a curious look, and Doc says,
“You showing up with Wring is the only insurance payment I need.”
He chuckles.

I inhale deeply, and without moving forward, I
lift my hand, but he doesn't touch it right away. After a full
minute, his voice is void of emotion when he asks quietly, “You
staying with the man who did this?”

Heat suffuses my cheeks as I give a decisive
shake of my head. “He—I was attacked.”

“She's not gonna be hurt anymore,” Wring growls,
and Doc's graying eyebrows pop.

I whip my face to Wring, suddenly angry. “Don't
make promises you can't keep. Vincent wants what I have. It's my
mess. You got me out of there, and I'm thankful. But I think you
and I both know he'll be back.”

Quiet descends.

I understand I just made things weird between
us, but I had to say the words. If I'm nobody special—and I
shouldn't
be—then his responsibility is null and void after
he drops me off at my house today.

Finally, Wring nods. “You're right. I'll let Doc
look at you, and then you can go home.”

He's releasing me. It's the right thing to do.
So why do I hate the feeling that this is it?

Doc moves gentle fingers over my wrist, and on
two places he touches, I cry out. “Hurts,” I whisper between
clenched teeth.

He gives a disgusted exhale. “The guy strained
her tendons. Badly. Going to need a brace.”

My heart races. I can't afford that.
Gah!

Doc's friendly eyes find mine, clearly reading a
lot in my expression. “It's okay. Settle down. I've seen down and
out. Hell, I've been there myself. Let us help you. You don't owe
me nothing.”

I nod. The muscles of my shoulders and back are
stiff from me trying to hold my wrist still. I'm getting tired in a
hurry.

He wraps my wrist, and I suck in shallow breaths
as the ACE bandage wrap tightens over the bone. He proceeds to hand
out meds like candy. I read the label. Great meds. I know because
of Mom. Our house is practically a pharmaceutical store.

“These go for a boatload of dough on the
street.” His eyes slim on me. “Don't get hooked,” he warns without
a pause, “and take with food.” His expression says he clearly
doesn't think I eat.

Doc's sharp.

“Okay. Thank you.” I grab the bottle of pills
with my right hand. My left feels like a lead-encased club.

“Two weeks. Minimum. Come back here, and we'll
check it.”

His eyes move to Wring's. “Wrist can't go
through that again. Not without some permanent damage.” He scowls.
“You know who did this, Wring?”

Wring nods. “Yeah.”

“Good,” Doc replies as if that closes things
up.

It doesn't for me. Their information loop didn't
include me, and I thought we'd just gone over how un-special I
was.

“Let's go,” Wring says to me and walks out of
the office.

I hug the Doc. Porn surfer or not, he patched me
up.

He hugs me back. “Be careful, Shannon.”

I nod and turn quickly, jogging after Wring.
Catcalls and whistles follow me, even with my sexy club hand.

Wring whirls, and I bounce into his chest. When
he steadies me with a strong hand, I swear my stupid heart
flutters.

“No,” he points at the general group of guys,
and they shut up.

“This is Shannon.”

I raise my good hand, but their eyes are on my
bad one.

“She's not to be fucked with.”

Eyes move over my body then swing to Wring's
serious features.

“Whatever, brother,” one guy says from the
shadows.

Wring scowls, and I creep a little closer to
him. “Just as long as we're fucking crystal clear. You won't be
seeing her around anyway.”

My gut twists at his words, but I know they're
true. I look down at my feet.

Assent is voiced all around.

The guy from the corner says nothing as he and
Wring stare each other down.

Finally, Wring walks out without a word.

I follow, knowing this is my last bike ride. I’m
happy for the day to be almost over—and sad for reasons I don't
look too closely at.

Wring

Fucking women.

The one at my back is giving me an epic boner.
Her.
Shannon.

I wanted to kill men who are my brothers—men I
would die for—because they were giving her an eye fuck as she
jogged after me with her arm cast and cute ass.

If I admit it to myself, what I'm really pissed
about is taking her home—and that I told her I would have rescued
any chick in distress. That’s only mostly true.

But Shannon's not any chick. I don't know how I
know. I just do. It’s like when I would hear a twig snap in the
night and know it was the wind. Or when it was the enemy. I just
knew.

Like I know now.

I cruise as slowly as I ever have. Late-Sunday
traffic is nothing to navigate. I use the familiar shortcuts people
take in this shitty town where the roads and streets weren't
thought out and drivers have to fucking screw around on all the
back roads just to get from point
A
to point
B
.

When I hit Kent Station, I take a left into the
meat of the area. People are scattered around the train depot, but
traffic isn’t heavy the way it usually is, so I take the reverse
direction toward Noose's place.

I pass Top Shelf and keep heading north. Shannon
squeezes my body with her thighs, and I tense, fighting my body's
reaction to her. To her nearness.

We glide past where that fucker hurt her, and
her arms tighten around me. But the place is empty of action and
people. A few more blocks, and we arrive at her house again. She
taps my shoulder, and I nod.

When she dismounts, I grab her good hand,
helping her down.

Goosebumps cover her arms, even though she
borrowed Rose's spare leather jacket.

I lick my lips, wanting to warm all that exposed
flesh. My eyes rise to meet hers, and Shannon's are sad. I put my
hands on my thighs to keep from comforting her.

Touching her.

“Thanks again.”

I don't look at her. “I'll come back in a couple
of weeks, swing ya by Doc’s, and see how you're healing up.”

“Okay.”

Between us, the engine ticks, cooling. I'm hyper
alert to the possibility of the Bloods visiting while it's just me
here. Or just her.

I gotta know. “Why is this Blood hassling you?”
I tear a palm over my skull and try to ask a rational question,
“Why do you know him?”

She laughs, and the sound has a hysterical edge
to it. I swing my head in her direction, sharpening my gaze on
her.

The wind kicks up, and she shivers. Sometimes,
late August into September is cool. The easterly usually blows
warm. Not today.

I study my fingers, taking note of the callouses
from knotting. Working. Fighting.

I look up again, calming my shit. I don't own
this girl. I have no right to any information she doesn't want to
give up.

Shannon looks into the wind “It's been a couple
of years now.”

I wait, wanting a smoke pretty bad.
Fuck
it.
I open up the pouch between the handlebars and reach in.
Flipping the hard box lid open, I bring it close to my mouth then
flick a cig out the top and catch it between my lips.

Nasty little habit
, I think—until the
first drag calms my fraying nerves.

Shannon doesn't seem to notice. “I didn't know
who he was. Just another thug that doesn't wear pants that fit.”
She gives a pathetic laugh.

I snort. She looks at me, and the expression on
her face has my smile fading.

“He and his friends—”

“Gang members,” I say.

She nods. “Yes. He and his thug friends kept
coming by the house, and I'd notice their traffic patterns. Same
time of day. Looked like a habit was forming. I phoned the
police.”

I sit up straighter at that.

Damn.

She sucks in a deep breath before letting it out
in an irritated rush. “The cops said people have a right to walk
around.”

Her eyes meet mine. “Then I found out the gang
owned the buildings.” Shannon points to the buildings on either
side of her small red house.

“The first time they knocked on my door…” She
shudders and looks at me. Shifting her weight, she looks away.
“They scared my mom.”

Her throat moves as she swallows past the
memory. “They scared me.”

Fuck.

I get off the ride, suck a last drag, put the
cig out on the tread of my boot. then stuff the butt in a small cup
I keep inside my pouch.

Shannon holds up her hand. “Don't”

I stop. I wasn't going to do anything. Right? My
eyes move down her body.

Right.

“Anyway, he told me his name was Vincent, and
they'd buy our house.”

My eyebrows rise then come together. “How
much?”

“Two-fifty.”

I whistle. “Not bad, really?”

She exhales, and pale-blond strands of hair
float around her face like displaced angel hair. “That's the
money
part of the offer.”

Ah.

My hands fist. I want to beat that fuck. Hard.
My fingers burn for the knots that have his name on them.
Vincent.

“He said I could be…” She covers her face with
her hands. “His personal bitch,” she whispers between her
fingers.

“Nope.”

Her face turns to me. “What?” She clears her
throat, wiping at tears she just realized were on her face. “What
do you mean ʻnopeʼ?”

I smile, and it's the first real one of the
day.

“God—your face.”

Yeah, my face. “Why didn't you take the deal?”
I've gotta know.

She bows her head, her blond hair turning to the
color of blood with the setting sun.

“I can't. My mom is dying. She shouldn't be
moved. I don't want her to be taken from the only home she's ever
known.”

I slide my jaw side to side.
Hell, shit's
complicated. Figures.
“What's wrong with her?”

Her eyes flick away. “She's got rheumatoid
arthritis.”

“Joint bullshit?”

She sighs. “Yeah, something like that. Listen,
Wring…” She begins to walk away, and I follow her. Nobody walks
away when I'm talking to them, and I grab her, swinging her
around.

Shannon yelps, putting her hand against her
chest. “I'm tired, and I'm frustrated. I know Vincent will be back,
and now I’m even more defenseless. The meds my mom has taken so she
can move normally have ruined her body. So now—she's doesn't have
much time. And this gang loser just wants to take what little bit
we have and use me in the process.”

I know she's saying words, explaining what's
wrong, why she's in this mess.

But I'm mesmerized by her lips. I want to taste
them. Wrapping an arm around her, I pull her in close.

I'm so fucked up. My needs. My want.

Shannon's mess is just secondary. Once I get us
worked out, I'll clean shit up. Clean up her disaster.

“What—”